Little Plastic Castle by Yogagal.pdf

Little Plastic Castle by Yogagal

Summary: Even the best built castles sometimes fall. In a coffee shop, in a

city...two people struggle to remember how to put those pieces back together.

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6484653/1/

In a coffee shop in a city

Which is every coffee shop in every city

On a day which is every day

I picked up a magazine

Which is every magazine

Read a story, and then forgot it right away

They say goldfish have no memory

I guess their lives are much like mine

And the little plastic castle

Is a surprise every time

And it's hard to say if they're happy

But they don't seem much to mind

- Ani DiFranco - Little Plastic Castles

Edward

It's gray today. Thin strips of pale yellow sunshine struggle to force their way

through the dense clouds, but they hardly make a difference. It's still gray.

Was it gray yesterday? I can't quite remember.

I shuffle across the floor, wondering why it's a pale green linoleum. I'm pretty

certain that I prefer hardwood. I look down and notice that my white slippers are

tinged gray and wonder how long I've been wearing them. There's a basket of

folded laundry on top of a chair, and while I can't remember when I actually did

laundry last, I'm thankful that it's been done. I put my clothes away, careful not

to wrinkle them.

Socks get put away first. Drab blacks, browns and blues, all rolled up and neat,

staring up at me from the top drawer of my bureau. Next, crisp white boxer briefs

make their way into the empty space near the socks. Once I'm certain everything

is in order, I close the drawer quickly, ready to put away something else. The

drawer ends up sliding shut way too fast, and before I can remove it, my thumb

gets caught.

"Shit!" I cry out, unable to help myself.

My shout echoes in the empty room; nobody else around to hear it but myself.

I pry the drawer back open and pull out my thumb, sucking on it as it throbs in

my mouth. I can feel the blood beating heatedly, reminding me that despite the

gray surrounding me, I'm still here.

I'm still alive.

Sometimes I need that reminder... or I forget.

Once the pulsing in my thumb simmers down to a slow beat, I notice I have

laundry to put away and work on neatly putting away my undershirts. After

hanging up a few button-down shirts and some pants, my laundry basket is

empty, and I stuff it away in the closet. I look at the clock, and realize I have a

bit of time before needing to go out, so I relax into an overstuffed arm chair.

There's a magazine on the side table, and turning on the lamp next to me, I

begin to flip through it, curious as to why all the articles are about summer fun in

the sun. Peering outside once more, I reassure myself that it's certainly not

summer, before turning the magazine over and noticing the publication date.

June 2009

My eyes flit to the calendar by my bed, which reminds me that it's actually

October 2010. I frown, a bit put out that I still have an old magazine lying

around, but continue to read it anyway. Time passes, and I find myself growing

hungry. Looking at the clock, it seems like a fine time to head out. Bending over,

I swap out my dingy slippers for some brown lace up shoes with particularly

sturdy looking rubber soles. I opt for a cream colored wool sweater, since the

orange-tinged oak tree outside my window shivers slowly in the breeze.

When I reach the door to leave, I take a moment to think of whether I've

forgotten anything or not, but nothing springs to mind. A bright red, spiral

notebook is perched right next to the door. I stare at it and take the keys sitting

next to it before deciding it might be a good idea to take it along with me as well.

There is a pen tucked conveniently in the spiral spine, and I hold them both close

to my chest as I leave my space.

The hallway appears empty, and the solitary echo of my shoes plodding against

the floor confirms that thought. As I reach the doors to outside, a pleasant

looking woman smiles kindly at me.

"Good morning, Mr. Cullen," she says, moving to allow me to pass.

"Good morning," I mumble in response, not quite certain I actually know who she

is.

This is one of the pitfalls of living in a populated place. Many faces pass me by,

but very few stick with me. The rest seem to meld together, not making much of

an impression. I just nod and smile and hurry along.

The brisk air hits me at once, and the overpowering smell of cleaning chemicals

from inside the building dissipates with the wind. It's quickly replaced by the

smell of freshly cut grass and whiffs of burning leaves. I take in a deep breath

and allow the scents to calm and ground me before setting out on my way. One

foot moves in front of the other, and soon I've found myself in front of a coffee

shop. I don't recognize it, but something about it feels warm and welcoming.

The outside is dusky red brick with a bright yellow door. I let myself in and am

immediately hit with the familiar smell of bitter coffee and overly sweetened

pastries. My mouth salivates instinctively as I take in the variety of scones and

danishes in the display case. There's a bit of line, so I file in, contemplating what

I'd like to order. I think hard and try to decide what my favorite drink of choice is

as I wait my turn.

I note the tired-looking woman at the counter, talking to a customer in front of

her. She looks sad, defeated, and as if she's carrying the weight of the world on

her shoulders.

She also looks incredibly familiar.

Her face is screwed up in concentration as she patiently explains to the customer

that there is no way to make the cheese danish vegan friendly. I want to laugh at

this ridiculous exchange, but the pained look on her face stills me. She can't be

that upset over a cheese danish. I find myself unable to tear my eyes away from

her, and she must feel my stare because she suddenly turns her head and looks

directly at me.

I offer her a shy smile, embarrassed at being caught staring, and avert my gaze.

Waiting my turn, I hope that she's still at the counter to help me.

Bella

I roll over, and the harsh glare of the red numbers taunts me. It's one AM. If I

want to get any real sleep, I need to leave now and go back to my place. The

heavy arm around my waist feels comforting and right, and I hate having to

sneak away from it. I've learned my lesson, though, after a few mistakes in the

past when I just could not find it in myself to leave. There's no way I can face

what will most likely happen in the morning if I stay.

I make the ten minute drive back to my apartment in eight and fall down on my

bed. Sleep quickly pulls me under.

"Never gonna give you up! Never gonna let you down!"

I groan, pissed off that my own alarm clock has Rick Rolled me. Although, I have

to say that a little Astley in the morning is far preferable to the loud, blaring noise

of the monotonous alarm I used before switching to the radio. Either way, it

really doesn't matter. It's still five in the morning, and that sucks. I roll over,

peering at the empty space next to me and close my eyes, imagining it full and

warm for one second.

Just. One. Second.

That's all I'll allow before hoisting myself out of bed and into the shower where

the hot water wakes me up and hides the tears that slide down my face. I make a

quick pot of coffee, knowing I'll end up having my fair share today, and then it's

back to the bedroom to get dressed. Clothes are strewn all over the floor, and I

can't tell which are clean and which are dirty. At the end of a long, stressful day,

I usually end up stripping my clothes off and tossing them aside, sometimes

aiming for the laundry basket and other times missing completely. It's not like it

matters anyway. There's nobody here to remind me to clean up or roll his eyes

when something's a smidge out of place.

I finally locate a decently clean pair of jeans and a non-stained top. They'll do.

The coffee is ready, and I rush to make myself a cup. In doing so, I spill it all

over me. I almost don't feel the scalding liquid seep through my shirt, but I'm not

completely numb. The tender pink mark it leaves flares into a deep red, and I

grab an ice pack to press over it. Tossing the now stained shirt into the bathroom

sink, I hunt for something else to wear. An old, worn t-shirt that is too big for me

is balled up in a corner of the closet. I pick it up, debating whether or not to wear

it, but I know I'll never chance getting it dirty. That would mean I'd have to wash

it.

I bring the shirt up to my face and breathe in, transporting myself to a time not

too long ago. My nose tingles as stinging tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

Pressing my lips to the shirt, I place it down on the bed and notice the glaring red

numbers on my clock.

Shit!

I'm going to be late. I spot a tank top on the ground and put it on without even

bothering to check if it's clean. My apron will cover it up if it isn't. I don't have

time to bother with it at the moment.

I hustle and pull into my spot in the alley behind the coffee shop and let out a

sigh of relief. I'm only a minute late. I pull down the visor and flip open the

mirror, cringing at what looks back at me. I swipe some foundation over the dark

purple circles under my eyes, products of fitful, sleepless nights. There's not

much to do for the seemingly permanently etched lines in my forehead, so I grab

my hair and toss it into a somewhat presentable bun. A coat of lipgloss is all I can

be bothered with, and I throw it back in the glove compartment before grabbing

my key to open up.

Alice is already there, standing at the back entrance with her eyes closed as she

bops along to whatever music is pelting through her earbuds. She looks so

happy...so carefree, and her ease and lightness spread to me as a smile finds its

way to my face. My cheeks almost hurt from it. Those muscles have rarely had a

chance to stretch lately. I'm careful not to spook her and gently jostle her

shoulder so she knows I'm there. Her pint-sized body melds itself to mine in a

hug, and I can't help but hug her back. We walk into the kitchen with our arms

around each other and stand there staring at it as the lights flicker on.

I let her know what we should get started with, and without talking, we dive in

head first. We both toss on our aprons, and Alice plugs her iPod into a set of

speakers. Then, we move around the kitchen, partners in this dance that we have

done for a while. We gather ingredients and mix, stir and bake for the next

couple of hours. There is a moment of panic when I cannot find the raisins for a

particular scone we make, and I narrowly avoid a full-blown anxiety attack.

Alice's quick thinking and ability to calm me down saves the day when she

remembers to look in the fridge.

"Sorry, Bella. I must have put them away in there instead of the pantry. But it's

okay. We're fine. You're fine," she reassures me, rubbing my back.

A few deep breaths later, the buzzing in my skin and the beating of my heart

slowly subside. An hour later and I have no time to think about raisins anymore.

The line at the register hasn't stopped since seven this morning. It keeps me

busy, however, and it certainly keeps my mind off other things, if only for a few

moments here and there. Of course, it all crumbles when I see a young couple

sitting at the table by a window, sharing a muffin. My stomach drops, and the

painful pit in my stomach throbs, reminding me of what I used to have.

I hold it together, just barely, through the breakfast rush before I allow myself a

second cup of coffee during a short lull. Alice peeks in from the back to check on

me, and I let her know I'm fine. Or...as fine as I can be.

As the crowd picks up again, I find myself glancing at the clock, continually

noting the time. My hands shake a bit, and I can feel a thin sheet of sweat coat

my forehead. I try to take a deep breath and calm myself down, but between the

completely aggravating customer in front of me and the two large coffees I've

consumed, it's hard to do.

"I'm sorry sir," I repeat for what feels like the twentieth time. "While I am

sympathetic to your desire for vegan friendly pastries, I simply cannot come up

with a decent substitute for actual cheese in the danish. We do have a lovely

selection of vegan-friendly muffins if you'd like to try those?"

My eyebrows furrow as I concentrate on not crying. I really don't need to deal

with this asshole when I have one hundred other things on my plate. I do my

best to think of some sort of compromise that will be acceptable to the die hard

vegan in front of me, who's wearing leather shoes no less, when I feel the fine

hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end. Without even seeing who it is, a

wave of calm washes over me.

The man in front of me might as well not exist at the moment, as I revel in the

light, relaxed feeling I'm experiencing. I look over and a pair of intense green

eyes are staring right at me. For a moment or two, I hold out a glimmer of hope

that maybe...maybe.

And then he turns away, averting his gaze as he fidgets uncomfortably.

My eyes close for a second, defeat flooding through me.

Edward

"A large latte, please," I say after peering up at the colorfully decorated

chalkboard for a moment. "And a cinnamon-raisin scone ."

I look back down into a pair of deep brown, penetrating eyes. This brown isn't

dull or drab. In fact, it's vibrant, sparkling with life, and I can't help but turn my

lips up into a smile at the sight.

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