Pt. 14 – Previous parts in the serie can be found here.
A weekly blog serie based on the character Mia – the rebellious one, who struggles to leave the past behind and face her fears. It’s been clear, long before, that the choices she makes tend to her in trouble. But what happens when the present forces her to let out a long kept secret?
It takes me seconds to act on impulses and a lifetime spent in regret. And now, here I am as it’s a little too late to cancel. For future references all it takes is a cup of tea and a hidden note for me to back down. For me to forget my promise. One taste and I’m hooked.
The next day, it’s Tuesday – on my day off we find ourselves rejoiced in craziness once again. I couldn’t say no at his reluctant request to meet for coffee. With regret I ask what could possibly go wrong. It’s just coffee and not to mention at a public place. Therefore, we’re bound to be on our best behavior.
In the midst of justifying everything to myself, I search long and hard for any reason for being here. I don’t owe him anything, of this I’m sure. Neither does he. But I can’t seem to let it all go. I want a clean end to our duplicity. I’m hoping we will laugh, agree to move on and avoid drama. Alas, I can’t be certain if that’s what I want – for it to be over.
He comes back to the table with two drinks; the scent of my long chai latte is fuming. And there is no doubt that he’s got hooked. The stupidity of being Mia, I guess.
I confuse love and lust. Always have and always will. But once in while I give permission to admire his gentle and kind ways. Adonic with eyes easy to entrap any damsel in distress. And perhaps one of few left with a gentleman genes in the city. He is calm which can be mistaken for shyness at times. Sometimes I find him to be quiet the pensive type challenging my worrisome outlook on life.
Outside the evening rush hour begins to reign the streets of Stavanger. It’s pouring rain, the kind of rain one runs from to find shelter, even dogs. The heavy drops sends the city in a stressful atmosphere as people pace and race through traffic and multitude of soaking souls.
Inside, we manage to drown the sound of high-pitched laughter from the girls on the other side of the cafè. I find myself staring at my coffee hoping he’ll break the silence between us.
“Are you well rested?” he asks, to my relief.
“Yes. I slept like a baby.” But like those baby who wake up every hour or when they lose their pacifier. However, I don’t quite know what sooths me back to sleep but I wake up anyway (it’s become a habit, even worse at night).
“How are you?” I ask in hopes that he’ll share some light to all this. Him missing me just makes things complicated in my head. No one’s ever missed me apart from Irene but only if it’s been weeks. We’ve only been apart since last Thursday. I wonder what exactly he misses? It could be what most men crave? I dare not to say the word. But it wouldn’t be the first.
“I’m doing fine. My days are pretty much the same and boring,” he says and takes a sip of his black coffee. With his eyes bore into me, he adds “I miss your carefree spirit.”
And in my mind ‘carefree’ translates to sex. My mind immediately travels back to our night together. But the thought is quickly demolished by the images of us caught off guard by Camilla’s sudden visit the morning after. I haven’t ask about her but perhaps I shouldn’t.
“Maybe…” he stares down at his coffee cup, preoccupied by his thought. I wait for him to continue. On the other side the girls are now in selfie mode. Each with their own unique pout, ready for the winning shot. I admit, I find it amusing as I watch their photo session on display.
“Want to come over Friday night?” he asks. I bet it’s obvious on my face that I didn’t prepare myself.
It’s fair to say, answering ‘yes’ will no doubt provide more questions than answers. I realize he waits for an answer but my mixed feelings are proving to be demanding to handle. Common sense screams ‘no’. My impulse seems to be tamed by fear.
I contemplate of a way out to escape before I’m forced to react on emotions. Sex is easy, it’s what comes afterwards that’s torture. I remember Mrs.Hansen back in high school who once told me to stick to what I know. She quickly added that she didn’t quiet know what that was but math was not it.
Over the years I discovered my ability to run from my issues and pretend as if nothing had happened. It’s usually a safe bet. Today, is no different.
“I’m sorry…” it’s all I manage to say before I walk away.
I don’t look back as he says my name. I can hear the confusion, once again in his voice. Maybe this time he’ll stop chasing.