The Diary of a Struggling Genderfluid: 2

Short Story- The Walk Home

Hello everyone.

Now, I usually don't post any of my actual creative writing/stories on here, mostly because I feel like I promote it enough, and that this is supposed to be a place for me to express my feelings. The most creative writing I've done in here is write slam poems.

However, I've just written this short story that I really want you guys to read. You don't have to, but...

Yeah. Enjoy.

~~~~~

It was a cold winter night, and the wind was howling in the streets of New York City. One lone man shivered along the sidewalk, walking hurriedly to get home as fast as he could. His nose and fingertips were already seemingly frozen over, and no amount of rubbing either was making them any warmer. He noticed a few snowflakes fall past his face, and he picked up his pace even more so he could quickly get home to his partner and young daughter.

He heard the sound of late night drunks down the street, and looked side to side, desperate to find a place he could stop and get warm before he could reach his home. A late night Starbucks was open across the street, and he ran across as fast as he could to the warm establishment.

He opened the door and moved inside quickly, desperate for a respite from the biting and bitter cold. He sent a text to his partner, telling them that he'd be late.

The warmth inside made his face sting, and he could already feel his cheeks becoming red from the sudden heat. He let out a shiver and approached the empty counter, calling out to see if anyone was there.

"Just a moment!" He heard the faint voice from the back. He nodded to himself, taking off his gloves and examining his pink fingers. He blew on them softly with his hot breath, trying to get them over the uncomfortable sting.

A shorter woman emerged from the back, her dark complexion free of any blemish. He took a moment to admire her beauty, and glanced at her name tag. Rhonda.

"What can I do for you, sir?" she asked politely, looking up into his icy blue eyes and becoming almost captivated for a moment. He stared up at the menu briefly, before placing an order for a hot chocolate.

"Right away," the woman replied with a smile, quickly turning away from the handsome man and bustling about behind the counter. He scratched at his small beard, readjusting his glasses before leaning against the counter to watch the woman work.

"I like your hair very much," he commented, and he saw her turn towards him with a blush.

"Thank you," she replied, happily accepting the compliment from him. He decided not to continue the conversation further, as he didn't want to make it seem like he was flirting. He was just trying to be polite.

"Enjoy your drink, sir!" She said to him cheerfully as he paid. He quickly thanked her, and reluctantly pushed his way back into the bitter night.

The snow was falling steadily now, and the sound of traffic was muffled in the distance. He sipped the burning liquid and burnt his tongue as he walked, something he added to the list of terrible things that had happened to him that day.

It was no matter now.

He made his way to Central Park, glancing a few blocks down to where he knew a warm, soft bed, and a worried partner and child anxiously awaited his return. He took another large swig of the coffee before pulling out one of his stress cigarettes he kept hidden in this jacket. He'd managed to hide them from his partner so far, but he feared they would find out soon, as his poor cover up was just that: mediocre at best.

He lit the cigarette, taking a long drag on it and coughing slightly. It hadn't been long, but it is was still a shock to taste the smoke on his tongue- something he'd vowed never to do.