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I pull open the door of Resurrecting Coffee, the nutty aroma pulling me out of the cooling, evening air. The pleasing smell of coffee immediately turns acrid as I step through the door and am pinned in place by a familiar set of deep, dark, brown eyes glowering in a corner. It feels like hands shoot from the ground and grab my ankles, rooting me in place. I do nothing but stare as her eyebrows raise a miniscule fraction before muscle memory takes over and pulls them low over those abyssal pits, her all black outfit somehow bleeding into her surroundings and making her tiny form take up more space.
A voice frees me from her gaze, “Hey, Gideon, you finally made it. Still a couple slots open. You gonna compete again?”
I pull my eyes over to the man who spoke, whose name has slipped my mind, and step over to the counter. I pull a bill from my wallet and write my name down on the sign-up sheet, my movements stiff and automatic as my head is full of too many thoughts it may as well be empty. I briefly scan the other competitors, but thankfully don’t see the name I had cursed all my childhood. Why was she here anyway?
“You alright? You seem a little ‘not all here’ right now?”
“Yeah sorry, long shift. But at least that means I’m all warmed up for the throwdown.” I flex comically, as if muscles have anything to do with latte art.
“We’ll be getting started pretty soon. Try not to show everyone up,” he joked.
I give a half-hearted chuckle as I step away, heading farther into the shop. I shoot a glance back over to the corner. Those brown eyes, that honestly could be considered black, no longer lock onto me, but instead stare off into nothingness as some greasy looking blonde rat of a woman talks at her. As if she can sense me looking, the blonde woman looks right at me and winks. Small, dark, and spooky notices and turns to look at me once more. This time she even has the audacity to get up and start walking towards me. Great, just what I needed today, the ghosts of my past come back to haunt me.
“Harrowhark,” I say in lieu of a greeting.
“Griddle.”
“Oh sorry, I didn’t realise we were still children, dusk mistress supreme.” I give a mocking bow. “What, ever, could I owe you to drag your ass all the way here.”
Despite my nonchalance and joking demeanor, Harrow’s presence has me reeling. It has been four years since I had escaped our small town and finally rid myself of her withering gaze. Did I think about her most days and jump at the sight of any small goth with a buzzcut? Sure. But that doesn’t mean I want to see her now, on a random Friday when I’m supposed to casually competing against fellow baristas.
Harrow scowls, her eyes like two sinkholes in the dead of night with cities of evil built at the bottom. She looked like she wanted to claw my face off again, get my blood under her nails and keep me there. Instead, she apparently opts for silence. My favourite.
Before we get the chance to kill each other, the man from before announces the beginning of the competition. I slip away while he’s talking, hands shaking from the adrenaline of just seeing Harrow again. I don’t think I could pour latte art right now if I was assisted by the ghost of coffee itself. I push through the small crowd and practically race to the door, the cold air stinging, bringing some sense back to the graveyard of my consciousness. I lean against the railing of the walkway, taking measured breaths to try and bring myself back into my body.
I hear the door open and close behind me. I guess there is no escaping fate. I don’t even have to turn around to recognise the way those eyes stab into my heart.
“What are you doing here, your gothiness?” The question falls from my tongue before my lips can lock them in.
“What. I can’t also step outside for some air?”
“No, not ‘why did you come outside’. Why are you hear tonight? Four years you were free of me, but you just couldn’t let me have peace, could you?”
“I- I didn’t know you would be here; I was dragged out by an acquaintance to watch her compete.”
Right, the blonde rat. “And here I thought you actually hated me enough to hunt me down,” I laugh out. “But I’m not even a shard of bone in the catacombs of your heart.” My voice cracks as I speak. Against my will, I might add.
I feel her go still. “I don’t hate you.” Her words were barely a whisper. The creak of her leather boots fills the silence in the way crickets comically would.
“Yeah, well, you sure made me think you did. Wish I could say I fully hated you but…” I trail off, not wanting to know where I was headed with that train of thought yet wishing it reached its destination, nonetheless.
Harrow’s voice is hesitant, “I never hated you. I wasn’t very good at expressing how I felt in the past, a-and for that I’m sorry.”
I whip around to face her, the iron barb that has sat in my heart sharpening my words, “You’re sorry?! We started good, as kids, but something in you changed. You took everything I loved and found a way to use it against me. You made yourself into the sole consistent thing in my life. Even these latte art competitions are now stained by the idea that you could come back to haunt me at any moment. You made me feel like I needed you around, like I still… constantly… need you, even after I left you behind.” Tears begin to well up in my eyes, my voice faltering, but I hold it back.
Harrow takes a small step forward, “I’ve spent the past four years since you left wishing I could find you and apologise. Every time I saw a flash of red hair, or some overly muscled jock, I would hope it was you. But it never was. I lived every day on edge that I might run into you by some miracle, always ready to face your, honestly justified, anger. But once I actually saw you, Gideon, all I could think was how I wasn’t ready to learn you didn’t want me anymore.”
That was it. Her words marked the beginning of my ruin. The tomb I had tried to bury my heart in cracked open. As much as I want the opposite, the thread that connects us is as taut as always despite the years of weathering we endured alone. I see the tears pooling in her eyes. I take the remaining steps between us slowly, towering over her tiny body. She closes her eyes, ready to accept her fate. Ready for me to reject her apology and leave her forever. But her fate comes in the form of me scooping her into my arms, holding her close. Closer than we had probably ever been. Harrow lets out a soft squawk, clearly not expecting me to hug her. And to be fair, I barely knew what I was going to do as well.
“Fuck, dude,” I laugh. “I can’t forgive your gloomy ass, and I probably never will, but I do know that took a lot for you to express your true feelings. We treated each other like shit all our lives, and if we are being completely honest, leaving was easy, but staying away from you was the hardest thing I have ever done. And I will gladly help you transition from goth to emo now that you know what an emotion is. Although I kind of have to go compete, so maybe after?” I flash her a wink.
At that, Harrow broke out of my arms and punched my thigh. “Shut up, Griddle” But I could see the smile that threatened her shadowy aesthetic.