Author's Note: Hey guys, here's this week's update. I'm going to be alternating point of views every so often to keep the story interesting. Please read and review! Let me know what you think! Thanks!
Melody woke up reluctantly at the sound of her alarm. It was 5 in the morning, the time she woke up every morning so she could get ready to open the bookstore. She groaned at the first rays of sun peeking through her small bedroom window by the fire escape. She pushed herself out of the comforting warmth of her bed and headed to her dresser. She pulled out some fresh clothes and underwear and headed to her bathroom. She took a long shower, feeling as though she was entitled to waste a little more water than usual after last night. She could see the bruises forming on the inside of her thighs, the shape of fingers as if that man were still grabbing at her despite his absence. Even now that he was behind bars his hands were still on her, he had left his mark. Melody scrubbed harder at her skin, causing pain from pressure on the bruises and a stinging redness to form on her raw skin. She didn't feel any better when she stepped out of the shower and wrapped her hair up in a towel. She shimmied up her dusty rose pink pleated skirt that fell just above her knees and tucked in her sleeveless cream colored lace top. She belted her skirt with a faded brown belt and shook her hair out of the towel to blow dry it. She finished drying her hair, applied a diminutive amount of foundation and mascara to her face and grabbed some beige suede high-heeled ankle boots from her under her dresser. She never left the house without mascara, it was her number one rule. Nobody would dare see her without mascara on. Having fair, but long, eyelashes was a burden that she had never asked for as a woman and she did her best to hide it. Her eyelashes were one of the few things she was sensitive about when it came to her appearance.
She stepped into her kitchen/living room to find her Doberman, Toby, lying in his dog bed looking at her with big brown puppy eyes. He was only two years old, after all. He stood up and padded up to her side. She crouched down to hug him and scratch behind his ears. Toby had been her constant companion since she had gotten him as a puppy at the Gotham pet shelter. He had been bred to be a guard dog by some crime lord and had outstanding protective instincts. Melody swore that Toby was also one of the most intelligent animals she had ever come across, maybe more so than a few people she knew as well. He was completely tuned in to her emotions and knew exactly what she needed and when she needed it. She couldn't have asked for a better friend. Toby woofed happily as Melody filled up his food and water bowls. He ate and drank greedily while Melody made some toast, poured some pulp free orange juice, and took her assembly of vitamins and medications. She had an assortment of pills and supplements on her counter that made her feel like a pharmacist, or a drug dealer.
When both Toby and Melody were finished breakfast, she packed up her everyday purse with her phone and other essentials, and headed out the door with Toby at her heels. This was her everyday routine and routine was what she needed right now. She left Toby outside in the parking lot where he went to his little doghouse to sniff at one of his toys. The parking lot was for employees only, but nobody ever used it because all of Melody's employees didn't have a car, so the parking lot was Toby's domain. He liked to stay outside while Melody was working and it reassured Melody that nobody could get into her apartment because Toby would rip them to bits. Melody went through the gate to the front of the store where her morning staff was waiting for her. There was Charlie, the barista who worked the café, and Jean, the wheelchair bound heavy reader who never let her disability keep her from doing her job. Jean was pretty with her short straight blonde hair and her round face. She had eyes that sparkled with life and enthusiasm, something that Melody secretly envied. Charlie had a sweet face, the face of a boy whose cheeks you would want to pinch, despite the fact that he was built like a tank. He had approached Melody when she was opening the shop about adding a café to it and she had agreed as long as he ran it. Charlie's passion was coffee, something Melody didn't complain about seeing as how she consumed coffee as if it were water. He was also blond, with hair that was long for a man, but tied back in a short ponytail to keep professional.
Melody had no uniforms for the shop and had a very liberal dress code. The only thing she required of her employees was a nametag which both Charlie and Jean had pinned onto their shirts. Charlie liked to wear a red apron while he was in the café, though, to keep his clothes clean. Melody had no problem with it. Melody unlocked the door to the shop and her employees followed her in. She locked the door behind her, as it was not quite opening time yet. Charlie went right to his small café bar and started powering up the machines and brewing coffee. Jean clocked all three of them in while Melody pinned her nametag onto her top. She set her purse on the counter where the registers were, modified so that Jean could reach them. It meant that other employees had to sit down to use them but it was easier for everyone to bend a little than to make poor Jean try and reach for the register. Jean excused herself to the back room to lock up her things in the staff lockers while Charlie brought over some coffee for Melody.
"Is this a new concoction today?" Melody asked, taking a seat on the stool behind the register.
"It's blueberry coffee with vanilla syrup." Charlie explained, handing her the cup. "Two sugars, no cream. Just the way you like it."
"It only took you a year to remember that." Melody teased, taking a sip of the new drink Charlie had created. She swallowed and blinked up at him. "I think you should market it to people who like their coffee sweeter. It somewhat reminds me of pancakes." Melody reviewed.
Charlie grinned. "Is that good or bad?"
"It's exactly as I said it is." She replied, spinning around in her stool to see Jean returning to the floor. "Try this, Jean." Melody insisted, handing her employee the cup. Jean looked moderately alarmed but took a sip anyway.
Jean took a moment to consider the flavors before replying. "It kind of tastes like pancakes." She said, handing the cup back to Melody.
Melody shot Charlie a look. "I told you."
"Fine, I'll just take it back-" He reached for the cup but she pulled back from him.
"Did I give you the authorization required for you to repossess my coffee? I don't think so." Melody narrowed her eyes and took a sip from the cup. Charlie chuckled good-naturedly.
"You're in a sour mood." Charlie pointed out. "What happened last night?"
"The last time I checked I paid you to brew overpriced coffee beverages, not to be my therapist." Melody replied, quirking an eyebrow at him.
"The shop doesn't open for another half-hour. Tell Uncle Charlie what's the matter before you poison somebody with that snark." Charlie insisted, leaning forward on the counter. Jean rolled her eyes so Melody didn't have to.
"I'm going to put these books away and check the displays." Jean announced, lifting the medium sized box of books with ease and wheeling away through the shelves.
"If 'Uncle Charlie' really has to know, I have suffered a critical blow to the heart and when I decided to go and drink away my pain, as so many great authors and poets do, I was attacked on my way home and I just feel incredibly violated and angry despite the minimal damage I sustained the previous night." Melody explained, crossing her arms over her chest.
"You mean dickhead broke up with you last night?" Charlie's eyes lit up with amusement.
Melody scowled. "Is that all your tiny brain gathered from that statement?"
Charlie waved away her insult. "He was a dickhead and you know it. As for being attacked, I'm going to assume the attacker in question is in the hospital or at least in jail."
"What makes you so certain of that?"
Charlie gave her a droll look. "Because I've seen you nearly break a guy's hand before. You're tough, Melody. Don't let dickhead or this attack get to you. You're much too strong for that."
Melody shrugged her shoulders indifferently and sipped her coffee. "It's time to open up." She said, rising from her stool and heading for the door. Charlie took the hint and headed to the café bar and Jean continued to straighten the various displays of new books and bestsellers. Melody flipped the sign from closed to open and unlocked the door. The first few regulars trickled in promptly at 6:05 for their morning coffee. Business men, mostly, filled up the line at the café. A few of them bought newspapers to take with their specialty coffee drinks. Melody foresaw and easy day, which was nice because she knew she needed one.
Melody took her break shortly after Jean left and was replaced by Zoe, a tall dark-haired woman with strong Native American roots. Melody swallowed down her hand packed lunch, a simple garden salad, and went out to the front of the store for a cigarette. She regretted having that cigarette the night before, after so many years of being smoke free, but now that she had returned to the despicable habit it was all she could think about. She ran across the street to pick up a carton of her old favorites and a lighter, and then returned to the front of her store to smoke until her lungs turned black. Charlie tsked her as he went by, taking out the trash from the café.
"I thought you quit." He said, sounding genuinely disappointed.
"I did, but I find that polluting my lungs just pushes me towards my inevitable death which, let's face it, is probably better off happening sooner rather than later." Melody said, taking a long drag from her cigarette.
"For someone so pretty, you are so absolutely morbid." Charlie sighed, shaking his head. "It's off-putting."
"Don't you have coffee to be making?" Melody asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Charlie rolled his eyes but pestered her no more on the subject.
The afternoon was slow and Melody took the opportunity to do some reading. It wasn't any kind of professional reading, not the kind of reading someone would expect from a woman with a PhD. It was a smutty filthy romance novel, the kind that made Melody sigh aloud and gave her unrealistic expectations in both men and sex. These kinds of books were Melody's guilty pleasure, the kind of books that her fellow colleagues would frown upon her indulging in. She'd read all the greats, Shakespeare and Tennyson, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Emerson. She could quote lines from Charles Dickens' works just as easily as she could with one of the books she held in her hands. Melody was a sucker for a good story featuring a female heroine and a male hero entwined in life changing events. She lived for a good story. Literature was not just about the classics, not just about the quality of the writing or the fame of the author, it was about the story. It was the heart wrenching betrayals, it was the knee-trembling words spoken in the heat of battle, it was the romance scenes that made Melody's stomach fill with butterflies and her legs quiver that made a good story. It was, especially, the distance that these stories took her. These stories took her to made-up lands or different worlds hidden within her own. It took her away from painful reality, the astute awareness that Melody could only escape when she read. She loved books that made her cry and made her feel alive again. The measure of a good book was not of lessons learned or of the quality of writing, it was about how it made you feel. Books made Melody feel alive. When she read, it was the only time she felt truly alive.