The Brilliant Magnetism of Painful Misunderstanding

Let me tell you a story. It’s not a long one.

Listening? Good.

It was a Friday in October. It had been raining all day, and after having lost my umbrella to an unfortunate wind gust that blew it into a passing car, I ended up a soaking mess. Work was no better. Every droplet of rain could have never compared to the eternity-long seconds that made up sitting at that desk, waiting for someone to tell you to hit a button, hitting a button, and returning to waiting. Meandering. Tiring. Words, words, there are no words for it. Overdramatic? Not to me. Not when I’m the one sitting and watching, staring at the people who pass by my desk. Doing things. Existing.

I don’t know how long my shifts are anymore. I start packing up when the guy who smells like mouthwash starts telling me to come get a meal with him. I’ve stopped telling him no after he told the boss I threatened to kill him. Ignoring him seems to excite him, which must be why he hasn’t tried to bash my skull in yet. I can see his dick pitching a tent whenever we’re on the elevator ride down, and he desperately tries to get me to acknowledge him. I got past the company building’s bounds today and wondered if when he gives up he gets in his driver's seat and jacks off then and there, whimpering to himself about the horrible mean bitch who never gives him a chance.

I thought about that all the way to the bar, its bright red sign beaming in the rain. I went in, my clothes sticking to me, letting my form be visible to any pair of eyes desperate enough to peek at any random woman they can find. I sat at the front, ordered a brandy, whatever the bartender recommended, and just stared at the wood under my arms. I kept thinking about it. How it felt to stare blankly at the same room, for hours, waiting for something to happen. It sounds like something I would have dreamed of as a kid. I’m sure I did. I wonder if that same kid would be horrified that it came true.

I saw the glass enter my field of vision. The liquid inside swished and swayed, a little straw sitting there waiting for me. I wonder if that kid would be terrified of how much she looked like her mom. Fuck that kid, who is she to judge? If she wants to do better, she can come and take the wheel anytime. I take the glass and sip, letting the warmth spread through my body, my nerves and heart. It gives me closure. Maybe I could die right here and be content that I found the answer to all my problems, even if it fixed none of them, when I heard the front entrance open. What a bizarre thing, over the sound of people chattering and eating and music playing, to hear a door opening, I thought, turning my head.

There she was.

I remember the exact moment she walked in. I remember the way the rain dipped through her soft looking, curly black hair. How her sweet emerald eyes stared down at the umbrella in her hands, brimming with some kind of indescribable energy. The softness of her cheeks. The black crop top sweater hanging just over her bare tummy, the tight black jeans, it was all…so…the right word didn’t come, so I simply remained transfixed, my drink spilling out through my lips. Her head shifted just an inch, her eyes sliding from the umbrella in her hands to me. Our gazes locked. Disinterested. No, wait, I saw her muscles moving. Was she curious?

Ah. Crap. I looked away, trying to focus on the single bit of splintered wood on the mostly smooth bar’s surface. I could feel the tingles forming in my fingers, but whatever they were, I did my best to focus on my drink. However, I couldn’t help but notice that feeling of contentment had faded away, replaced by something I couldn’t seem to pinpoint. Better than any of the other feelings I’ve come to know. I felt my lips forming some childish grin when-

“Hello.” In an almost half whisper, I could hear a gentle voice aimed just at me. I heard myself let out some kind of response. She looked entertained, her eyes narrowing just a bit, her lips forming a little smirk. I did my best to keep from looking away. She ordered a whiskey, the brand I didn’t hear. Her finger tapped against the wood as the shot glass in front of her was filled. Shiny red fingernails…I could feel her gaze on me. It didn’t feel curious anymore, or annoyed. It felt accepting, playful, filled with joy. I didn’t understand.

“Get this girl a shot too if you don't mind.” The man behind the counter gave a chuckle before filling another glass, pushing it before me. Uh…huh? “Let’s talk girlie, I promise it’ll be more entertaining than staring.” She placed two fingers on her glass, picking it up and holding it close to her face. It hung there, waiting, waiting for me to join her. I carefully picked up my own glass when I heard her whisper. “Go ahead~.” My hesitance felt as though it had been burned to ash.

I brought it to my lips. Burned. God it burned, and breathing hurt for long enough to be concerning, but I managed. I felt a hand on my right shoulder as I started to catch my breath, running a finger over my collarbone. “There we go, now that’s how we do it girlie. Go ahead and get us two more sir.” The sureness in her voice had my heart starting to pick up in pace. Another…? I gulped, when I felt my fingers wrapping around another glass. How quaint, it appeared my body was far less concerned than my brain. No, even my brain was far from working off anything like worry. The drink hit my throat and burned just a bit less, as if becoming numb. Nnngh…I felt a hand turning my face to see into hers, that other hand on my shoulder turning into a massaging grip.

“Having fun?” Her voice was hazy. “I’m having fun too~.” I could feel that sweet whisper bouncing around in my head. I can’t tell if I tried to resist its temptation to make me take the next shot that formed itself into my hand, or fully embraced it, but regardless, I took it. I drank it, I felt it eroding at my insides. It hurt. I liked it. I loved it. “Girlie, you look like you’re gone, hehe~” What a sweet sweet voice. I can see the image of her taking down shot after shot. Incredible…those glasses are so lucky. I want to feel those lips all over my worthless body, sucking off all the layers of apathy that had sewn themselves around me as I festered in that seat, at that desk, for so long. I felt myself clawing against my own skin, my soul doing anything it could to try and make me move. My hand, shaking, tried to reach out, until I felt something solid form inside it, something it held tight to on instinct. That wish to touch her cheek, she reflected back at me, holding and groping my burning up cheek and staring warmly, expectantly, her hand guiding mine to my lips. The warmth flooded downwards, destroying me in a way I hope can never be fixed. The desire to talk is there, but all that comes out are mumbles. She giggles. Her thumb entered my mouth, pulling it open, making my panting tongue fall out.

“What’s wrong girlie?” Her hand tried to move, but I didn't let it. I held tight like a desperate dog. That just made her giggle more. She said something. I didn't hear it. Her lips looked so nice, so plump, so gentle. I felt my body moving, as though it were floating, somewhere else. My mind was incapable of feeling fear, uncertainty, anything but a hazy wish for annihilation. I focused. Focused on the warmth in my left hand, until it disappeared. Only then did my vision return to me. That woman…her goddess face…her nude, goddess form…she touched me with hands covered by plastic black gloves. Ahh…am I naked as well? My bare skin made contact with her careful touch. I felt her fingers caress the shape of my chest, moving down, tracing and shaping me, till they took hold of my hips. I could feel her hands moving. I must’ve been shaking.

I couldn’t see her anymore, but I could feel her. The sense of something foreign and warm entangling with the inside of me made my voice escape through my lazy lips. The feel of the volume of my voice ricocheted through my throat, however, it only existed as faint echoes in my ears. Drifting, drifting, this feeling carried my mind far away. It was electric, I loved it. Just like this, I knew I was safe.

Something different, something incredible, I felt as though I could cry.

That pleasant feeling…dissipated with the sound of a kettle blowing. I stared groggily at the ceiling above me. Huh? I didn’t recognize this. Where was I? I sat up just a bit, and groaned. The feeling of a thin mattress, just a few inches of material between me and the hardwood floor, imprinted itself on my bare back. The blanket that had been covering me fell away, revealing bite marks and bruises. They ached at the slightest touch, but not enough. I heard a mug touch the floor. Coffee was waiting there when I looked. Footsteps moved around me, but I couldn’t catch their owner before they disappeared around a corner.

I turned back to the coffee, picking up the mug. There was a post-it waiting under it.

Thanks for the fun. Your clothes are clean and waiting next to the bed.

Thanks for the fun. Right. The fun. I rubbed the paper between my fingers. I sipped from the mug, and after a while, got dressed and went to turn the corner. No one was there. I left.

This is the story of why I don’t drink coffee anymore.