Chapter 3 Croía #2
Then he smiles. It’s slow, deliberate, and I swear the air around us shifts, it’s as though the shadows I’ve been running from just stepped into the light and found a face.
Still, neither of us says a word. We just stand there, locked into whatever this is, until the barista’s voice cuts through the moment calling out another order.
Identical to mine. The stranger lets out a low chuckle, and the sound ripples through me like a live wire, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
I hate how my stomach flips hearing it, seemingly delighted to betray me.
Slowly, he reaches out, his fingers brush my arm, so gentle it almost feels like a mistake.
It’s not. The second his skin touches mine, a bolt of electricity shoots straight through me, catching my breath as my heart slams against my ribs and for one terrifying heartbeat I feel alive in a way I’ve never felt before.
Panic soon comes crashing in. The room tilts and spins around me, trapping me in a whirlwind. Sweat trickles down my spine and the air feels too thick, too full of him. I can’t breathe. I need to get out of this place.
Ashamed, I grab the latte from the serving table, my fingers trembling so hard I nearly dropped it.
I can’t look at him again. I can’t bear to see what’s in those eyes if I do.
So, I don’t say a word. I just turn on my heel and bolt, practically stumbling over myself as I shove through the door.
The chilly air hits me like a slap to the face, urging me to look back…
I don’t dare. Even though I can still feel his touch burning my skin.
Once I’ve put enough distance between me and that damned coffee shop, I finally stop. Gasping as if I’ve just outrun death itself. What the hell was that? Who was that? What in God’s name did he do to me?
In need of stability, I press my back to the nearest wall, feeling the rough brick bite through my coat.
I need the solid weight of it to remind myself I’m still here, not just drifting in that charged space where his eyes pinned me in place.
I drag in deep shaky breaths, trying to calm my traitorous heart but it hammers on anyway, laughing at me.
After a few minutes, when my lungs finally stop burning and the tremble in my hands fades.
I push myself upright again and start the slow walk home.
Embarrassment crawls up my throat with every step.
Foighneach. (Pathetic.) I can’t believe how I acted.
Who stands still like a statue while a stranger practically reaches inside their bones?
Who runs away without so much as a word?
One foot, then the other. I keep my head down, watching my feet hit the pavement. Anything to keep from replaying those green eyes, and that chuckle that’s still lodged in my mind.
By the time my front door comes into view, shame is all I can taste.
I slam the door hard behind me the second I step inside, the sound echoing through the quiet.
For a moment I just stand, staring at the floor, trying to remember how to breathe like a normal person.
I can’t, not really. So, I shove my boots off and head straight for my bedroom.
I’m not in the mood for anything else. No half-hearted attempt to busy my hands.
I just want to crawl into bed, curl myself up tight, and scrub that whole scene out of my head.
Awkwardly I sink down onto the edge of the mattress.
The bed springs creak beneath me, loud in the stillness.
My eyes wander, taking in the room that’s supposed to be mine.
The soft, dusky grey walls I once loved for their calm now feel cold and distant.
The décor I’d carefully chosen seems foreign, like it belongs to someone I used to be.
The light catches on the framed prints by the door, childhood pictures that once made me proud. Now they only remind me of how much time I’ve spent trying to make everything look fine.
As I turn my gaze away, I finally notice the cup still clutched in my hand. It’s probably lukewarm by now. The caramel latte I’d thought would fix everything remains untouched, the foam collapsing against the rim. All that fuss and panic and I haven't even taken a sip.
I stare at it for a long moment before setting it down on the nightstand, my fingers trembling just enough to make the cup rattle against the wood. What a joke.
With a pitiful feeling rising from my core, I rise from the bed and strip down until I'm standing in only my underwear. Sorrow seeps its way into my bones, so I let my body collapse back down onto the mattress. My mind is unable to cope any longer, I need to shut it off. My stomach twists when I close my eyes, not just from the embarrassment, but from the way my skin still tingles where he touched me. It’s as though some part of me is hungry for it all over again.
I lightly trace the area with my fingers before remembering my awkwardness, so I avert my eyes back to the cup and curl onto my side, dragging the blanket over my shoulders.
I squeeze my eyes together tightly and tell myself I’ll forget it by morning.
Tá a fhios agam nach ndéanfaidh mé. (I know I won’t.)