Nine
Kat
Nutshell – Alice In Chains
The bitter morning air freezes my lungs, turning my chest to stone.
I struggle to draw in a breath, but I know that it has nothing to do with the cold.
The morning streets are full, people rushing past me on their commute to work in flashes of beige and grey.
The sun hangs low on the horizon, pushing upwards to greet the day.
Despite everything, the world keeps turning and the sun keeps rising.
I’ve done this walk hundreds of times, but this morning feels different. Everything is moving faster around me. I feel like a guest in my own body, looking out at the world. I’m not here. My mind is back in my apartment last night.
Princess.
A shiver ripples through my flesh as I pull my jacket tight around me. My hand strays to my necklace, twirling it in my hands. That fucking name.
I woke up this morning on the couch. I have no idea how I got there, but I must have moved at some point in the night.
It wasn’t the usual roll over and shut off the alarm before falling back to sleep kind of wake-up.
It felt like I’d woken from a bad dream.
That last night didn’t happen. That the heaviness in my limbs was just the effect of a really deep sleep.
It took all of two seconds to realize it was all too fucking real.
I could still feel his breath on my neck.
His tongue in my mouth. His hands on my body.
I took two showers this morning, the water heat cranked up to the maximum as if I could burn the feeling off my body.
I scrubbed and scrubbed until his lingering touch was replaced by a sharp sting and my skin flashed red.
The relief didn’t last. I don’t feel clean.
Grime and shame feel heavy on my skin, like a film that I can’t wash off.
I scratch at my arms to rid myself of this feeling.
The sharp sting and repetitive motion of my nails against my skin makes my heart settle into a slow thump.
A welcome difference from the constant jackhammer that it has been for the last twenty-four hours.
Between the gig and everything last night, my nervous system has been in overdrive.
I release a breath I’ve been holding for hours as my body settles and my shoulders drop.
Adjusting my sleeves back into place, I hug myself tightly.
I should have called in sick to work today, but if I had, Harper would be at my apartment within the hour, and I can’t face that kind of scrutiny right now.
At least at work, I can hide behind the espresso machine and hope people don’t notice me.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I open up the message from Ryland in the band group chat.
Someone posted photos of our gig last night on social media.
Scrolling through photos of Harper absolutely owning the stage, I land on one of me.
I’m the center of the shot, with my arms in the air, head back.
It looks like I have absolute control over the crowd.
The photo shows the first few rows of people, their arms in the air with mine.
I can feel the energy pulsing out from the photo alone.
My shoulders slump. The girl in the photo looks fearless; she’s confident.
That girl couldn’t feel further away from me right now.
Before I have another fucking panic attack, this time in the middle of the street, I heart react the message and pocket my phone.
As I arrive at The Ground, I take a moment outside. Deep breath. Hold for five. And release. I pull my body up straight.
“You’ve survived a lot worse, Kat,” I whisper to myself as I paint a smile on my face and walk through the door, the metal bell above the door signaling my arrival.
“Morning, bitches,” I say to Harper and Kaycee as I walk to the back.
“Good morning, Kat,” Kaycee replies from behind the counter.
I hang my bag and jacket on the rail, grabbing my apron and tying it tight around my waist. The sound of a tongue clicking makes my head snap to the side. I see Harper leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, eyes trained on me.
“You look like shit,” she says drily, her eyes roaming over me from head to toe, like she’s assessing the damage of a rental vehicle.
Nope. No visible injuries here. They’re all in my head.
“Thanks,” I say with a quiet laugh, skirting past her. I walk over to the front door, flipping the sign to open. “I just had too much to drink last night.”
“I called you twice before you answered this morning. I was putting on my shoes and getting ready to come over and take a battering ram to your front door,” she says, mimicking the motion for emphasis.
“I told you, I was in the shower,” I reply, not a lie. I just leave out the part where I was trying to peel the first layer of my skin off with a loofah. “I answered as soon as I got out.”
Harper says nothing, just looks at me suspiciously. She doesn’t believe me, and I don’t blame her. I don’t make a habit of lying to my best friend, but I just can’t vocalize everything that’s going on in my head right now. It’s too jumbled. Too raw.
“How did your night go? Did the frat boy take you home?” Her brows raise at the question, half in inquisition and half in concern. She’s definitely judging me for my perceived choice in bed-buddy, and that makes my insides tighten.
I reach past her, grab a broom, and begin sweeping the floor. Anything to distract myself from the way my hands are shaking and my chest constricts.
“Yeah,” I say, my eyes focused on the brush in front of me, my grip tight on the wooden handle. “He made sure I got through the front door and then went home.”
Not before trying to rape me.
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue as the truth fights its way forward, but I clamp it down.
“How did your night go?” I ask with a wiggle of my eyebrows before she has a chance to pry further.
“Fine,” she says, grabbing a rag and wiping the nearest table, making herself look busy.
“Come on, Harp. I know you want to spill it.”
She pauses for a moment, thinking it over before caving.
“It was…” she pauses, putting the rag down and looking towards me with a concealed smile.
“Mind-blowing.” She lets out a little giggle and blushes.
Actually blushes. “I thought multiple orgasms were only something in romance books. I almost blacked out. In fact I’m pretty sure I lost consciousness for a split second!
” She uses her hands to emphasize the point.
“Good for you, Harp,” I say with a smile. A genuine smile. Because, despite how shitty my night went, at least Harper has found someone who makes her happy. I haven’t seen her this fucking radiant in… well, the entire time I’ve known her.
“Did you know there’s a reverse missionary? Because I fucking didn’t. But I do now.”
“I wish my husband would do things like that,” Kaycee muses from behind the counter, their hand paused over the bean hopper. Identical looks of shock pass over our faces as Harper and I realize Kaycee has been there this whole time.
“Kaycee, you should take the bull by the horns… literally,” Harper says, turning back to clear her table.
“You know what, girl? I will. He’s in for a treat tonight,” they muse to themselves as they continue pouring the beans. But not without a devious grin on their face.
The bell above the door rings, marking our first customer of the day.
I breathe a sigh of relief. At least now I can throw myself into work.
I’ve never considered myself a workaholic, but I guess there’s no time like now to become one.
I’ll deal with the implications of distracting myself and not dealing with my problems later.
I set aside my broom and start on my first latte of the day.
One terrible pumpkin latte turns into twenty. I’ve poured the milk before the espresso, forgotten what season we’re in, and I’m pretty sure I put regular milk in an oat milk order. This is exactly why I’m not a workaholic.
Harper appears beside me and takes the milk jug from my hands. “Kat, you really don’t look okay,” she says with her brows knitted in concern as her hands close around mine.
“I’m fine, Harp. I’m just a little hungover.” Also, not a lie. I just don’t know if it’s drug or alcohol induced.
She considers my words for a moment before shoving me towards the counter. “Go. You’re front of house today, I’ve got the coffee.”
I give her a thankful smile, wiping my hands on my apron and walking over to the counter.
Harper pulls and organizes the ticket mess I left behind me.
Normally I hate being front of house, but the espresso machine wasn’t doing enough to distract me.
The repetitive actions left far too much room in my head to think.
At least now I can talk to people, even if it is from a script.
My eyes lock on the register, blurring at the edges as a customer approaches the counter.
“Hey, welcome to The Ground. What can I get you?” the script flows freely from my mouth.
“Hi,” comes a deep, familiar voice.
My eyes dart up immediately and my breath catches. Standing in front of me, in my coffee shop of all places, is Elias.
He stands tall, his suit perfectly fitting his toned muscles.
The top few buttons on his shirt are undone, giving me a slight glimpse into the statuesque body beneath the designer suit.
Looking around at The Ground, where everyone is in various forms of active wear, he looks so out of place.
Many eyes in the room are on him, including Harper’s and Kaycee’s.
But he doesn’t take his eyes off me. He quirks a beautiful brow at me with a slight smirk.
Fuck. I’ve been staring.
“Hi!” I blurt out, the sound too loud. A couple of customers shake their heads and turn back to their coffees.
“Daydreaming?” he asks with a smirk.
I could fucking melt at that smirk. In fact, I’m pretty sure I am melting. Warmth creeps up my chest and onto my face. I bring my cold hand up to my warm chest to relieve the heat there. He tracks my movement intensely. There’s that fucking look again. He sees me.
I drop my eyes down to the counter to avoid his all-seeing gaze. “Something like that,” I mutter.
Time loses meaning. I don’t know how long we’ve been standing here and I need to ask him what he wants, but the words clog in my throat.
For fuck’s sake, Kat. Get it together.
“What do you recommend?” he asks, as if he could see my internal struggle. Or read my mind. But let’s face it, I’m struggling on the inside and out.
“The lattes are good here,” I reply, slowly finding my courage to look at him again.
“I’ll take one,” he answers.
“Regular or plant milk?”
“What do you drink?”
The question catches me off guard.
“Uh, oat,” I reply, suddenly unsure of my fucking dairy preference.
“I’ll take an oat latte in that case. I’d like to see what you have a taste for.”
The air whooshes out of my lungs. Did he just say what I think he said? He swipes his large hand across his bearded jaw and smirks. Okay. He definitely said that.
Despite my shaking hands, I send the order through the register as he taps his black card on the reader. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. Seeing it in person makes it a whole lot different.
Of course he has a black card.
I can’t even get a credit card. I barely even have a debit card.
“I’ve never seen you here before,” I state, the words coming out more accusatory than I mean them to.
“I was in the area and wanted coffee.”
“There are lots of other coffee shops around here. In fact, there’s a fancy one down the street that’s probably more your vibe,” I retort before I can second-guess myself. Why am I suddenly so sassy?
He laughs. He actually laughs, and the sound makes my chest flutter. He doesn’t look like the type of man who laughs, so it comes as a shock, and I’m lost for words for a moment.
He places his hands on the counter and leans towards me. My body is screaming at me to lean back, but, as always, I fucking ignore it and lean forward, as if gravity has somehow decided to pull me closer to him.
“Maybe I liked what I saw here,” he states, his smirk not fading in the slightest.
“Maybe you should learn to window shop, Mr. Headstone.”
His brows rise, and his smirk grows at the challenge.
Before I can question it anymore, I pick up his freshly made latte from where Harper placed it on the pass.
Our fingers touch as I hand it to him, and a jolt of electricity runs through my arm, and I nearly drop the paper cup.
His touch is warm—the complete opposite of his cold exterior.
His eyes never leave mine, like he’s completely unaffected by this.
Oh god, what if he isn’t? What if this really is all in your head, Kat?
Before I can spiral, he turns to leave, but not before pulling a one-hundred-dollar bill from his breast pocket and dropping it into the tip jar.
“I look forward to seeing you again, Kat,” he says, my name sounding like velvet on his tongue. He takes a sip of his coffee before walking out the door, and suddenly the room feels lighter, more open.
He walks with a confidence that I could only dream of having.
There’s something about him that screams danger, but I just sassed this man, and he fucking smiled at me in return.
Isn’t he supposed to be this big mafia guy?
Surely he could have just killed me for insubordination or something.
I need to watch The Godfather again and brush up on mafia etiquette.
“Oh. My. God!” Harper squeals beside me, earning her some glares from seated customers. “He’s so much hotter in the daylight,” she whispers as she grips my arm. “Do you think he has sex with the suit on? God, that would be hot…” she trails off, taking my attention span with her.
I’m only half listening. Heat creeps across my cheeks, and I’m suddenly incredibly thankful to have had the forethought to put on makeup this morning, or else the evidence of how rattled I feel would literally be painted across my face right now.
I should have known staying away from him would be harder than I thought.