|12|
Thank you, Mrs. Shaffer
I NEVER realized the comfort in solitude while you study in the quiet depths that exists in the library.
When I was younger, I hated how awkward and tiny you felt as you would try not to make a loud step or an interruptive thump as you'd guide your fingers through the pages of a book.
Now, I find the library mesmerizing because of how collectively we all share a space so unmoving but productive. Since Val passed away, I never realize how forgetful I am of things that I'd grew used to. One being that Valerie and I's bedrooms were adjacent to each others—to which were very, very thin walls—and I would always hear the calming thump of her fingers playing through the strings of her guitar.
She'd say that the throb from the tips of her fingers while playing reminded her that even through pain created art, created bliss, and that kept her sane.
Considering all that happened, the guitar saved her in places that captivated sound in a lone room of depression that crept into her mind that no thing or person could harbor her from.
After her death, I never realized how her sound was my salvation, my corner, and quietness is all I know without her so why should I not dwell into it?
As of today, this marks the third week since I've been here—I feel like remotely nothing is interesting enough to report. After the weird guy Mister introduced me to everyone, he said I was free to go and that,
"We are always watching, angel. Make us proud."
Geez, I know.
Fucking c r e e p y.
I've been on edge since, but for the past week they haven't sent me anything so I guess I was too boring for them. Let's hope, universe.
Right now, I am sitting at a study table—which is my absolute favorite as it is the only table with a window view—as I reevaluate the project me "and" Tate did for our theatre class.
Mrs. Shaffer pulled me aside in the halls after lunch today because she felt as though Tate and I's points were completely separated from one another, and she believed we didn't successfully work together.
I wonder how she came up with that idea.
I bluntly told her that Tate force me to not work with him and to do different tasks to complete the assignment. It physically made me cringe to full out snitch on the parasite, but mission or not he was not going to ruin my GPA.
She told me to work something out with Tate and to complete the project by tomorrow morning, or she'll give us both an incomplete zero.
So, here I am in the library doing the project by myself because I couldn't be assed to finding Tate and forcing him to do this with me. Anyways, I'd done group projects by myself before and sailed with flying colors. I didn't need—
A book harshly slammed on my table, fully scaring the shit out of me. "What. the. fuck." The phrase reflectively blew from my lips as my eyes ease up for confirmation on whoever this rude individual was.
Tate?
"Why the fuck did you tell Mrs. Shaffer we didn't work on the project together," Tate quietly shouted as he finally realized we're in the damn library.
How rude, right?
"Because..," I quirked my head to the side. "We didn't."
"If you weren't such an ass, I wouldn't have to 'tattle' on you. I am not going to throw my grade into the drain for.. you," My eyes scanned his body in complete annoyance.
"I don't have time for this," He emphasized the last word as if my response was in disregard of an actual reasoning.
"Meet me at Yasha's Café after lights out or don't bother telling Mrs. Shaffer that I was 'ignoring you'," He quoted me with his fingers as if I am a child.
I loathe him.
No, I despise him.
"Ugh fine, but where is—" Before I can even ask where this place was, he walks away.
Finalizing that my presence wasn't even a second thought to him anymore.
Such an asshole.
I end up asking Rebi in the hallway between classes of this particular café. She told me it wasn't no further than a block away from the school.
Bingo.
Take that, Tate!
After completing a few homework assignments, I figured it was best to starve myself until I sat down at the restaurant. I have this weird obsession with restraining rewards from myself so it can encourage me to finish a task. I practically convinced myself one time if I finished vacuuming my room, I could finally release the pee I was holding.
I wonder if that's a trauma response?
Another overthink thought for another day.
Putting on my black jacket over my blue jeans, I headed over to the café with my Apple Maps guiding the way. In the United States, I would be wary to walk the trash to the dumpster or let a lone walk the streets at night, but here I felt safe. Enriched in tranquility.
Before I knew it, I saw the shiny golden letters of 'Yasha's Café' scorching the lens of my eyes, confirming my destination. Opening the singular glass door, I fell in love with how simple and vintage this café felt. With the mini brown booths to the colorful jukebox in the corner, you can embrace the intimacy this place grants you. It felt like a soul resting from a long day of searching, like the soft feeling of the sun touching your skin after days of rain.
My eyes naturally searched for Tate and it landed on him sitting at a booth to the very end. He didn't notice me yet, and I wanted to take this opportunity to see him in his element.
Tate was head first in this black journal on the table, laser-focused on whatever his pencil dawned him to relay on the page. His little black curl stood alone from the others as it rested on his forehead.
Since meeting him, I never seen him so...
Restful.
It took everything in me to not leave him in his solitude, but I am a woman of my word. I walked over to him, in a trance of his rapid scribbling. Finally making it over, Tate didn't even look up to acknowledge me but rather shut his journal shut and stashed it away.
"Well hi to you too," I joke, putting my backpack further on the seat before I slide in the booth.
The waiter comes up to our table, "Hi, my name is Gregory and I will be your server today." The blonde gentleman handed us the menu then went away after taking our drink order.
You guessed it, I got sweet tea.
However, Tate ordered a black coffee with no cream or sugars.
What a lunatic.
Without any small talk, we dived into our assignment. Usually I would find working with another person awkward or nerve-wracking, but Tate matched my speed and determination to make sure this project was unlike any other proposal.
At the near end of the project, my stomach started to growl.
Tate decided to say in free will, "Can you please tune it down?" Excuse me?
Not a 'Order something' or 'We can take a break so you can eat'.
"Sorry my lack of food digestion ruins your ability to empathize," I smile sarcastically, rolling my eyes.
"Thank you for your apology. Next time come better prepared," He returns the same smile.
Tou-fucking-ché.
Rolling my eyes, I get the attention of our waiter and decided to order a shrimp pasta with toasted bread. The waiter turns his attention to Tate but he waved off not wanting anything.
As we were wrapping our proposal up, my food came and the smell was divine. It didn't take me long before my finger entangled with the fork and dug in. Tate's eyes scanned my face as I devour my plate,
"Trust me, no one is taking your plate."
I would say a snarky response, but I was too hungry to think of one. Food somehow hits different whenever your stomach is on the burst of hunger.
Finishing up my food, our waiter takes all the necessary dishes back before giving us another refill of our drinks. Tate and I were just in comfortable silence until my eyes were glued on this elderly couple out the window.
The two were holding hands across the street engaged in a laugh that only they could decipher. From their beautiful grey hair to the soft wrinkled smiles on their faces, you could see how their love wrapped around them.
Their union reminded me of how devastated Granmadda was whenever Pops died a couple years back. I wish you would've seen them. How entwined they were with one another. Pops would jokily say that love is the devil's weapon. That it either ignites the very being of sanity you hold dear or fool you into the companion of compulsion.
I smile at the memory.
As a kid, I thought he was quite dramatic of his perception of love. After his death to lung cancer, I hold his words close to my chest waiting on my person to help test his theory.
"So beautiful," I whisper softly in regard to the elderly couple.
Slightly out of my thoughts, My head focuses back and I notice Tate already looking at me with this—glare. I couldn't figure it out. It was as if he was lost in the clouds and I was the first interesting thing he's seen. It made me quite uneasy.
"What?" I whisper, "Is there something in my hair?" My hand combs through my hair in search of something until he quietly asks,
"Don't you know how beautiful you are?"
He asked it matter-factly as if he couldn't think of any other possible response.
Growing up, I was never considered a choice. Boys never thought to approach me because the better option was always Valerie. I never measured up to her, and I knew I never would. My academics was my way of putting my insecurities aside to build myself anew.
It worked for a while until I noticed my "glow up" about a year ago. I realized that no academics or person should be in control of my self confidence. So, yes. I know I am beautiful but it is hard blocking that voice, that was ingrained within myself, otherwise.
Before I could respond, Tate got a notification alert from his phone, removing his sole attention from me. I don't know what he saw but I never seen a person's mood change so quickly. His soft eyes turn into a frown as he frantically try to gather his things.
"Is everything okay, Tate?" I start to grab my things in a hurry.
"It's none of your business," He chants.
It amazed me how easily I forgot about his nice comment before.
"I just want to make sure-"
"Aaliyah, you're probably the most insufferable person I know. Leave it." His words cutting me like a knife. Valerie said the exact thing from our first fight before everything happened. Before Val had became cold, or in her words, broken.
I wouldn't want to go back to those days,
ever.
My body froze and my words started to choke as it brought back buried, unwanted memories. This left Tate seemingly pleased with my silence as he placed fifty pounds on the table before dashing out the café.
*Walks on the stage*
Um, well hi lovelies. It's been what, a year since I've last updated?
Please don't hate me. Life gets in the way and I lost passion for this story.
But, I am back—for now...
I don't know if I should continue this story, or make a mafia romance book.
I will finish this book if I see the consistency and support from you guys.
Thank you to the ones for the private messages—I love you so so much!
Get this chapter to 15 votes and I will update two more chapters! *muah*