𝐵𝓁𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝐹𝑜𝓇 𝑀𝑒

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 02

By the time I park my rusty pickup in front of Cocoa and Pastries, the café where I’ve been working for the past three months, I’m still lightheaded. On the contrary, my wallet feels very heavy in my pocket: it’s filled with ten crisp fifty-dollar bills that weren’t in there before.

I finally get to pay my rent and stop worrying about ending up on the streets—there is nothing better, to be honest.
I walk into the café from the back entrance, but before I can even get to the changing room, the door slams open and jo pokes his head inside the staff-only area.

“There you are. I need you to wait tables, Ama called in sick five minutes ago.” Classic Ama. I wonder what’s her excuse this time: the flu? Dysentery? Some bug devouring her from the inside?

“Alright” I sigh, forcing an unconvinced smile. “Five minutes and I’m out.”

Working at Cocoa and Pastries isn’t the worst: I like the place and the pay isn’t half bad. Plus, whenever I close, I get to take home the leftovers that would otherwise be thrown away. It’s a win-win situation.

Still, it’s not my dream job: the shifts are endless, the customers rude and the colleagues… well, let’s just say Perpetually-Sick-Ama is one of the best.

Today is pretty slow: there are few customers for most of my shift, so I aimlessly stroll around the café and pretend to wipe already clean tables, trying to make myself look busy in front of Jo.

I glance at the wall clock hanging behind the counter. Still half an hour to go and absolutely nothing to do. See, if Jo were a decent guy, he’d let us kill time: I could study, read, fill in applications for new jobs. Jo is anything but a decent guy, though, so we’re forced to work even when there’s no work to do.

The bells on the front door chime. I turn around in a heartbeat, eager for a distraction, but as soon as my eyes set on the newcomer, my enthusiasm quickly retracts.

The man entering the café with fast, nervous steps is none other than Ben J. Hamion. He looks around, his big blue eyes scanning the room, and before I can react, he finds me.

“Y/N.” His smile is sheepish and a bit guilty, too. “Hey, I… I didn’t know you’d be working today.” He rubs his neck in a circular motion. “What a coincidence.”

Coincidence my ass. I can’t prove it, but I just know he has a printed copy of my schedule—maybe he even put it on his fridge with a Colosseum Magnet keeping it in place.

“I’ll have someone take your order” I mumble, except there’s nobody but me waiting tables today.

Can I bribe the cook to do it? Before I can turn around to hide in the kitchen and think of a plan, Ben grabs my wrist with his thick, sweaty fingers. “Can’t you, like… do it yourself?” For a second, I don’t react: I feel his firm, demanding grip on me, his suffocating warmth hitting me in waves, his humid breath against my exposed forehead.

How I could I ever find his presence comforting?
I pull my arm free and open my mouth, ready to put him in his place, but I force myself to stop: Jo is staring at us from the other side of the café, right behind the cash register. It seems like he’s expecting a rage outburst from me, almost looking forward to it.

I close my mouth, letting out a shaky breath. “You can sit here” I snarl, my voice low and trembling, as I point at the closest table. “What would you like to order?”

He hesitates for a second, eyes lingering on me, then he sits down with a long sigh. “Just a coffee. You know how I take it, right? You haven’t forgotten.” It’s not a question, rather a firm statement. He’s assuming I still know how he likes his coffee. He’s not wrong: I remember everything, all those small, useless details I absorbed in the two and a half years we were together.

I would erase them all, if I only could; I would remove every single trace of him in a heartbeat. But sadly, I’m stuck with the memories, including the way he takes his stupid coffee. I could pretend not to remember—a petty tactic to show him he’s not on my mind anymore, that he has no jurisdiction over my thoughts. But I don’t want to be in his presence more than I strictly need to be, so I simply nod and back off toward the counter.

Ben likes his coffee diluted with half a cup of almond milk, two shots of caramel and some cinnamon dusted on top. It must be warm but not too much, and he wants it served with a teaspoon and a glass straw.

I set everything on a tray, adding napkins and sugar packets, but Ben is faster than me: he crosses the room with big, fast steps and takes a sit on a stool in front of the counter, a half-smile curving his mouth.
“I didn’t want you to walk all the way there, so I came here instead.” I avoid pointing out it would be a matter of ten steps, and I give him a nod, busy pretending to clean an imaginary spot on the counter.

I can’t believe he’s here again. And pretending he didn’t know I’d be working, too. It’s simply ridiculous.
“Hey, Y/N… can we please talk?” There he goes. He’s held back far too long for his standards.

“I told you last time, and the one before that” I say, turning my back to him. “I have nothing to tell you, and I’m not interested in whatever it is you have to say.”

“Yes, alright, I get it. But if you could only—”

“No, Ben.” I twirl around so fast my sight gets hazy and my head grows lighter for a second. I take a deep breath, fingers gripping the edge of the counter for a sense of stability. “No. It’s over. You can’t keep showing up everywhere I go, it’s creepy!”

He leans in, eyes wide, his breath coming out in short and erratic huffs. “But you’re not answering to my calls or messages! What else am I supposed to do?”

“Leave me alone” I articulate, holding his stare. “We’re done, okay? I don’t want to be with you, not anymore. Respect it.”

“I’m not respecting shit, we’re not done.” He slams his fists on the counter, the glasses lined next to the slushie machine clinking together. “We’re not fucking done. Not even close,
Y/N.”

I take in a deep breath, only partially aware of Jo’s hard stare on me. As if this whole thing were my fault. “You can’t force me to be with you.” My voice is weak, my words sound unconvinced, because deep down I know: he won’t listen, he never does.

After throwing a couple of crumpled bills on the counter, though, Ben steps back, his eyes still digging a hole in my head.

My sigh of relief is pointless: he may be going away for now, but he will come back.

Of this, I’m sure.

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