coffee

The man with the dark eyes watched as the woman ordered her coffee. She was wearing the dark suit today, the one that he liked. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and while he preferred it to be loose and around her face he still appreciated what he saw. He watched as she took her change, smiling a thank you at the barista as she did so. That perfect smile, with those perfect lips, which today were wearing a delicate shade of pink. He averted his gaze as she turned around, knowing that she was looking for somewhere to sit. Her preferred spot was occupied by an elderly couple, and he hated and despised them for her. He clenched his fist under the table, his nails digging into the flesh of his palm. If he was feeling any pain he did not allow his face to convey it. The woman decided on a table that was directly in front of him and his heart began to beat faster, his breathing suddenly shallower. This had only ever happened once before, the situation so intense he had had to leave. The inadequacy that moment had made him feel had caused him to do… things. And while they were things he enjoyed, it was that feeling of letting her down, of not being the man she deserved, that permeated his being. He had vowed that should the situation ever present itself again he would prove to her that he was not weak. And now here he was, panicking like a silly little boy. He dug his nails deeper into his clenched fist, the action giving him something to concentrate on other than the panic welling up inside of him. He could do this. He had to do this. His breathing began to normalise, his heart began to slow. The woman, with her back to him, had now settled into her seat not four feet away. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply through his nose, hoping to catch her scent. In the confines of the busy café, with so many aromas and the general stench of people, he convinced himself he caught a whiff of her perfume – something classy and tasteful. He opened his eyes and for the briefest of moments it was just he and her, and in that moment he imagined reaching forward and stroking her long dark ponytail… Her phone rang – a sound he instantly recognised – and the clamour of his surroundings came crashing in with it, whisking away his fantasy. He realised he was highly aroused and was equally disgusted and enthralled by it. That this woman could do this to him. That he had no control over his body because of her. That she allowed herself to be the subject of his lustful thoughts. Surely he was not worthy of such feelings? She was talking into her phone now, laughing, tilting her head to one side. He wasn’t interested in the conversation itself – it was the sound of her voice that he strained to hear. That lilting soft enunciation of every letter, the cadence, that one day – he knew – would be used to utter his name. And what a day that would be… He looked at his watch and was dismayed to see that his break was almost over – he would once more have to return to the drudgery that was his job. He stared for one last moment at the woman sitting in front of him, taking all of what he saw in, every detail, so that he could replay the moment again and again in his mind later. It was only a matter of time before they would be together he knew, but things were not quite ready, he was not quite ready. Bolstered by this knowledge he stood up and walked past her table, not daring to turn around but imagining her staring at him as he walked. Staring at him and wanting him. The sound of her voice sang in his ears as he smiled and left the café.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Advertisements