One Day at a Time in Bellewood

It will not be like last time. 

I am in control. 

After moving to the quaint town of Bellewood I learned that they only have one coffee shop: Prairie Java. It isn’t even good. But the owners must be familiar with the idea that beggars can’t be choosers. We take what we can get. 

I’ve been here two months and I’ve already become an avid regular at this establishment. In that time I’ve only seen two baristas at work here, Emma and Lori. 

Emma is a recent high school graduate who will attend a cosmetology school in September. She is nice but not very passionate about serving the locals their lattes. As soon as she is done with an order she pulls her phone out of her apron. Judging by the little smiles she gives to the screen I suspect she spends most of her time texting her boyfriend, Cory, at work. But what Cory doesn’t know is that Emma’s other boyfriend, Danny, comes to distract her in person.

Lori is the manager at Prairie Java. Every time I see her she has bags under her eyes and she is constantly yawning. I wonder if she’s aware she’s surrounded by a substance made specifically to give people energy. Despite her constant exhaustion, Lori loves to talk. She is a master of pointless conversations. Not that I engage her more than the polite amount. And yet, through some harmless eavesdropping on other townspeople in the coffee shop, I learned that Lori’s husband is filing for divorce after fifteen years of marriage. Evidently he’s been bragging about it at town functions with his twenty year old assistant on his arm.

I may be an outsider in this small town, but I make sure to keep up to date on all the gossip that spreads like wildfire. It helps me to be a place where everyone and everything is predictable. It’s all so boring that I am not at all tempted to go back to my old ways. 

I was beginning to enjoy this simple and uncomplicated way of life. All I had to do was sip on my coffee and stare out the window, letting this dull town tame my worst habits, one day at a time.

The bell on the front door of the coffee shop rang out, announcing the arrival of a new customer. My eyes were drawn to the noise. The tall figure in a gray, three piece suit did not match the denim and plaid shirts usually preferred by the men of this area. The intrigue swelled in me, but I buried it. You were just a regular guy making a stop before heading back to whatever city you came from.

My eyes stay on you as you saunter up to the counter and give Emma your order. You smile too much. Either you are worried about appearing rude in any kind of social interaction or you need everyone to know how charming you are. As soon as Emma turns away to get started on your order, you don’t pull out your phone to occupy yourself. You turn around to take in the rest of the room. I avert my eyes to look outside the window right before your head turns in my direction.

I guess I wasn’t as subtle as I thought I was.

When I raise my eyes to you again, you are staring at me. Your crystal blue eyes are peering at me with so much intensity I know I’ve been caught.

Emma finishes your coffee and holds it out to you. You hardly turn back to her as you take your cup. You keep your focus on me in the very back corner. 

For a moment, I think that you will take your coffee and go back out the door.

Instead, you take your coffee and start walking towards me.

You stand over my table for a few seconds, expecting me to offer you a seat or to tell you to leave me alone. I stay silent.

“May I sit?” You ask in your most chivalrous tone.

“There are plenty of other tables available.”

“Ah, but this is the best one,” you respond, arrogantly.

I don’t shake my head and you take that as an invitation. 

I open my book in front of me, finding any means to distract myself from you. I become increasingly unsettled each minute you sit in front of me without saying anything.

Finally, I shut my book in frustration.

“Did you need something?” I fume.

You have the nerve to smirk. It could have been attractive to anybody else. I was growing increasingly annoyed.

“You were the one watching me first,” you replied, “and I realized that maybe we should get to know one another.”

“I wasn’t watching you.”

“Yes, you were.”

I shake my head. “Fine, but I was just trying to figure out why someone wearing a thousand dollar suit would walk into this coffee shop in this town.”

Another smile. “I guess it is strange. And it’s a two thousand dollar suit, by the way.”

I roll my eyes. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

You tap your coffee cup with your index finger. I see the ways your eyes study me, wondering if I’m your next challenge. I have a feeling you aren’t used to women brushing you off so easily.

“My company has some business in this town, so they sent me here for a few days. After tasting the coffee at the only cafe in forty miles I am hoping I can leave sooner than later.” He took a sip from his cup. “But I love making new friends.”

No, I won’t indulge this any further.

You smile again, making sure I understand your meaning. 

I should just leave.

“My name’s Brandon, by the way.”

“Cassie.”

You nod, thinking that you are going to get exactly what you want. I hope you are wrong.

“Do you want to grab something stronger than coffee, Cassie?”

“There’s only one bar in town,” I explain, “And it doesn’t open for another hour.”

You lean back in your chair, confident that you are getting closer to your goal.

“Then lucky for us I have an unopened bottle of scotch in my motel room.”

I should decline. I should get up and leave without another word. I feel myself slipping back into who I was before I came to Bellewood. But you are so sure of yourself. You want this. Maybe I can give into my wants as well. 

I stand up and throw my book into my tote bag. “Lead the way.”

Like every service offered in Bellewood, there is usually only one option. When it came to motels all that was available was Eagle River Inn that sat on the very edge of town. When I first arrived in Bellewood, I stayed here for about a week until I found a house to rent.

The rooms looked exactly the same these months later, just as dirty too. 

I sat on the foot of the lumpy mattress as you poured your expensive scotch into plastic cups.

“I hope you like it neat, the ice machine outside is broken.” You hand me my cup with a generous amount of liquor. 

“It was broken when I stayed here too,” I responded, “So either they are really bad at fixing it or they never intend to.”

You chuckle, bringing the amber liquid to your lips. “At least it’s the good stuff, ice would be a disservice to it anyway.”

I take a sip from my own plastic cup. It is surprisingly smooth. It hardly burns as it slides down my throat. But my time not drinking reveals itself as I stifle a small cough.

You slide closer to me across the cigarette scented bed spread. I watch you so you know you aren’t getting away with anything, I am allowing it.

I take another drink. 

“So you aren’t from the area either?” You inquire, draining your cup after the question is stated.

I shake my head. “No, I just moved here a couple of months ago.”

“Why?”

The natural progressive of questions. Bellewood was not a popular destination. For most, it was a brief passing sight from their car windows.

But I couldn’t tell you the truth.

“I have a sister in Tindel, it’s a town about twenty miles south of here. She got sick and I wanted to move closer to her so I could help her out.”

“That’s very saintly of you.” You murmur, pouring yourself another glass, refilling mine as well.

I take a drink. “I’m no saint, I assure you.”

“Are you sure? Saint Cassie has such a good ring to it,” you said.

You have gotten closer. Our thighs are touching. I can smell the scotch on your breath as you talk. 

Your eyes stare at me. I’m worried they can see right through me, but you are too focused on other things at the moment.

“Saints don’t have any fun,” I mutter.

You smile. “Then I hope you take after the sinners.”

You lean forward and bring your lips to mine, with no intention of being gentle about it. I pull back after a few seconds.

You look confused. You thought it was over. All we had to do was take it further. You don’t like going backwards.

“Is something wrong?” You ask, the frustration overshadowing the concern in your voice.

I can see the anger beginning to shine in your eyes. It welcomes me like a hearth in a home.

I am in control.

“I think this was a mistake. I should go.”

I get up to leave, placing my empty plastic cup on the small table by the door and swinging my bag over my shoulder. You follow me to the door.

“What is your problem?”

“I don’t want to rush into anything here. I am trying to be more responsible. That’s why I said that this was a mistake. I’m sorry for misleading you.”

I turn the door handle. A sliver of sunlight gets through the door before you reach out and close it again. Keeping your hand placed firmly on the door so I can’t open it again.

“What do you think you are doing?” you say, the anger revealing itself.

“I just want to leave. I shouldn’t be here.”

You are not smiling now. Your lips fall into a straight line as your eyebrows furrow.

“You came here. You knew what was going to happen. Is this some kind of sick game you are playing? You string men along and then walk out before anything happens? You wanted this.”

I take my hand off the door handle. “And now I don’t. Maybe you can try your luck elsewhere.”

“But I want you.”

You take your hand off the door, bringing it towards my body. 

You don’t get the chance to touch me. 

I have my knife from my bag in my hand and at your throat before your fingers can feel my skin.

You take a step back, but my blade is still too close to the artery for comfort.

You snicker. A disgusting smirk spreads onto your lips.

“Am I supposed to be afraid? You won’t do anything.”

I shrug. “You should have just let me leave. This isn’t who I wanted to be anymore.”

Bewilderment fills your intense eyes. Your last expression as I make a quick slash, knowing exactly where to do the most damage.

Your body falls to the floor. Blood begins to drench the beige carpet.

I drop the knife back into my bag.

“I am in control,” I whisper to myself.

I didn’t like this town anyway. It is time to try another.