The crumpled bedsheet under my face had become stale with a mixture of sweat and tears. The putrid smell played around right under my nose, but I didn’t have the energy to turn away. Not that it would have been any use. Everything smelt stale now.
I couldn’t really remember how much time had passed. Was it just a few hours, or days? It felt like an eternity. Alone, in this room, it always felt like an eternity. How had it come down to this? How had I managed to lose myself so badly?
Wasn’t it just yesterday that we had met, almost by chance at the coffee shop? A small joke about my cappuccino at the counter, a counter about his espresso. How stereotypical, my friends would say. But it had happened exactly like that. I loved going to that tiny coffee shop right in front of my tiny studio apartment. The round faced woman at the counter always knew exactly what I wanted. One cappuccino, extra hot please! The archaic coffee machine would then be switched on to make enough noise to bring the entire block down. It may have been noisy, but oh it had character! And the most beautiful, aromatic, rich coffee! I’d go there every weekend, just to listen to the loud whirr of the coffee machine, and taking a tiny corner table, watch people. There’s something so fascinating (if not creepy) about just watching people, isn’t there? A few hours at a coffee shop can reinforce stereotypes and bring them crashing down at the same time.
But then, that one day, as I waited patiently at the counter for my cappuccino, I bumped into him.
And suddenly the noise of the coffee machine was drowned out by the sound of my own heart beating. For the longest time, I was scared he could hear it thumping against my ribcage, almost afraid of the life awaiting it from this moment on, desperate to escape the exhilaration ahead.
And from thereon, my life was swept away in an absolute whirlwind. In just a few months, it felt like I had known him a lifetime. Maybe that’s what happens when you’ve been waiting for someone for a lifetime, and he finally shows up. Needless to say, he was perfect.
Or at least that’s what I thought.
Things started changing, slowly, but surely. So slowly in fact, that I didn’t even notice. Or maybe I chose not to notice.
I slowly started dressing the way he liked. Started meeting the people he liked. Let go of friends he didn’t approve of. Started eating at places he liked. But perhaps, the biggest treachery…I visited the coffee shop in front of my house less and less (because, who goes every weekend to have coffee alone?) until it became just another glass window to glance at every morning while getting ready for work.
He once joked about how he wanted to break me down, atom by atom, and put me back together, just the way he liked.
I laughed.
I shouldn’t have.
Because that’s exactly what he did. And I never objected — until he left, leaving me scattered on the floor, trying to reach for the pieces of me that flung far away, with no clue how to put myself back together.
It had been days now, or was it months?
I couldn’t remember the last time I had left my room. The last proper meal I ate. Or the last time this bedsheet with daisies was fresh and perfumed.
I no longer knew how to function.
What should I wear?
How do I even get out of this bed and go on with my day?
When was the last time I reported at work? Did I still even have a job?
I looked towards my phone, but it had switched off hours back, and I had no energy to resuscitate it back to life. What was the point really? He had told me to not contact him, and I hadn’t been in touch with any of my friends for months.
My tummy let out a meek half-hearted rumbling noise. It seemed to have almost given up on me too. Clearly the need for food wasn’t going to make me leave my bed any time soon. I looked out at the glass window across the road.
The most delicious coffee maybe?
Just like each morning now for the longest time, I consoled my stomach sympathetically. Not today, my friend.
But then, my eyes opened, and I almost sat up… almost. Where had that thought come from? Hadn’t I buried that tiny voice in my head that called out for coffee every now and then? That particular deliciously brewed coffee from an overly-loud machine…
But I didn’t know how to go there anymore. I didn’t know what to wear, or how to behave. A part of me doubted I could even interact with another human being anymore. Not alone. Not without him.
If you can’t do this…
How was this so difficult? I did this all the time, alone, didn’t I? In fact, it was one of my favorite things about my weekends!
I finally got out of bed, and pulling on a t-shirt from the pile of clothes on the floor, stepped out of my home.
Maybe I shouldn’t have. The sun was extremely bright, more than I had expected, the street crowded with too many people. Suddenly I was painfully aware of my crushed t-shirt and pajamas. In my head, everyone’s eyes were directed right at me, staring at this unkempt girl, probably stinking of days of imprisonment in her room. I picked up my pace and walked as fast as I could, crossing the road, right towards the cafe… my safe place. At least there I could hide in a corner, away from the world. All I needed was that one cup of cappuccino. And then I could go back to my room, back to my wallowing, back to wondering where it had all gone so wrong.
I grimaced as the little bell over the door rang out as I pushed it open, and suddenly everyone in the cafe looked up at me. Gathering all my willpower to not turn around and run back home, I walked up nice and tall to the counter, to the friendly round-faced woman behind the counter.
I stopped short.
There was no friendly round-faced woman behind the counter.
There was a guy there instead.
A stranger.
And he looked at me, eyebrows raised, judging me as every second passed.
And many seconds did pass.
Maybe minutes.
And suddenly it hit me. All he was waiting for was my order.
He wasn’t judging me for who I am. For who I’d become. For who I used to be and what I let go of.
And even if he was, it really didn’t matter. I’d managed to finally get out of bed, and here I was, standing in front of this counter. At this point, only one thing really mattered.
“One cappuccino, extra hot, please.”
