Besides, if I stay home, I’m going to work myself into another seizure, stressing the fuck out about what happens next when it comes to North. I already know that he and I aren’t meant to be. You don’t get to find a happily ever after with the guy who spends half his time talking shit about you.
I’m not a glutton for humiliation or punishment, and while I like dirty talk, insulting talk is not my thing. But can there be more? Would he want to do it again?
Do I want to do it again?
My brain is a foggy mess as I make my way down the street, but luckily, the walk is short. I need my cane today, which makes me feel even more seen, and I hate when people stare. My hip’s been stiffer since the seizure at North’s house, and I’m still trying not to think about that, because fuck, it was so fucking mortifying.
Thank god there’s almost no traffic at all this morning, and the breeze is cool but not cold, which is soothing for my frayed nerves.
It’s one of the many reasons I love living outside of the city. Boston’s more accessible for people like me who aren’t allowed to drive, but Harmony Creek has always been like a separate little world. I missed it like a limb when I was on the West Coast, and while being back feels tragic and sad, it’s still one of the few bright spots in my life.
I wish I were here under better circumstances, but it is what it is. Life is rarely kind to anyone.
“Morning,” the barista behind the counter calls as I walk through the shop door.
The café smells like cinnamon and freshly cut pine trees, which is odd but nice. It reminds me a bit of this little shop not far from the house Liam and I rented. Their Christmas flavorswere always cinnamon and pine, and they had a fresh pine needle tea they’d serve every year that I was never brave enough to try.
I get a little pulse of nostalgia as I approach the counter and the smell gets stronger. Liam used to keep a canister of their Christmas coffee on top of the fridge, and I’d use it whenever we were out of the grocery store brands.
I chase away the ache of missing him in my chest, which is easier now that it’s gotten smaller, and I smile at the woman who’s clearly waiting for me to order.
“Sorry. Long morning,” I tell her.
She frowns, and I panic for a second, thinking that in my fatigue, my aphasia is kicking in. Then she says, “No worries. What can I get you?” She pushes a long, rectangular menu toward me, and I squint down at it before realizing that all the letters look like some odd alien language.
That happens when I’m overtired, and I hadn’t considered it that would affect me today.
Fuck.
I glance up at her and swallow thickly. “Um…”
“Oh, shit. Are you blind?” She gestures at my face, and I know she probably means my slightly crooked eye.
“Uh. No. Sometimes I can’t read. Head injury,” I blabber. Being tired loosens my tongue too. I never need to drink to spill my guts. I just have to miss a night of sleep.
Her face softens, and for a split second, she looks like North, which is so weird. I can see her name tag, but I can’t read the damn thing. “Do you like lavender?”
“Only in soaps.”
She laughs. “Me too. It’s so trendy right now, which is, like, weird? Anyway, what about vanilla? And I don’t mean the shitty stuff. Like genuine, from the bean.”
“I think I like it?” I don’t really know. I’m a simple guy.
“We have a really good latte with vanilla bean syrup.”
At this point, I’ll take anything so long as it keeps me from walking into traffic on the journey back home. “Sure. And I need food. Uh…” I turn to the pastry counter, and that’s when I hear someone groan and mutter a word that I fucking hate more than anything. A word people have tossed at me before because I can be a little slow sometimes while my brain processes things.
A word I thought the world had escaped while I was in middle school, but it seems to be really, annoyingly common now.
I feel my face heat, and as I straighten up, the barista leans across the counter.
“Get the fuck out, buddy.” Her tone is like ice, and the entire mood of the café shifts.
He makes a choking noise. “What? What the fuck is your problem? I mean, am I wrong? Why do they let people like him out on their own?”
I don’t look over at him. I don’t want to know his face.
“Because we don’t tolerate that shit here. Leave now, or I’m going to personally jump over this counter, take you by your balls, and dog-walk you out the door.”
