Pumpkin lattes spiced with sorrow.

Café Zest was always my safe place. It was somewhere I could go, undisturbed and be my true self. It was where I met my most authentic match and thrived in self resilience and improvement. I had woken up content, breathing in consciously aware of the ripe fresh energy that flowed through the breeze. As my late Aunt would say “The weather to put a spring in your step”. A spring in my step on such a beautiful Thursday noon. I had felt a thrill to the day and in doing so had color coordinated perfectly with the fallen leaves outside. My hair was full of life and my lipstick matched my vibe. I was eagerly awaiting a sign from the universe to let me know everything would be okay until then I would add to my journal of portrait art and enjoy the festive pumpkin latte. Halloween was a binge of pumpkin coffee and chocolate apples; I wasn’t a fan of clowns or costumes and quite frankly horrors scared the sh** out of me but nothing was as terrifying as the scene about to flood my senses. The sign from the universe came and went and with it my world shattered.

I felt his presence before I saw him. Tall and slender always fitting the character of a mysterious handsome man to the unknown soul. A current of electricity ran through me as I tried to plot an escape. I had to get out. I had to get away. I had promised myself security this time. I had promised it before but this time I was finally pulling it off. I had convinced myself this fresh start was different. My mind was racing but my body was froze like ice. I scrabbled to get my paper together wishing I were Harry Potter because right now I needed a cloak of invisibility. Fu** Fu** Fuck.

“Sarah? Is that you?”. His voice made the hairs on my neck rise. I turned to face the man I had one day hoped to marry. It had been five years since we had last slept together. Five years since the conviction. Statutory Rape had been the term. Not that I had any say. My strict reserved mother had come to the conclusion I was sleeping with my teacher while underage and she had brought the charge forward anyway. At seventeen I had rights and the capacity to consent, but my mother had the evidence and messages to prove I was a child when it started and by child, I mean the day before I turned seventeen. My mother liked to put salt in my wounds. She also liked to wound me.

Everyone else saw a mother’s devoted protection for her child. I just saw it as another opportunity to highlight I was wounded. Vulnerable was her term of choice. My relationship with Antony wasn’t like that. I loved him and I knew he loved me. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Funny what she would say now.

Five years have passed since the man I loved got charged with taking advantage of me. I spent two years trying to walk away. I had never wanted to see him again out of shame, I (my mother) had ruined his life. I still spent one thousand, eight hundred and seven days loving him regardless. Here he was standing in front of me and I had no idea what to do, what to even say. As I looked into his eyes my own started to water. His eyes had aged, those kind eyes that once made me believe in miracles had aged and saddened so significantly. There was a sadness to them, and I couldn’t stay. I had to get away. “Anthony, I ... I don’t know what to say”. The tears began to fall, and I felt the blood rush to my head... The ground was beginning to shake as the lyrics for “sometime around midnight” played in my mind. The moment that had descended from wildest dreams into the darkest nightmares.

This couldn’t be real. Maybe I was going into psychosis again. Maybe mania. Since our relationship had been laid on a plate for the world to see I had fallen victim of paranoia and tragic mental health.

Pull yourself together Sarah for Christ’s sake. Taking a deep breath before I let the words run from my mouth. Gracefully and poised. Easy does it Sarah. “Hi Ant, it’s a … it’s nice to see you. I hope you are keeping well.” Keeping it formal and distant. I couldn’t let my heart break like that again.

I looked down as I put on my coat. I awkwardly took the ribbon from my hair letting it fall down over my face. I had to try hide the sheer insecurity clawing inside of me. I looked up at Anthony unsure of whether I asked him to sit down or just made a swift escape. Part of me just wanted to leap into his arms and make up for all the lost time while he was away. I had to face the fact that it was all my fault he went away. I had just begun learning to forgive myself. I regretted looking up again. Antony was white as a sheet looking like a man who’d just had an encounter with ghost. I was a ghost from the past and I was sure he wanted me if not needed me out of sight immediately, yet I could not move. Pulling the chair out slowly Anthony sat down and crossed his hands before running his hand over his face. A behaviour I knew was a sign of stress and he repeated it frequently during the weeks leading up to exam stress. Fighting the urge to comfort him I pulled my bag from the ground to go to leave. That’s when I noticed the wedding finger on his left hand, and I knew then and there I had to get away.

I felt like pulling out my heart. I wanted to confess but I knew I couldn’t. He was married now. That meant he had found love and peace. I chose to let the selflessness of love lead the command as I placed my hand on Anthony’s shoulder and apologized in advance. Feeling the weight in my feet I fled the coffee shop only stopping after the coffee shop was no longer in sight. Pulling out a cigarette I checked the train times on my phone. The love of my life was suddenly in the only place I ever called home. Safety was destroyed, sanity was non-existent and abandoning ship was the only option. I had to go.

I have always been prepared for moments like this, running away was like running an errand to the shop. I had done it so many times before but this time it felt harder. I had been in Northampton 6 months now. The longest time I had ever spent creating a space to call home. Six months of turning over new leaves and making new friends. Even though they called me friend and I met with them regularly I had always remained intimate at a distance. Vague with my answers to questions and vague with my hopes and dreams. I had become the type of person who only ever talked about someone else. I had chosen friends with an intense ego and a vulnerable heart and I had created the roots of my friendships by building up my “friends”. Perfected to a tee that no one ever realized I never talked about myself. The joy of constantly living like you were on the run. The train to the airport was in two hours. I hadn’t decided my destination stop after the airport. I didn’t need too. Pulling my black fashion statement cap out of my bag and adjusting my sunglasses. I would blend in like your everyday wannabe travel blogger not needing to know the destination. I had enough money in my savings account for this. It was the only thing I ever spent money on. Getting away and starting over. Maybe I would go to Amsterdam. I could live a peaceful life and own a bike. Spend my mornings working in a coffee shop and my afternoons by the canal journaling and smoking joints. Ah what a peaceful life I could have. No one to answer too, no one I could wound with my heavy emotional baggage or “vulnerability”. Time to start life all over again. Seventh time lucky. Not.