Sage Heart
Which hurts more: Leaving or being left behind?
I suppose, despite undergoing the vicious loop of the former act, and experiencing the latter once, I will never understand both, because it will always depend on the emotional impact of whomever left you or vice versa.
It is Monday afternoon, less than one hour after I left the mall, and I am now roaming the animated streets of Los Angeles, my feet walking slowly with a heavy heart.
Today is my last day in this town. I'm still wearing my disguise of a long brown wig and sundress and heels, praying that no one will call out my name or break my confidence.
As I glance left and right, drinking in the sights of the neighborhood--kids playing and riding bikes or skateboards, women gushing as they enter boutiques having sales--I release a loud sigh, bring my fingers to my temples, and massage them like dough.
How many times must I leave a place and the people I've met behind? I guess, there are people, even without a curse, who undergo this lifestyle, due to common reasons like job opportunities or willingness to travel, hopping from one city to another.
But that's just the thing. I don't want to move. I need to, for the sake of my own safety. It's perilous enough that I'm outdoors, regardless of my wig and outfit.
I'm going to miss everyone. Ocean 9, the Ham siblings, and Jae.
Jae.. That's right. I'm sure he's The One I need to avoid the most.
So why am I having second thoughts?
Am I really doing the right thing this time?
"Welcome to Jim's Coffee!" Park Jones blinks in surprise as I enter the coffee shop. "Hey--you look familiar.."
His light brown eyes are scanning my face, but I put on a blank expression, attempting to look genuinely confused. I tilt my head to one side, saying softly, "I get that a lot."
The twenty-year-old barista seems even more perplexed. "No, I'm certain of it.. You just have different hair and clothes but it's you, the--"
"I would like freshly brewed coffee, please," I say quickly, cutting him off.
Park looks stupefied by the interruption, but he nods professionally before whirling around to prepare my beverage. His back facing me, he asks, "Name, please?"
"Sally," I answer absentmindedly, using the same alias I had during my date with Jae at The Black Cat Tavern, when some creep was hitting on me.
Listening to Park hum to himself as he makes my coffee, I drum my fingers on the wooden counter, soon realizing I'm drumming the beat of "Kill This Love."
I'm reaching into my sling bag for my black wallet when I hear Park say cheerily, "Welcome to Jim's Coffee! How may I help you?"
Does he do that every single time a customer walks in? I do hope he's getting a good salary. Because if I were him, I'd probably--
"One cinnamon frappe and espresso, please!"
My heart stills.
"Who said that's what I wanted?"
"Neither drink is for you," Res retorts haughtily. "They're both for yours truly."
"You do know I'm the one paying?"
"Exactly why I am taking advantage of the situation."
"Whatever," Jae says in annoyance, and to my shock and horror, he takes the seat next to me while Res plops his butt on the stool to my right, the two guys sandwiching me.
