8 years ago....
My friends and I walked into the small bakery cafe. Just dough. I scanned the place twice before we even sat at the booth against the wall. There were exactly 16 people, not including us or workers. 9 women, 5 men and 2 kids. One a new born another a toddler.
As for workers there were 4 waitresses as well as 1 on the register and 3 in the back. The general managers not in today as he’s picking up his kids from school.
We sat down and I picked up the menu pretending to read it as I awaited our waitress to take our order. The music played faintly in the background, loud enough for me to hear the lyrics of the old Queen song.
“What are your thoughts?” Nico asked and I place the menu down. “I don’t know”
Just as I said that a woman, or barley a woman came up to the table. She just turned 18, I bet a lot of regulars like the middle aged man 3 tables away from us, sipping a now cold tea is excited she’s finally of age. I knew who she was before she spoke or before I read the name tag.
I look at her, not with direct eye contact as she asks, “What can I get you today?”
Her uniform was simple with a black button down, black skinny jeans and a black apron that tied around her small waist but it came down quite low because she was petite compared to me. She held her note book and pen in right hand.
She tapped her left foot against the wooden floors awaiting our answers.
“3 coffees. Black.” I respond and she nods with a smile as she walks off completely unaware of the men staring at her.
I don’t blame them, she’s beautiful. Her ash blonde hair tied up and out of her face in a simple ponytail, light freckles placed along her nose and cheeks. She looked innocent, sweet and although she is those things you can never underestimate beautiful things like flowers.
Sometimes they come with thorns.
Her aura screams independent and strong. She’s been through a lot and you can tell by her eyes but that never stops her from doing good. But you have to be carefully with rare beauty because there’s also a darkness surrounding it, waiting for a weak moment to corrupt every part of its light. Waiting to kill slowly and painfully.
Wanting the light for itself.
I guess you could say that’s what I did to her.
I hurt her. Broke her. Killed her.
And there’s no beauty in death.