Vivienne
The black coffee tastes like heartbreak and despair.
I sip it anyway.
Because whipped cream would be too clingy.
Because caramel drizzle says "love me, validate me, be mine."
Because glitter pen girls probably drink their coffee bitter and bold and not like it's a dessert.
I want to spit it out.
Instead, I smile and hand Damien his regular order like my chest doesn't physically ache from being six inches away instead of two.
"You okay?" he asks, studying me like he knows something's up.
Of course he knows.
I nod. "Fine. Just didn't sleep well."
Not a lie. Not the truth either.
I didn't sleep because I kept replaying her laugh. The way she tilted her head when she gave him her number. The way he didn't throw it away.
He didn't take it either. But he didn't rip it up. Or roll his eyes. Or look at me when it happened.
So now I'm here, wearing an old hoodie and pretending black coffee doesn't taste like betrayal.
I don't cling to his arm. I don't play with his hoodie strings. I don't look up at him and say "you smell nice today."
Because glitter pen girls don't do that.
"I like clingy," he says out of nowhere, like he's heard the screaming in my head.
I blink. "What?"
"You don't annoy me."
My throat tightens.
I nod. "Okay."
I want to fall into him right then. I want to cry into his chest and tell him I don't want to compete with pretty girls who wear ponytails like power statements. I want him to see that I'm not distant because I've stopped caring. I'm distant because I care so much it hurts.
But instead, I sip the world's worst coffee and keep walking beside him like this gap between us doesn't feel like the end of the world.
Our fingers brush. I pull away.
Because glitter pen girls don't reach for boys who haven't chosen them yet.
But I miss him.
And I don't know how long I can keep pretending that I don't.