The Blog of Mollie King. A Sixteen-Year-Old Human Mistake.

MolliesMistakes posted 13^th February, 11:23am:

Taking one step inside, I freeze. Then hurry back outside again.

I’ve been doing this for the past hour and to be honest, it feels like I’m on a never-ending teacup ride.

So, it’s not that his teeth are so white they could put a pearl to shame, or that his hair reminds me of a molten, caramel bar. It’s not even that he’s handsome. A lot of people are handsome. It’s the fact that I already know how amazing he is. He’s already tasted my tongue and I’ve already scented his sweat. He’s already showed up at my door in the rain and I’ve already catapulted myself into his arms and fallen to the ground.

Still trying to remove the grass stains from by jacket FYI.

The door chimes as another customer leaves, coffee cup in hand.

Cory’s Coffee.

A voice calls out, ‘Have a happy coffee day!’

Cory can stuff his coffee up his arse. All I want is to talk to Paul without feeling like the world’s worst loser.

MolliesMistakes posted 11:26am:

Paul works for his dad, Cory, on the weekend and I know this as we used to make out behind the shelves in the back, right next to the milk fridge. He used to tell me I was beautiful and then stick his tongue down my throat. It was romantic, if a little sticky on the floor.

Now his lips are a memory. Distant.

We only have once year left at school together before he moves to California for college. Paul is an excellent painter. He will be a famous artist one day and I plan to be the first one to buy his work. He once painted me. Sure, he made my boobs look a little bigger than they actually are, but I wasn’t about to correct him.

Sticking my chest out, I look down and sigh.

MolliesMistakes posted 11:29am:

I got to the desk. I actually touched the wood and looked at the menu before bolting.

Ahhh… why am I such a loser?

I bet Paul doesn’t have any trouble talking to people. I bet all he has to do is smile that smile and the customers fall into his lap.

I’d fall into his lap given the chance.

I’d lick coffee off his hands if he’d let me.

I’d run him a bath filled with coffee beans.

I’d wash his hair in the damn machine if he wanted.

…

I take a large bite of my caramel bar and sit on the bench outside, watching the shop. The green frame around the window makes the place stand out among the fallen snow. The white mugs tilted towards each other and stuck to the windows as their logo haunts me every day.

As I watch people disappear inside, snowflakes flutters down, landing on my coat and jeans. I inhale a breath of fresh air and sigh.

Why are exes, exes? Like, is it fair that two people aren’t allowed to talk anymore because of a label?

I mean, who is this helping?

MolliesMistakes posted 12:08pm:

I haven’t got long before his shift ends.

If I want to talk to him, I need to go now.

So why am I still sitting? Why am I stroking the bench like its my safe place? The dried bird-poop under my backside is surprisingly comforting compared to the thought of walking in there.

I mean, what would I even say?

Paul, I love you. I want you back.

Paul, I want to make out in the fridge room again.

Paul, I know you better than anyone else ever could.

Paul, I’m sorry.

MolliesMistakes posted 12:15pm:

His name was Jared. He was a football player. His arms were like huge, chunky wotsits and his hands were as big as my face. Paul hated him. He used to curl his arms around my waist tightly when we walked by him. Jared used to smile at me when Paul wasn’t looking.

It wasn’t long before we started texting. Jared was smooth. His words were like the orange inside of jaffa cakes… addictive and moreish.

I found myself becoming his first victim. One taste of my tongue and he got bored. He wanted the others. He wanted to taste the whole school.

Paul wouldn’t talk to me after.

He wouldn’t even look at me. Like he doesn’t look at me now, sitting on this bench, facing the grubby window that seriously needs a wash.

MolliesMistakes posted 12:31pm:

I walk from the bench to the pavement just outside the shop. A mass of pigeons surround me on all sides, their feathered wings flapping at each other. Stepping out of the pigeon war zone, I scent coffee as the door opens once again.

'Have a happy coffee day!' a voice shouts.

‘Move, stupid kid.’ An angry fellow shoves past me but I pay him no heed. In fact, I feel sorry for his bald head. He must be freezing.

I pull my coat tighter around myself and tuck a strand of my blonde hair behind an ear. Watching my breath cloud in front of me and the snow that drips from the drain pipes above, I step inside.

One step in front of the other, Mollie.

One.

…

Two.

…

Three.

…

Paul looks up as the door chimes. He smiles at me.

MolliesMistakes posted 12:32pm:

I remember the last time he smiled at me. It was sad.

It was three years ago. Three years of feeling guilty. Three years of watching Jared grow into the most popular guy in school. Three years of wanting to punch him and myself for what we did.

Paul’s smile was a small tug of the lips. His eyes watered when he told me it was over.

MolliesMistakes posted 12:34pm:

I walk over to the counter and smile, tucking some more hair behind my ear and taking off my knitted gloves.

‘Hi,’ he says.

‘Hello,’ I reply.

A few moments of silence.

‘What can I get you?’ he asks, smiling that smile. His hair lops over to the side and I refrain from running my hands through it. That would be awkward.

‘Uh… a cappuccino?’ I say as confusion leaks out of me. Why is he so polite? Surely, he must hate me. I broke his heart.

‘Drinking in or takeaway?’

‘Take…away…’

‘Coming up!’ he announces, going to make the coffee.

‘Paul…’ I say, my words shaky and small.

He turns, his head cocking to the side. ‘How’d you know my name?’

‘It’s me…’ I offer.

He finishes making my coffee and hands it to me in a takeaway cup. ‘Have we met?’

Is he being funny? Does he honestly not remember me?

‘It’s Mollie. Mollie King.’

He frowns and silence ensues. Cogs seem to turn in his head, but nothing registers.

Three years I’ve felt guilty.

Three years I’ve put myself through hell.

Three years it’s taken me to talk to him again.

And he doesn’t even remember…

I take off the lid of my coffee and throw it at him.

‘Have a happy coffee day!’