Of Mochas and Macchiatos

twenty-nine. broderie anglaise

And so I run. From the cliff. My steps aren't precise, measured footsteps anymore but rather the frantic footfalls of somebody trying to escape something. But you can't run away from fate forever. I collapse on the pavement near The Henley and vomit into a rubbish bin. The morning is still early and barely anybody's awake. But I don't want to go back to the suite. What if Rafe's already awake? I don't want to explain myself, the shivers, cold sweat and shaky limbs. It turns out Rafe's already awake. He's in the lobby, seated at the piano stool but not playing anything. He jumps up immediately when he sees me.

"Evangeline! Where were you?! You left your phone in the room and you were gone at like 4am and- Jesus, are you alright?" I shake my head and he sweeps me into my arms. This is normal -for friends, right?

"Okay. There is no way you're going to school today. God. You look terrible. Did somebody-?" His voice breaks and he sounds so heartbroken. I shake my head.

Nobody hurt myself but me.

My eyes brim with tears but I let out a yawn. Pretend that the salty drops that trickle down my face are mere remnants of a sleepless nights, nothing more.

"No, Rafe!" I say hastily, spritely. "Just tired. I couldn't sleep. Felt sick. Cramps, y'know, bleargh. So I went running." I brush a stray strand away from my face, in turn, pushing away at the tears.

"Which, in hindsight, probably wasn't the best idea." I force out a laugh. "Dude. You need to chill." He studies me intently, his gaze flickering to each one of my eyes.

"I just... worry about you."

Well don't. I need to say. But I do not. We are just friends now, right? The curse doesn't apply to him anymore, surely?

I tilt my head at him, eyebrow slightly raised. He's admitted weakness. "Shut up." He grumbles but I see the mischievous glint in his eyes and knows he's only joking. "I can still care about you even though I broke up with you, right?"

"Well..." I trial off and then realise what he said. "Hey! I broke up with you. But, fine. Whatever. No hard feelings."

And then he smirks and I know he's found some double entendre. No hard feelings. He flings an arm around my shoulder as we leave the piano behind and walk towards our room.

"Only sometimes. Just 'cos we're not together doesn't mean my feelings shut off overnight. You're still pretty hot." I laugh and shove at him.

He's adamant that I shouldn't go to school and although I feel like I should attend, I know that my mind will be a mess and there really is no point. Rafe argues that he too will be late and there'll be no point in even going and it's a total moot point but I can't change his mind so we load boxes. Pack my bags. Drive back to my apartment. And things are almost normal between us.

*

"This is where you live?" His tone is incredulous.

"Yuh huh. Madeleine says it's haunted and you know she's always right!" I joke, my voice almost bubbly. The house doesn't look haunted now. Not anymore. But I shudder; you don't have to see ghosts to know they're there. And the spirits of my past follow me around every day. But the bright tone hides it. Fake, spits out a voice inside me.

The Victorian-style building still looks very old but there is a fresh coat of paint that covers its façade, makes it look a grand architectural wonder. Façade. The word echoes in my mind. It's been so long since I last thought about the masks that cover the world. I stare at the building. Let my eyes slide out of focus and, in my mind, the sky darkens to the cold autumn atmosphere that swirled about the day I moved to Astoria. I strip away the fresh paint, let the bushes grow back to their natural unruly state, bring back the trailing tendrils of ivy. There. The real real.