The mediocre cup of coffee tastes burnt with neglect. There is no warmth from the condensed and formed paper that can take the chill out of this room. Perhaps it is the four set of doors in the small space, opening and closing every five minutes that makes her shiver. But, deeper she fears it is more than a wind chill.
She sits alone.
Images of tiny feet flash through her mind. Clenching her stomach, unsettling nerves bring back the nauseous feelings. He would not understand if he knew the pain. Brushing it aside and blaming it on stress and over thinking the final year of college.
Someone yells.
A stampede of footsteps echo throughout the cramped cafe. Her mind struggles, jumping from loud, overbearing conversations centered around nonsense, and the small worry eating away at her soul.
Why is it the older some people get, the more they resort to immaturity and dramatic affairs of youth?
Deep breathes, don't stop.
A psychology book to ease away from the focused thought of "her problem." But, what if? Would he leave her without even looking back? Then again, secrets always saved the relationships of her past.
But to lie?
The clinic should be open this afternoon. A crashing tray of eggs snaps her back. He'll never have to know. "I am the only one who can take care of me," she whispers. Throwing the book and other belongings into her bag she rushes to class.
The cafe is teaming with hungry college students. The door fly's open and she is gone.
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