Chapter 2
Every little bump in the road I tried to swerve
To be honest, I kind of hoped Nick would randomly show up at my house in the middle of the night.
But he never did. Then again, I didn't think he would. He wasn't that kind of person, although at time he sort of was.
I never fell asleep.
I laid in my comfort bed, non stop crying for hours. Seven hour to be exact. From 12:30 to 7:30. I was breaking for giving up what was easily mine.
Never looked at the clock once, for that whole seven hours. I drowned in my self made misery.
The slam of the door warned me work had already began.
My Mom had owned a coffee shop, since ever I can remember. She is said to have formed an obsession with coffee while she was pregnant with me. Due only to the simple fact that she couldn't drink it. I wonder why Mom didn't wake me? If she didn't make me go to work on a weekend, then I must have really looked terrible last night.
I arrived within the hour look a little more presentable then the last time my Mother saw me. She was working with a customer at the time, but she caught up with me soon enough.
"Honey, you can go home, you know? I've got it covered. We really don't need you today."
Rose, another employ, insisted I move out the way of the coffee machine. I quickly moved over, for the simple reason that her though beautiful scowl, scared me to death.
"Mom," I retrieved our conversation, "You may not need me here, but I need to be here. I have to stay busy."
She nodded and scooted from my walkway in approval.
I received a regular amount of tips, and amount of customers for a normal Saturday. The whole day was a blur. All I could remember is the night before. I pushed them away and pulled the folded money in my apron pocket. While doing this I cringed at the sudden cold, hard feeling. Edward Cullen perhaps? Yeah, in my dreams. I thought as I twisted the blue sidekick in my hand. My missing phone was found. I grazed the shop for unseen customers, and found none. Although I was not supposed to grace a phone while on my shift, I'm sure Mom would cut me some slack.
I pressured it sliding it roof off, and turned it on. The first image I saw was a picture taken just yesterday. An ecstatic, smiling Nick graced the background of my phone. He must have taken it while left for the bathroom, for one of my hyperventilation trips that I took at lest 3 times, not wanting to breakaway from him. Next '47 missed calls' popped up just covering his nose and playful upper lip. All the tears willing to escape my eyes had already left, so I didn't cry.
Two of the calls were from my Mom and one from science partner , Cindy, probably asking one of her stupid questions. The other 45, were from none other then the broken Nicholas.
Out of that 30 went without a voicemail.
Next he acquired the string of text that I counted instead of the pile of valuable green paper laying out for anyone to take because my attention was off in another place.
64 text.
45 calls.
and 15 voicemail's.
Was he insane?
Well, at least the reason was still a mysterious to him. He is much to modest to believe that I left him for his own future.
