Pining & Loving

by Emma Sterner-Radley

  She put the sandwich in a paper bag and gave it to Mocha.

  “Ah, thank you. Can I get a napkin as well?”

  Gwen stared at her in confusion for a moment. Who had time for napkins when one of the biggest bright points of her life was moving to bloody Chester?

  She snapped out of it. “Yes, of course.”

  As she handed over two napkins, she noticed that her hands were still shaking. Trying to make them stop made her fumble so the napkins didn’t quite make into Mocha’s outstretched hand. They fell, but before they hit the floor, they were picked up by the coffee drinker in the saffron hoodie.

  “You, uh, dropped these,” she said to Mocha.

  That obviously wasn’t true. Mocha was too in control of her body to be dropping things like that.

  Nevertheless, Mocha took them and without a glance at the stranger thanked her before leaving the café. “Thanks for the great service, and good luck in future,” she said over her shoulder to Gwen.

  Then she was gone. Just like that.

  Like it hadn’t been an important part of her day coming in here every morning for small talk, semi-flirting, and a mocha. Well, it probably hadn’t.

  It had been to Gwen, though.

  She grabbed the counter. The sensation of her blood pulsing slower in her veins overtook her, making her feel dejected as well as dizzy. Everything was colourless again. No more anticipation of seeing Mocha to get her out of bed each morning. No more glimpses of Mocha to fuel endless, vivid daydreaming.

  What would be the new highlight of her day be? Maybe she could buy a pet? Or start every day with a call to her best friend? No, Charlotte was busy in the mornings.

  Besides, no one deserves the pain of hearing your depressive whinging every damn day.

  Gwen surveyed the café and spotted the chocolate éclairs. Maybe she should start eating chocolate in the morning? No, maintaining her blood sugar levels helped her keep on top of her depression, and she already had to factor in the honey in her tea. She wouldn’t get a hobby, considering she already had drawing characters from TV shows and books for commissions on social media to fill that slot. No, she’d need another sort of kick, but what the hell would give her the same sort of adrenaline rush as seeing Mocha every day?

  Feeling despondent, she scanned the café further. The paint peeling on the walls and the constant smell of sugar and coffee, which she’d loved at first, were suddenly unbearable.

  The woman in the hoodie ambled over. Gwen mechanically poured her some coffee and took payment, her brain busily searching for a plan. Maybe she could somehow keep seeing Mocha. If only she had gotten her real name. Or an email or something. Then she could have contacted her and stayed in touch.

  Gwen groaned inwardly. How? And what would be the point? Not only did they not know each other, but this woman was so far out of her league that it was hilarious. The two of them becoming some sort of weird pen pals would be like an impeccably cut diamond hanging out with a commonplace pebble. In her mind’s eye, she saw a flawless diamond in a little mocha coat and a grimy pebble with a bit of blonde and blue hair stuck on top. She covered her eyes and sniggered under her breath. The snigger soon died away. She couldn’t even rely on her weird sense of humour to get her through this.

  Gwen regarded the door which had ushered Mocha out of her life. What was stopping her from going out that door, too? Right this minute? She didn’t much like this job. Nor her flat. Nor her therapist. She could just leave Stoke.

  Slowly, common sense began trickling back into her mind. This job wasn’t perfect, but she liked it well enough and the pay was pretty good. She couldn’t risk losing it. Especially not if you really are at the start of another severe depression period. You might not be able to work soon, she reminded herself. Not the time to take risks.

  She couldn’t leave Charlotte behind either. Her best friend had saved her life and was her rock, just as Gwen was hers. They needed each other.

  Despite that, Gwen’s gaze kept returning to the door. Maybe she shouldn’t walk out on her life because her crush was moving, but she could take some of her vacation days. That would give her a chance to think things through. Maybe, just maybe, she could find Mocha and talk to her again. Just some small talk. That would give her inspiration for her art as well as her daily dose of serotonin.

  She put her hand above her left breast, a soothing gesture to feel her heartbeat, as she kept thinking. Even if she didn’t find Mocha, at least she would get to see Chester. She’d been told it was a real tourist destination with its Roman walls and unique architecture. She didn’t have a car, but there were plenty of trains. She chewed her lip and tapped her hand on her chest in time to her heartbeats. This was the sort of decision she usually spent a lot of time pondering, weighing the pros and cons, perhaps even talking it over with her therapist. But where had that sort of caution gotten her? Her life wasn’t very exciting, was it? Maybe that was why she craved the pick-me-up that seeing Mocha gave her. Why she needed the daydreams.

  In her mind’s eye she saw Mocha. That smile. That walk. That flirtatious tone in her voice. Her heartbeat picked up under her hand. Energy fizzed in her blood, and she breathed in so deeply that her chest and belly filled with the coffee-scented air.

  She slammed her palm down on the counter.

  Yes. She’d take a quick trip to Chester.

  She called the café’s owners, certain that they’d let her take a couple of days’ leave despite the short notice. They owed her that much for all the extra responsibility and time she put in. Oh, and for putting up with Dave, who incidentally would love taking some extra shifts to pay for booze.

  As the dial tone on her mobile sounded, Gwen was deciding whether to ask for one day off or two. Either way, she was taking the train to Chester first thing tomorrow.

  Chapter Six

  Shower Decisions

  It was late at night, and Aya was at home, enjoying a hot, muscle-relaxing shower after a long run. She wasn’t enjoying her thoughts, though.

  The job search was still a bust. She had been on a call this afternoon, for a waitress job she didn’t even want, and had been told at the end of it that they needed someone a little more ‘bubbly’. Her meagre savings from her old career were spent, so now she had to be on benefits until she found a new job.

  Still, while rinsing all the shampoo out of her long hair, Aya dredged up some of her past optimism. She was a fighter; she’d get up and try again. There must be loads of jobs out there. Maybe she should widen her search, apply for positions in admin perhaps? The worst that could happen was that they would say she was underqualified.

  There was a knock on the door. “Aya, are you almost done?” her mum called, impatience in every syllable.

  A fresh wave of exasperation hit Aya, this time at living with her parents. Moving out hadn’t been a priority when she boxed and travelled from match to match. Now that she was home all the time, she needed her own place. She needed time to herself. Actually, if she was honest with herself, what she needed first was some socialising and some fun. Maybe even to get laid, if she could remember how to talk to women without sounding weird. But how was she meant to do that in her parents’ house in Stoke? There was nothing but the lukewarm, stale sense of failure surrounding her. How was she meant to keep up her usual optimism when everything here dragged her down?

  She watched the shampoo foam slide down her body and gather at her feet.

  “Did you hear me?” her mum called.

  She snapped out of her reverie. “Yes, Mum. I’ll hurry up.”

  “Good. Your dad and I have had long days at work. We’d both like to take a shower before we have to go to bed to soon get up for another long day of work, you know!”

  “I know. I’ll be out soon.”

  Aya’s frustration made way for shame. Your dad and I have had long days at work. Another jab from her parents, who believed that solid work was all there was to life. Another reminder that she wasn’t working, wasn’t payi
ng her way. That she kept failing.

  As she grabbed the conditioner bottle, she had all but decided. She didn’t dwell on decisions and trusted her gut when it gave her an impulse. The impulse now was to leave all this failure and shame in Stoke for a while, to breathe other air.

  A chance to get out of the bloody house and out of Stoke. To see something new.

  Yep, she’d give herself a quick reset through a getaway. She’d start the drive right after breakfast tomorrow.

  Chapter Seven

  A Rude Knight in Shining Armour

  Gwen hadn’t eaten breakfast. She’d woken up with intrusive, depressive thoughts and that dull, deadening ache in her chest. Trying to combat that had taken all morning, resulting in having to get ready and dressed in far too much of hurry. The panicked stress still buzzed in her body, making her uncomfortable and frazzled.

  Although, between sleepless tossing and the occasional nightmare last night, the cruel sleep gods had allowed her a wet dream about Mocha. She focused on that. Her dream had given her a vivid account of how it might feel to run her hands over Mocha’s hourglass body and kiss the lipstick off those vermillion lips. Half distracted, Gwen snatched up her shoes and then had to laugh. She’d put on mismatched socks in her hurry. One navy blue and one black.

  Well, at least I didn’t pull them over my jeans like good old Edward.

  She chuckled as she pulled her shoes on, but her brain kept whirring, ruining her attempt at humour.

  Wait. Did I take my antidepressants? Yes, I did. I should’ve eaten something with them, though. Bollocks. I don’t think a gulp of coconut milk counts.

  She grabbed her jacket and left her flat. Standing in the slowly moving lift, she ran her fingers through her hair.

  Man, I hope I look okay. I should’ve done my hair and make-up. Great. Now I’m useless AND ugly.

  When she passed Stoke Minster, she checked her watch. She was late now. Very late. It was about a seven-minute walk from here to the train station. Her train left in five. She took off running. About a year ago she’d started to take brisk walks every day to help her mental health, but sprinting was a whole other thing, especially in her current state. She was out of breath in seconds, her legs trembling and a serious stitch in her side.

  She had to slow down to a walk, and by the time she was ready to start sprinting again, she was at the station and had to wait for the ticketing gates to scan her ticket and open. When she’d located her track and rushed to it, the train was pulling away.

  She dropped her hands to her sides. “Come back,” she whimpered. The train just kept chugging down the tracks. Mocking her.

  Gwen was exhausted from lack of sleep and her rough morning. Not to mention the lack of breakfast, the physical exhaustion of the run, and, of course, the fact that she’d bought a ticket for that specific train and would now have to buy a new one. She slumped on the nearest bench and fought back tears.

  When she noticed people around her giving her strange looks, she forced herself up and back out through the ticket gates. She wished she could ignore what others thought of her, the way she did most of the time. Now however, she felt their staring and their judgement like pinpricks on her skin. She needed to get away from prying eyes and walk a little to collect her thoughts. She knew that she should get some breakfast and then buy a ticket for the next train. That was the sensible next step. That was what a non-mentally ill person would do. Right now, though, that felt as impossible to Gwen as single-handedly draining a lake.

  The tears welled up in her eyes. She blinked them away as best she could, furious with her uncooperative mind and body.

  Thank goodness I didn’t have time to put mascara on this morning. I’d look like a melodramatic raccoon by now.

  She saw another bench and sank down on that, watching cars whizz by on their way to work. The drivers all seemed so in control of their fates. So aware of what they needed to do and how to do it. So disciplined and energetic and—she let the tears fall freely now— so in control. They just did things, without having to fight every demon their brains could conjure to simply be able to take a deep breath. Or another step. It wasn’t fair.

  A Nissan sped past, hitting a puddle and spraying water up the pavement and onto Gwen’s shoes. They were soaked. Of course. Obviously, anything that could go wrong today would do so. With bells on.

  She closed her eyes to slow the tears soaking her cheeks. She sniffled, part of her wondering if she had tissues in her bag, the rest of her mind arguing that it didn’t matter if she was snotty and people saw it. That last thought was frightening. This meltdown was okay; Gwen could handle sadness and dejection. She worried more about what might come next. She could end up in one of the worst stages of depression: the vast, dark ocean of nothingness where there were no emotions, no energy, no point to anything. This horrible day might undo the work she’d been doing for so long, the work of staying above the surface and not letting depression drown her. What if it dragged her all the way down?

  She leaned forward, hugging her arms around herself. Her eyes were still closed, but she heard a car pull up.

  No, don’t help, please don’t ask me how I’m doing. I can’t pretend to be okay. And you can’t help me. We will both feel worse if you try, she mentally told the stranger.

  She opened her puffy eyes and saw a pair of scuffed leather boots. She followed them up a short pair of thin, muscular legs in tight jeans. Then there was a grey, long-sleeved top with a print reading “Muscles & Mitts” hugging a slender waist, the rounding of breasts and brawny shoulders and arms. When Gwen got as far as the face, she realised it was one she’d seen before. But where? Gwen’s brain was sluggish, and her eyes weren’t much sharper through this damn veil of tears. The buff woman took off a pair of aviator sunglasses, the kind whose mirror-like lenses always reminded Gwen of shiny armour.

  The part of her that was still above the surface of the sea of depression was mortified that someone who knew her was seeing her as this ugly, crying mess. She might not care much about the opinion of others but even she wouldn’t let people see her like this.

  The rest of her mind just didn’t care, though. Because what was the point? What was the point of anything?

  The stranger fiddled with her sunglasses. “Um. Hi. Are you all right?”

  “Sure. I’m having the time of my life,” Gwen said in what she hoped was a jokey tone.

  “Uh-huh. Do you need me to, I don’t know, call someone or something?”

  “No. Ignore this. I suffer from depression, and I’m having a bit of a breakdown. It’ll pass.” Gwen had given this speech so many times in her life that it just rolled off her tongue.

  “Okay,” the other woman muttered.

  She didn’t get back into her car, though. Instead she put the sunglasses back on. Then took them off again, fidgeted with them, then put them on again. Finally, she sighed and groused, “Look, I’m not good with people or stuff like this, but I don’t think I should leave you here. Not in your state. Can I at least give you a lift somewhere?”

  Gwen gave a hollow laugh. “Sure, how about Chester? That was where I was going before I missed my sodding train.”

  The stranger put her hands on her hips. Then she frowned and hummed pensively.

  Gwen saw her own reflection in the mirror-armour of the sunglasses and quickly fished a Coffee4U napkin out of her jacket pocket to blow her nose. Sadly, there was nothing she could do about her swollen eyes or the dark circles under them. When she’d blown her nose, the black-haired woman was still looking like she was actually considering the joke about driving to Chester. Gwen had to say something.

  “You do know I was just kidding? I don’t expect you to drive an hour to Chester for me. You’re probably going to work, right? I bet I’ve already made you late. I’m so sorry about that.”

  “No,” the stranger snapped. “I don’t have a bloody job.”

  “Oh, okay,” Gwen said, silently agreeing with this woman’s earlier statement t
hat she wasn’t great with people.

  A muscle bounced in the stranger’s cheek, and then her hands dropped from her hips. “Look, I don’t mind driving an hour to anywhere. It’s just that I’m not used to having people in my Jeep, especially not strangers. Crying strangers at that. But I don’t want to be rude and you clearly need help. So…” She fell silent.

  Gwen said nothing, waiting for the rest of the sentence. When it was clear that nothing else was forthcoming, she prompted, “Wait, you’re actually offering to drive me to Chester? I can’t inconvenience you like that.”

  The muscly woman appeared confused, or maybe conflicted, for second. “Yeah. Bugger it. Get in.”

  Gwen glanced from the car, which looked to her like one of those little army jeeps from old movies, to its owner. Sure, this woman was helpful. And attractive. Not to mention familiar. But she was also quite rude. Was a rude stranger really what Gwen needed when she was so emotionally fragile and had a place to get to? Did she want to spend her precious day off with this person?

  She remembered the napkin in her hand. She wasn’t crying anymore. Nor had she fallen into that bottomless ocean where she felt nothing. In fact, she was curious about this woman and maybe a little bit insulted at the rudeness.

  That was feeling something. Even better, it was something that wasn’t sadness, dejection, or self-loathing. She took that as a sign and stood up. On wobbly legs, she walked over to the Jeep and got in.

  Chapter Eight

  Janet on the M6

  Aya squeezed the steering wheel. She’d picked up a hitchhiker. An upset one. Who would need comforting. What the hell had she been thinking?! This was so far out of her wheelhouse, not to mention her comfort zone, that it was ridiculous.

  She loosened her grip a little to allow blood flow to her fingers. If she thought about it, it was obvious why she had offered. Firstly, this woman needed help. Secondly, Aya had decided she needed to be more social. Thirdly, they were going to the same place.