They’re coming for me. I’m not safe here. I need to escape.
I dash to my room to find my winter coat hidden in the depths of my wardrobe. The musky fragrance wrinkles my nose involuntarily. But the fear of my tormentors overpowers the smell of my coat, compelling me to escape. After finding my phone and my keys, I stow them away inside the pockets of my coat and cram my feet inside my Converser and hurry to tie the laces. I make a hasty retreat down the stairs and out of the building.
The bitter wind bites at my exposed flesh. Instinctively, I shrink inside my coat. With my mind blank, I allow my feet to determine our course. Once I reach the end of the street, I realize where they took me: to the cafe Alice and I visited earlier.
As I step across the threshold into the warm cafe, my cheeks throb and my nose runs. I rummage through the pockets of my coat, hoping a tissue will materialize.
“Hey, finally, a customer,” a man behind the counter chuckles.
Patsy, the waitress I met earlier, busies herself wiping down tables.
She stops to glance in my direction. “Cold night?” she asks while tugging a napkin free from the holder on the table and offers it to me.
I accept it and bring it to my nose. “Thank you, and yes, extremely cold night.”
“You came in earlier with a girl with blonde hair, didn’t you?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Come sit at the counter and I’ll take your order,” the man says. “Can I offer you something hot to drink? Coffee maybe?”
A hot blush rises to my cheeks as I recall the exact location of my purse; in my bag, resting on my bed.
I bury my head in my hands in shame. “I’m a complete idiot and left my purse at home. I’ll head back and grab it, then come right back.”
“No need. Whatever you want, it’s on the house,” the man says.
I unveil my face. “What? No. I couldn’t accept that.”
He rests his palms on the counter as he leans closer towards me. “Sure you can. I’m the manager, and I’m telling you it’s on the house.”
As I gaze into his caramel eyes, sincerity shines through. “Well, thank you. I would love another of those hot chocolates.”
He tucks his mop of ash-blond hair behind his ears before turning away to prepare my beverage.
“Patsy,” he calls over his shoulder. “Come take a break. I’m making hot chocolates.”
With his back towards me, I’m able to watch him without detection. He’s dressed unusually for a manager: khaki trousers and a simple white t-shirt. I’m accustomed to seeing managers in suits, like Angelo wears at the club. But maybe this is the appropriate dress wear for cafes. He’s not too tall, but he has a muscular physique, almost bursting out of his shirt. If I passed by him on the street, I would peg him as a builder, not a manager of a cafe.
With her cloth and a bottle of disinfectant still in hand, Patsy perches on a stool beside me, resting her elbows on the counter.
“Oh, my feet are sore tonight,” she groans.
The man turns with two mugs of hot chocolate in his hands. He nods towards the cleaning equipment still in Patsy’s hands. “Shouldn’t you put those away?” he asks.
She giggles. “Oh, good idea.”
She rests them on the counter beside her.
“Here you go.” He sets a steaming mug in front of me and another one before Patsy. “What’s your name?”
“Eva,” I say as I shed my coat.
He offers a hand. “Nice to meet you, Eva. I’m John.”
With my eyes trained on him, I slide my hand in his warm one.
Angelo’s touch sends tingles dancing along my skin.
A curve caresses my lips. How strange for a handshake to prompt that memory.
“Cute accent you have there, Eva,” he comments, causing my cheeks to flush.
“Thanks,” I mumble, withdrawing my hand from his.
“Where are you from?” Patsy asks, gaining my full attention.
“Cinderwoods.”
“Since when do people from Cinderwoods have English accents?” John asks.
I keep my focus on Patsy, hoping the glow from my cheeks will diminish. “My parents were from England and I adopted their accent.”
“Oh, that’s cool.” His voice appears distant and I search for him. He has his back to us.
After collecting his mug, he leans his elbows on the counter, nestling his mug between his palms, and glances out the door.
“Cold out there tonight. Doubt anyone else will come in,” he remarks.
“It gives us plenty of time to sit around and drink hot chocolates,” Patsy replies.
As they continue to converse, I examine John’s face in fascination. I wouldn’t classify him as handsome, or even attractive. However, there’s something pleasant about his features that live on an oblong face with a square jawline. His nose is long, and his lips are rather thick. Even his eyebrows resemble a worn-out broom, and a divot sits in the center of his chin. What is it I find so appealing?
After scrutinizing his face for a while, it finally comes to me; his eyes. The genuine generosity and caring nature shine within them.
He returns his attention back to me, snapping his fingers, then extending one of them towards me as excitement drenches his voice. “I just figured out where I know you from,” he says. “You’re a singer at Club Stang, right?”
“Yes.”
His palms clap against the counter as he turns to Patsy. “Oh, you should hear this girl sing. She’s amazing!”
I have the sudden urge to hide in my mug, wishing it wasn’t so hot or coated in whip cream. I cup my hands around the mug to warm them, and stare at the cream as John continues to praise my talents to Patsy, something I’m not accustomed to.
“When are you singing again?” John asks.
As I gaze back up at him, his caramel eyes glimmer, reminding me of Clyde and his loving glances from not too long ago.
Please don’t flirt with me, John, I silently plead. I’m not sure my heart can take it.
“Wednesday,” I say.
“You should come with me,” his exuberantly exclaims to Patsy.
“As long as Eva doesn’t mind,” she replies.
“No, not at all,” I say. “Everyone’s welcome.”
“Then I’d love to. Only two more hours to go. Exactly how cold is it out there?”
“Freezing,” I exclaim. “I’m still not warmed up yet.”
“You poor thing. John, can we give Eva a ride home?”
“Sure. Where do you live?”
“Sutton Road, but you don’t have to do that. It’s not that far away.”
“We pass there all the time,” Patsy says. “That’s on the way to my apartment.”
I can’t say I’m thrilled to venture out in the cold again. Accepting their offer might not be too terrible.
“Well, as long as you’re sure, thank you,” I concede.
“John, I’ve cleaned all the tables, floors mopped, anything else?”
“Nope. The kitchen is all finished. If it wasn’t for the time clock, I would let us go now. Still, we can spend the next two hours getting to know each other.”
His eyes gravitate back to mine. Once again, I stare at my drink.
As the evening progresses, I find I enjoy Patsy and John’s company more than I expected to.
Since childhood, they’ve become close friends, electing to stay within the city and work together. Patsy lives with her long-term boyfriend, while John lives alone, having just ended a relationship. John served in the military for a few years, which explains his muscular appearance, and now he works alongside Patsy in this cafe.
Much to my discomfort, John’s intense stare remains on me throughout the evening. First Clyde, and now John. I’m reluctant to engage in any form of relationship with another man; I know that when John discovers my devotion towards Angelo, it will end the same way. Though I avert my gaze when I converse with him, I still sense his eyes examining every
curve and contour of my body through my thick hoodie. How can I show him I’m not interested?
“It’s time to close up,” Patsy sings.
John releases me from his intense stare and disappears into the kitchen. At least I can breathe a little easier for now.
Within twenty minutes, the three of us brave the winter weather as we march towards John’s car. Patsy offers me the front seat.
Once we’re settled in the car, John speaks. “I have a free day tomorrow. Usually, I go visit Patsy, but she’s working, so I’m all alone. Eva, if you like, we can meet up and hang out?”
Though my head is screaming at me to say no because I don’t want to endure another round of him looking at me the way a dog looks at a steak, my mouth accepts his invitation.
As I ponder my decision, I realize my subconscious knew I would once again spend the day alone with my thoughts while Alice works. Besides, it would be good for me to befriend new people.
The car idles outside my apartment as we finalize tomorrow’s arrangements. John will be at my apartment by eleven o’clock. After thanking him for the ride home and telling Patsy it was nice meeting her, I get out of the car before John generates any other ideas (like trying to kiss me goodbye) and sprint to my apartment, not waiting for my new friends to leave.
I order myself out of bed and into the shower the next morning. Not wanting to entice John, I decide to wear a pair of jeans, a red hoodie, and my leather jacket, having tossed my pungent winter coat in the washing bin once I returned home last night. After my hair dries, I tie it back in a ponytail and inspect myself in the mirror. A plain Jane. Just what I’d hoped for.
The buzzer sounds.
“Hey, Eva,” Patsy’s cheerful voice says. “We’re waiting for you in the car.”
“I thought you had work today?” I inquire.
“I did. Come down and I’ll explain in the car. It’s freezing out here.”
I grab my scarf and gloves and exit my apartment.
The moment I leave the building, Patsy hops out of the car. She wears her hair down today, reaching just below her shoulders. She’s adorned in jeans and a thick mauve coat, which she’s zipped all the way up to her chin. Only her nose and eyes peep out.
“I’ll sit in the back,” I offer, climbing into the back seat before she objects.
“Hi Eva,” John greets me. He wears a short, gray jacket with a black scarf draped around his neck. “Could it possibly be colder than last night?”
“It certainly feels that way,” I say.
Once Patsy settles in the front seat, John begins our journey.
Last night, I could have walked home quicker than John drove. But I gave him the benefit of the doubt (it was dark after all). Today, however, it’s cold yet sunny and he still drives like a grandma.
Patsy twists in her seat. “I spoke to my boss,” she says, pointing towards John, “and asked if I could call in sick so I could spend the day with you. Of course, he said yes, so here I am.”
“I’m thrilled you’re here,” I say, omitting the part about being a little afraid to be alone with John.
Despite the speed demon’s driving, I had a fantastic time with my new friends. After exerting our energy from walking around the mall, we stopped for a late lunch and then watched a movie before heading home. John invited me back to his apartment to spend quality alone time together. But I felt apprehensive about being alone with him in his domain and politely declined his invitation.
“Thank you again for taking me,” I say as I exit the car.
“Thanks for coming with us,” Patsy says.
This time, I wait by the building door and wave goodbye before heading inside.
As I skip my way up the stairs, ready to recap my day to Alice, my phone rings. I pause before my front door to retrieve it.
“Hey, Alice,” I answer.
“Hi, Eva. I’m just calling to let you know I won’t be home tonight,” she says.
“Oh, okay,” I sigh, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice.
She giggles. “Stop it,” she says to the man with her, a voice I’ve become all too familiar with.
The fun and laughter I’ve captured throughout the day with John and Patsy dissolves, leaving behind a heavy, yet hollow, ache in my heart.
Though I can’t hear what he’s saying to her, I hear his laughter mingle with hers.
Until now, I’ve only speculated their relationship. But now they’re exhibiting their affections.
The heavy stone materializes in my stomach, while the acrid taste gathers in my mouth. This time, however, I’m not hurled into the abyss, to torture myself for hours on end, resenting my indiscretions. The anger smolders through my body like hot lava; a volcano ready to erupt.
“Alice? Alice!” I yell.
“Oh, sorry babe, I need to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She hangs up before I can respond, fueling my anger.
The urge to scream, to hit something, consumes my mind.
Enough with the secrecy and the lies. Why can’t she admit she’s with him? It started before I met him, and therefore she wanted me to keep my distance. I can accept it. I couldn’t care less if they only started dating a week ago. But, knowing how I feel about him, the least she can do is admit that she’s seeing him so I can try to move on.
Slamming the front door behind me only eases a minuscule amount of rage. I glance over to Alice’s door and have the urge to open and slam it closed again. But it disappears immediately, leaving Alice’s door intact.
Invisible bands tighten around my chest, making it impossible to breathe. The surrounding walls close in, depleting all the air. The room spins and my steps to falter. I need to leave the apartment. Now, I somewhat regret declining John’s invitation.
I dump my jacket and winter accessories on my bed and peer into my laundry basket. There isn’t much in there, not enough for a full load. But it will take my mind off Alice and Angelo for a while. I hoist my laundry basket into my arms and head down to the basement where the washers and dryers live.
The cool, murky basement is just as neglected as the rest of the building. Cobwebs gather dust in the corners and on the light fixture, while a thin layer of dust has settled on top of the machines. Three washing machines and three dryers line a wall with four, white, plastic garden chairs placed in front. One chair gained the duty of being a table, holding a little stack of magazines.
The unwritten rule is for everyone in the building to add money to the pool for the machine’s service and purchase of the laundry detergent and dryer sheets. I plunge my hand into my jeans pocket and dig out the loose change. 71 cents. Not much, but at least it’s something.
The large box of detergent sits on the end washing machine, along with the dryer sheets and coin box for our donations. After depositing my meager contribution in the box, I cram my clothing into a machine and begin the cycle.
I sit in a chair with the magazines beside me and select the first one. The pages are dog-eared and torn. Clearly, it has been thoroughly read. How long has it been sitting here?
A quick glance at the date on the front page shows it’s lived here longer than I have. I discard it back to the pile and shove my hands into my pockets to search for my phone.
Damn, I left it on my bed.
I leave my hands in my pockets and survey the basement.
Despite its unsightly appearance, love expels from the walls, much like the walls in my apartment. The pipes creak as they recount their stories of all they have witnessed, leaving me with a sense of tranquility.
The machine beeps at the end of its cycle, waking me; I hadn’t realized I’d dozed off.
After shoving my wet clothes into an empty dryer, I slouch back in the chair, regretting leaving my phone upstairs during my frantic dash to vacate the apartment. All I have to entertain myself are my thoughts, and those become treacherous most of the time.
“Hello, young lady,” a male voice greets me.
I recognize h
im immediately. It’s Mr. Thompson, the resident night owl.
“Hello, Mr. Thompson. Are you here to do some laundry?” I ask.
“Actually, no. I saw the light burning, so I thought I would pay a visit.” He shuffles towards me. “You’re up late, aren't you?”
“It’s not even eight o’clock.”
He chuckles. “Of course. It’s only the elderly who sleep so early.”
“Clearly, you are one of us young ones since you’re not asleep,” I tease.
The divots in his face deepen as he smiles. “May I sit?”
“Of course.”
After easing himself into the chair beside me, he sighs. “I’m afraid to say, I don’t sleep often.”
“Is it rude to ask why?”
He clasps my hand within his cold, wrinkled one. “I have nightmares.”
I arch my eyebrows. “What gives you nightmares?”
He pats my hand. “I shouldn’t be burdening you with my problems, dear.”
I tilt my head to one side, allowing the smile to emerge. “I have nightmares too.”
His gray eyes glimmer. “Oh, we have something in common.”
I chew on my lip, pondering if I should share my dreams with him or not. I barely know him, yet something tells me I can trust him with my demons.
“Usually, they’re about my past,” I say.
“I have the same problem. As old as I am, my foster parents still come back to haunt me.”
I blink several times. “You were a foster child too?”
“A long time ago, yes.”
“I had no idea.”
He chuckles. “Why would you? It’s not like we wear a badge or have a secret handshake.”
I giggle. “No, you’re right.”
I look at our hands as the memories of my past invade my mind. But having Mr. Thompson nearby helps me endure the torment, something I’ve yet to experience with anyone else, even Alice. Could we be kindred spirits?
“If you wouldn’t mind me asking, do the memories haunt you every night?” I ask.
“For years, the dreams stopped, and I could sleep. I had my wife and best friend to thank for that. She died ten years ago, and ever since I’ve suffered from insomnia,” he tells me.
Twisted City: (Twisted City Book 1) Page 16