The Cafe

Before I left the flat, I looked in the mirror and beheld what I considered to be a particularly good hair day. Holding its shape well, with a nice bit of fringe hanging down, a perfect imperfection, meticulously sculpted to offer a misleading sense of a devil may care attitude. As I walked toward the city centre, negotiating an umbrella with an inconveniently short handle, I feared the moisture, finding its way under the lacklustre shelter was starting to cause my hair to become curled and limp. Very annoying. I ducked into the nearest café to see if the situation was salvageable.

I’d had an early tea the night before and had nothing so far that morning, so I ordered what was known as ‘the bigger breakfast’. The list of greasy components would usually have been deemed over-facing, but today I reckoned I could manage it. I sat down in the corner booth, by the window and the mirrored wall, where my fears were validated. The faux-nonchalance of the fallen fringe had become a mess of matted curls. The clock on the wall told me I had an hour until the interview, I firmly palmed the stray hairs to one side and planned to locate a hand dryer at some point before then.

I circled my fist on the steamed up window to create a small port-hole to people-watch through. As I looked out, I caught sight of Rachael, a girl I’d slept with a few days earlier, I ducked down instantly, fearing I may have already made eye contact. I held up my hot cup of tea in a pathetic attempt to re-steam the spy hole, bracing myself for the piercing beeping noise that sounded every time the door opened.


Three nights ago I had been sat in a bar, chatting away quite happily with my brother and his girlfriend. A girl came over, sat next to me and introduced herself, rather rudely I thought, considering my brother was in the middle of an anecdote I never did hear the end of. Her name was Rachael and she’d been the receptionist in an office I’d delivered a package to, a couple of days before. I instantly recognised her and was impressed by how good she looked, out of her stuffy work attire. I’d barely given her a second glance at the time, her boxy jacket and shin length skirt with flat shoes, hiding any hint of a curve or sexuality. Now with unfeasibly tight pants, vest and multiple chains around her neck, jet black hair back-combed, I was totally enamoured. Forgiving her inconsiderate butting in as a rare female forwardness, I shunned my brother’s conversation in favour of what seemed like an almost certain sexual encounter.

I mentioned my surprise at the severity of her transformation, which she immediately attributed to her boss being a total pervert, the frigid costume being a shield to discourage his wandering hands. I soon learned however, she was no shrinking violet, when she got up to visit the girls room and suggested I follow her. Under usual circumstances, such an offer would have seen no hesitation on my part, but I was all too aware of the bar we were in, and the reaction such a venture would stir in the simian bouncers. The problem being that the girl’s toilets were upstairs and the boy’s down so no level of insouciance displayed could disguise your aroused intentions.

On her return, she obviously took very little persuasion when I invited her back to my flat. Some half-hearted worries of leaving her friends behind were soon set aside to get on with the inevitable.

The short journey home was filled with the usual attempts girls make to make sure I don’t think they’re a slut. “I don’t usually do things like this.” being so overused as to become clichéd. “You seem like a nice guy.” leading me to wonder what vague hint of chivalry constitutes a suitable first night bedfellow. Not that I cared particularly at this moment.

Back at my flat, an early warning sign came when struggling awkwardly to pull the phenomenally tights jeans from under her, as she lay on her back on my rickety single bed. I peeled the stubborn denim as far as her knees when I noticed an intricate mesh of scars covering the flesh of both thighs. Neat little rows and perfect cross-hatching meant self-harm was the only possible cause. I paused, marvelling at the total lack of untouched flesh on show, only to be abruptly prompted back into action by a girl I now saw as a far more vulnerable, perhaps noticing what secret I’d stumbled upon. Perhaps wanting me to see it, either way, I carried on regardless.

A short while later, self-inflicted scars forgotten, both parties seemingly consenting to the fun, the girl had some kind of crisis of conscience, shoving me to one side and telling me in no uncertain terms to get off her. I huffed in an attempt to portray a sense of ‘you were the one who wanted this, not me’ and kept well out of her way, to make sure she could make no claims of me somehow forcing this situation upon her. By this stage I just wanted her to leave, she was crying her eyes out and banging on about how she doesn’t respect herself anymore, or how she shouldn’t be here. I quietly and as tactfully as possible, reassured her that she didn’t have to be here and that she could just go home.
“God, I bet you think I’m a total psycho.” she cried at me through red, bleary eyes.
“No, not at all.” I lied, impatiently hoping she’d calm down and leave. Strangely, my understanding words only served to reassure her as to what a nice guy I was and so, she started crawling, amorously across the bed toward me once more, with an unhealthy glow of psychotic desperation. Not wanting to be a killjoy, and thinking I might as well make the most having a girl in my room, I was game to continue. The condom in use however, had lost its own enthusiasm for the evening’s proceedings back during the crying and self doubt. I could have felt let down by the sheath but instead, I empathised with its state. The sight of a girl in the midst of a mental breakdown is less than ideal for maintaining sexual arousal. Rachael told me not to worry and started to route around in her handbag for a replacement, which emerged looking like it may have been living in there for a while. I wasn’t sure if they had sell by dates, but if so, this was well past it. God knows where she got it from. Dry and waxy, and thick as tyre rubber. I might as well as had my pants back on for all the sensation it allowed. ‘Needs must.’ I supposed.

Fifteen, numb minutes later, the same again. Pushed to one side. Told to get off. Crying and self pity. I’d had enough now, my sympathy had long since fled the sorry scene, along with my dignity.
“Rachael, I think it might be best if you just got yourself home.” It was nice to see my manners hadn’t deserted me.
“Oh, you’d love that. Shag me and kick me out! Like all the girls you get back here.” She was right, I did prefer girls to leave once the fun was over, so as not to soil any remaining illusions of glamour with the morning’s stark reality.
“No, it’s just not happening is it?” I reasoned. “And you keep getting upset. Would you not rather be at home?” It was taking all my human kindness not to drag her into the street.
“Can I not just stay here? We don’t have to do anything. We can just go to sleep.”

So, after disposing of a second, unused condom, quite a waste, I thought, I lay with the troubled girl in my arms, holding her tight, for fear of her murdering me in my sleep.

Next morning, I was up, quick as flash. Time to get rid of the monster in my bed. I was only due at work for eleven o’clock, but I’d set my alarm for eight to get her out of there, hopefully allowing me enough time to sit down and relax for a while afterward. I went for a shower, taking my clothes with me in the hope that maybe, in the time it took to get ready, Rachael would’ve awoken and left the house of her own accord.

I took my time, gave her a good twenty minutes. I’d heard some definite signs of stirring whilst in the shower, but not the recognisable thud of the front door. Thinking she may need the bathroom herself, I moved into the living room to do my hair, listening intently for movement through the hall. It never came. Maybe she had already left. She might’ve closed the door quietly behind her. I felt a huge sense of relief as I headed back to my room, only for it to crash through the floor as the ton weight of burden was dumped back on my weary shoulders. I pushed the door open for my eyes to be greeted by Rachael, sat relaxed on my bed, eating toast, dressed in one of my t-shirts and a pair of my shorts, TV remote in hand.
“Sorry.” she smiled annoyingly “I was hungry. Can I put the telly on?”
I couldn’t believe my eyes. What chance did I have against such a force of delusion? Why was she so relaxed? Had she no recollection her behaviour? Maybe I’d been too nice. Maybe she thought I cared for her. I didn’t care for her, in fact, at this moment, I was a little bit scared of her.
“Ok.” I replied, dumbstruck. “But I need to go soon.” I added unconvincingly before heading back to the living room to allow what I’d seen, to sink in.

I decided to make myself some breakfast. Plenty of time until my shift. I needed to relax. Maybe she’d just have the toast then leave. Nothing too strange about that. OK, she had my clothes on. That was pretty weird. But then again, those jeans were pretty tight. I sat at the table with a bowl of cornflakes and a cup of tea, (I didn’t offer her one, she would’ve made it last an hour.) reading yesterday’s paper, trying to convince myself that everything was normal.

Cup of tea finished. No sign of movement. Crossword half finished. No sign of movement. I was going to have to take direct action and leave the flat for work, despite it only being five minutes before nine o’clock. I went back into my room to see her contently watching television, still in my clothes.
“Ok Rachael, I need to go to work now I‘m afraid.” I tried to converse as breezily as possible, no pressure, no conflict.
“Ok.” she replied, seemingly not taking the hint.
“So, you need to start getting dressed.” I was disappointed in myself for letting a hint of hostility slip out.
“It’s ok, I’ll stay here for a bit. My Dad’s only getting to town about dinner time, he’s giving me a lift.” Unbelievable. She wasn’t even joking.
“No, you’ll have to get up. You need the key to let yourself out.”
“Well, just leave me the key.”
“I can’t, I’ve got to go to work. I‘ll need it later.”
“I’ll just drop it off. I know where it is.”
“Rachael, come on.” Breeziness, very strained by now. “I’m not leaving you in my flat, and I don’t want you coming into my work.”
That was it, I’d pulled the plug on the tank of tears she had readily filled and waiting. Streams, gushed down her cheeks, self loathing abuse spewed from her mouth. I hated her, I was ashamed of her, I wouldn’t be seen dead with her, I used her, I thought she was a slut, I treated her like a slag, I was kicking her onto the street, treating her like shit, just like all the rest, I’m the same as all the rest, she thought I was different, but no, I’m just the same. I think I’m different, but I’m not.

Maybe she was right, in many ways, but it was my flat and I wasn’t on trial.

I tried to reason with her. “Look Rachael, we only met last night. If we’d gone to yours, would you let me stay in your flat on my own.”
The torrent continued full flow. “What do you think I am? Some kind of skank who’s gonna nick all your stuff? Don’t flatter yourself.” God, she was a bitch. Frustrated and bewildered, I called upon the last weapon in my arsenal and let loose the Charm Offensive.
“Rachael, chill out. I’m not trying to get rid of you. Why would I? Ey?”
“I don’t know.” she mumbled
“Exactly. I wouldn’t. I loved last night, it was amazing. I loved it in the bar. You looked beautiful. We had a great time. I think you’re dead funny. A bit mad maybe,” bit of a risky joke, given the circumstances, but just about got away with it as a slight smirk cracked her face. “but I really enjoyed being with you. I felt like the luckiest guy in there.” I feared I was over egging the pudding at that point. “And if you wanted to give me your number, I’d love to meet up during the week or something. We can go out. On a proper date.”

Psycho successfully dispensed with, it was the earliest I’d turned up for a shift, my whole life. My boss thought I’d come to give him some bad news.


BEEEEP. I was shocked the workers at the café could put up with such an ear-piercing din every time the door opened. Didn’t they have some nice, jangly bells or something? My fears were confirmed. It was Rachael. She must’ve seen me through the spy hole I regretted making. I turned to face the window in the vain hope this would somehow make me invisible. Had it worked? She hadn’t said anything. I turned my head tentatively, ready to twist it back round quickly, should she look in my direction. She stood, half looking through her handbag, half checking the menu above the counter. She hadn’t seen me. I could easily slip away unnoticed while she was ordering.
“ONE BIGGER BREAKFAST!” Bloody Hell, what a loud mouth the lady was. Rachael still hadn’t turned round though, too engrossed in the greasy options. I didn’t call out, just held up my hand and waved, nodding in recognition.
“You’ll have to come and get it, love.” she called over, having none of my silent waving. I’m usually quite a fan of such casual, homely service but right now I was cursing it. I was going to have to make myself known.