𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞...
in which Sephora James becomes the muse of her old professor, who's fighting demons of his own
mature themes, discussions of alcoholism, family abuse
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AFTER STOPPING BY a bar to indulge in happy hour on his way home from work, Lincoln found himself standing across the street from Jitters Cafe.
It was the middle of the week, and a few days had gone by since he had seen Sephora at Jordan's. They had talked a little bit over text, but it was nothing substantial. He hadn't had the balls to call her after the way he had treated her.
Initially, he had been avoiding her. Last week had been one of Lincoln's worst — .all he could recollect was the nasty fight between himself and Ophelia before cancelling classes for the week and turning to a bottle. The rest was scattered bits and pieces of awful early mornings, waking up in various parts of his apartment (and Kate's) and having Jack Daniel's with his breakfast.
It's why he hadn't contacted Sephora at all last week. But it wasn't like it had been easy to do so — one night, after about four drinks, he had caught himself pulling up her contact to reach out. Thankfully, his drunk persona had the smart idea to turn off his phone. It helped, until he forgot it was Friday and he strolled into Jordan's, three shots deep and ready to get the night started.
Keeping Sephora at a respectable distance, it turned out, was a fruitless battle. He couldn't stop going to Jordan's — it was the only place where he could drink for free — and she wasn't about to stop playing at the only place that consistently paid her to play.
Admittedly, when he saw her that night, his instinct had been to run. But when his eyes caught her on the stage, and he saw the concealed hurt plastered behind her frown, Lincoln couldn't resist. He needed to be honest — he needed to explain, in his own way, that it wasn't her. Lincoln's sudden silence was his own demons, and Sephora couldn't be tasked with ridding them.
And though Lincoln's explanation for his absence didn't seem like much on the outside — in fact, many would argue it was a flimsy excuse — it was a huge step for him. Lying had become a natural response for Lincoln over the last few years. It paired beautifully with the alcohol on his tongue, but turned sour when he attempted it with Sephora. He couldn't do it, and he had yet to understand why.
It's why he found himself outside of her workplace, waiting for her to get off. He was feeling lonely, and for once, the urge to see her had trumped the desire to keep drinking. Honesty, it turned out, felt good.
Lincoln texted her that he was in the area, and wanted to check in. She immediately responded, saying she was off in five minutes. So, he crossed the street to wait, feeling the whip of October numb his lips and the tips of his ears. Moments later, Sephora stepped outside in a black button-up shirt, tucked into black trousers, her straight, raven hair tied up into a loose ponytail. Sephora's face — usually done up in pale powder and dark eyeshadow — was naturally bare, revealing soft, rosy cheeks and freckles that splattered over her nose like sprinkles.
