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Julia
There was always a damn issue with Robbie. He had a way of spinning my mistakes into psychological code, as if forgetting to water the plants was actually a red flag, signaling a lack of relational attention. It was so exhausting; so crazy.
As a journalist living in New York City, my work demanded late hours, working the occasional all-nighter for a nail-biting deadline. There was a promotion available, and I had been busting my ass off to earn this. The type of promotion I dreamed of, to be taken as a serious writer. I’d already come so far, living with Robbie and his skyline view, versus my old apartment, which faced the neighbors who fucked at their window. I’m sure they enjoyed the audience, me watching, crunching on a bag of Lays. How fitting.
When I moved to the city for school, I’d always dreamt of independently paving my way to success. Never had I thought I’d earn a shortcut to life when I met Robbie. His wealthy parents paid for his schooling, and he lived in a beautiful penthouse, gifted to him after his graduation of course.I know, right?My dad got me a stuffed graduation bear, which I now squeezed to death during stressful days at the office.
When Robbie romantically swept me off my feet and invited me to live with him after grad school, you could imagine my feeling, realizing my shortcut to success stemmed from the man of my dreams and all his familial connections; or, so I thought.
Now? I had found myself overly dedicated to my job. Oftentimes, I forced my body to survive off hot coffee, cold bagels, and noodle cups—which may or may not have peas in them; at least that’s what I told myself whenever I encountered the squishy green balls.
I loved work more than anything, and being in the city was alone what allowed me to thrive. The hustle and bustle lifestyle, the one where you secretly grew ten new gray hairs overnight, only to paint them in before work the next morning — that was part of the exhilarating charm of it all. Overworked, stressed, yet successful.
The agency I worked for was small, maybe even microscopic. We were always in search of the next big story, the scandal that would tip us over the edge, or so my boss, Mitchell, always said.
“It only takes one story, Julia. Then we’ll be the next media sensation for the news. Twitter-famous kids will retweet our every dramatic article into stardom.”His eyes gleamed with proverbial dollar signs. He would write a segment about his mother’s sex life if he knew it would help the company. I get it. We all have dreams, but those were always his sharp reminders at every morning huddle. The script had been practically engraved in our minds.
But my soon to be husband — Robbie? He didn’t understand my job, the insanity of it all, and he faulted me. You’d think as a stockbroker he’d be the first to understand. But lately, his once accepting approval of my work seemed displaced. He used to be so kind, patient, and supportive. Now that man was replaced by a looming psycho. He was a complete stranger, always on edge.
I didn’t know what happened between his proposal last year to being a week away from walking down the aisle. It was as if he regretted asking me, or as if he wasn’t ready for the commitment — you know, for better or worse. I would even imagine us in our old age, sitting in the countryside, retired, complete with rocking chairs and a large porch. Now? I don’t even think we can make it through dinner.
Cold feet?
Maybe? Maybe not?
“Where you going?” Robbie barked at me when I placed my hand on the door looking for a quick escape. The annoyance in his eyes was evident. They narrowed, like a suspicious metronome, ticking back and forth between me and the door.
“I’m going downstairs to grab a coffee.” I half-smiled and nodded politely; my eyebrows cowered a bit, and I quickly glanced down to avoid his stare. “Need anything from there?” I asked innocently, shifting my feet in place, attempting to hide the real truth for my trip away from him.
“It’s late, don’t you think?” He snipped at me, shaking his head.
“Not really, I mean… it’s barely past seven.” I opened the door to leave, but Robbie slammed his body against it. “Robbie,” I closed my eyes and inhaled my frustration. “I mean it, I’m going downstairs.” My voice quivered, which only made him louder in response.
“No, you’re not. I know what you’re doing behind my back, you whore.” His face leaned so close to mine. He spoke in a breathy whisper, and it felt hot against my face.
Knitting both my brows, I straightened myself up and gave him a hard stare — one long enough to make him back off. My daring eyes spoke what my lips could not. I would stare all night if I had to, just determined to see his next move, to call his bluff. He slowly eased off the door, and I stepped right out, flipping my hair over my shoulders.Gotcha.
The soft breeze of passing people sat in contrast to the stuffy room I emerged from. I needed this time, this moment away, savoring each step as I made my way to the coffee shop below Robbie’s home.
At this rate I needed at least three shots of espresso after being inside that tension-filled house. The one I felt too uncomfortable to call home.
Only Robbie could drain my energy every damn moment. I wished it was different, like how it was before when we first met and fell in love. Maybe fireworks hadn’t exploded behind us as we shared our first kiss, but his sweet and secure nature for our future hooked me.
For now, I had to get away from the madness for a minute — just one.
The aroma of strong espresso beans and the season’s latest pumpkin spice filled the welcoming shop. I didn’t order right away, I spent time observing the dimly lit loyalty mugs on display. The same soft music seemed to play every time I entered. I loved how their obscure jazz laid hushed against the muted traffic outside. It felt like a fuzzy dream. Regardless, the patrons were a bit pretentious, but I couldn’t resist their banana nut muffins. So worth the unprovoked scowls.
“Large pumpkin spice with three espresso shots.” I paused as the barista took my order. “Shit,” I shook my head, “make it four shots instead.” I rummaged through my large laptop bag. The handsome young barista blew through his messy golden hair which covered his eyes. He arched an eyebrow and looked at me as if I grew an extra head.
“Wanna make it five?” His flirty grin was a warm surprise that I needed. I smiled and shook my head, then placed a couple bucks in the tip jar. “Thanks,” he nodded excitedly as if he was rocking out to the elevator music playing, “I’ll throw an extra shot in there for you. Looks like you could use it.”
Fuck, did my forehead display the entire list of my problems? Maybe it was the dark circles under my eyes. Maybe he’s psychic. Oh god. In my frantic state of transparency, my thoughts turned into a puddled mess. I glanced at his big, dark brown eyes as he pulled his hair back into a bun. He was way too cool for me. I’d be a neurotic mess around him.
“Yeah… thanks, I guess.”
His pale face turned the reddest shade I’d ever witnessed, and I tightened my lips to keep my giggle inside. “Ah, sorry, not like that. I’m an asshole. Uh coffee’s on me tonight.” He reassured me, and he spoke rapidly with his hands. His chestnut eyes widened, seemingly embarrassed. My heart warmed as it skipped a few beats faster than normal. Is this what flirting was like? It had been a while. I twirled a ring of hair around my finger.
