Chapter 9 Eden
Chapter nine
Eden
“Pressure Points”
He started showing up at the end of the day.
I had been giddy the first time he came back, but then he just kind of sat in the corner, and I realized he was pretty but also a really grumpy person.
I hated people who didn’t know how to smile.
It made me want to do everything in my power to get them to crack.
He just sat there and watched. Wasn’t he interested in anything?
Tonight, he showed up thirty minutes before close – the place was dead. I smiled at him when he entered.
“The usual?” I asked, raising the muffin on the plate I had saved for him.
“Yeah.” He didn’t turn to me when he spoke, just continued walking past me to his spot in the corner.
He paid in cash every time. Always tipped, even though I was certain he didn’t always touch the drink.
I'd find it half full some days, abandoned near the window. I started wondering if he bought it just for an excuse to stay. If that were the case, wouldn’t he try harder to socialize? Instead he just acted like a creep.
A coffee-shop cuck, if you will.
I made his coffee and put it and the muffin in front of him, and then I carefully took a seat across the table. He looked up, fixing those dark eyes on my face. I could feel the weight of his gaze, and I wasn’t sure if I liked it, hated it, or liked it.
“Okay if I sit here a second?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Great. Please control your enthusiasm, sir.
“Is it just you here?”
I looked up, surprised by the question. “Um, yeah. I have a guy that helps me a couple of days a week. Jay. I think you might have been here when he was working. Otherwise, just me. There’s not too much work or anything. I mean… we’re not exactly bustling.”
“You walk home?”
“Excuse me?”
“Just a dangerous part of town. Do you walk home?”
I blinked. “Dangerous? I think that’s kind of subjective, don’t you?”
I did feel myself falter, though, because he was right. The bloody ghost on the pavement down the street was proof of that danger. That’s why the rent was cheap and buildings were available.
“Yeah, I walk. It isn’t far, and I’m careful. Head up, off my phone. You know, all those rules.”
That wasn’t true either – most days, I didn’t even remember walking home. I’d sing a song in my head, get distracted by some birds, dream up different coffee concoctions to try.
“Your family nearby too?”
“No, my parents are dead… What’s with the inquisition?”
“Ever think about moving?”
This didn’t come off as casual, but I tried to tell myself these were the innocent questions of a person who was overly curious and lacking social skills.
I didn’t answer him, and he kept me fixed in his gaze like he wouldn’t look away until I answered.
I gave him my own examination. What was with this guy?
He smelled like smoke and metal, not cigarettes, but something colder, like rain-soaked leather and the scent of a car garage.
I never saw him remove his coat after the first day, when he wore the shirt that revealed his tattooed arms. Lately, he always hid beneath a hooded leather jacket, no matter how toasty I kept the shop, and the only ink that I could see was on the part of his neck that peeked above his collar, and his hands.
He never looked down at his phone. His posture was too straight, like he was ready to move at any second.
He reminded me of the kind of men cast in cheesy action movies: the overly macho guys who didn’t flinch when things exploded, those with good intentions buried under too much dirt and blood, the ones who never got a happy ending.
“No, I like it here,” I finally responded with a smile. “It’s home to me.” I set my jaw, smiling a little deviously as I leaned across the table. “My turn. Are you from here?”
He regarded me coolly, his voice holding the same chill. “No.”
“Where are you from?”
“Lots of places.”
“Where do you live now?”
“Up town.”
I didn’t peg him for a guy with uptown money, but I didn’t want to bring financial situations into the conversation when I really had no room to talk, so I just said, “You don’t look like an uptown guy.”
“What does an uptown guy look like?”
Fair.
I took a breath in, nervousness melting away. “What do you do for work?”
“Private contractor.”
“Like… a handyman or pest control… something like that?”
There was a flicker of something in his eyes that I almost missed. “Something like that.”
“You always show up right before close,” I stated.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “You don’t like that?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You have a cat,” he said suddenly, matter-of-factly.
“Yes… I have a cat. Do you have any pets?”
“No.”
“Family?”
“A sister.”
“Does she live here?”
“No.”
“Got any kids?”
“Can’t.” He made a scissor-snipping motion with his fingers.
He answered questions like he was being interrogated for a crime – with simple, clipped responses that felt rehearsed.
“Friends?”
“Not really.”
“Well, damn.” I laughed. “You’re just a bundle of sunshine. Do you ever smile?”
“No.”
“Were you in the military?”
I noticed he pulled his hands towards himself just a little, skimming them against the tabletop.
“Yes.”
“Ever been shot?”
His brows rose, and I immediately regretted the question. I smiled apologetically.
“Sorry… that was a joke.”
“Not this week.”
I put my own hands on the tabletop with another smile, this one more authentic. “Listen, I’d love to finish playing twenty questions but… time’s up.”
I pointed at the clock on the wall, and his eyes followed.
He pulled a twenty out of his pocket and laid it on the table, leaving his untouched coffee.
I don’t think he’d taken a single sip. He was up and out the door before I could rise from my seat.
I walked to the front door to flip the lights off and lock up, watching him cross the street and disappear into the dark.
“What a beautiful fucking weirdo,” I muttered, my breath fogging the glass. During the day, I couldn’t wait for him to come by so I could stare at him, but at night, I was always afraid he might come back. He was intriguing… but also a little bit scary.
I noticed the black car across the street again.
It shut its headlights off, and my heart sank.
I was a fish in a barrel, here; I had to get home.
I snatched my keys off the counter, palming them for self-defense, and I headed down the street.
As I walked at a clipped pace, listening for the sound of anyone behind me on foot or in a car, I told myself that I really needed some pepper spray and a taser.
The sound of a car starting up the street, from where I’d come, had my heart pounding in my throat. Well, this was it. The irony of the guy from the cafe telling me the city was dangerous – on the same day I got trafficked – was not lost on me.
I stole a glance behind me, and the moment I wasn’t looking forward anymore, someone grabbed me and dragged me into the alley.
Great.