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Chapter Two - Used to the Pain

The next morning, the cold spray that assailed my face let me know that I had fallen asleep admist my tears. My back ached from the fetal position I had curled myself into. I rolled over onto my back, stretching my arms and legs wide.

The sky was a perfect blue, the clouds the type that a child could lay for hours and devise all types of animals and shapes for the puffy masses. They were the type of clouds that made me think that Lauren was up there somewhere in Heaven, looking down at me and waiting for the night to come so that she could envelop me with a presence that wasn't tangible but was felt to the bone. I struggled to sit up, my stomach clenching and eliciting a loud grumble.

As my eyes scanned the beautiful ocean, I saw the outline of land. My stomach growled again, reminding me that as stubborn as I was, a breakfast of bread and cheese wasn't an option.

Even though my goal had been to escape, I hadn't done so recklessly. My coordinates told me right where I was. With GPS, it was impossible to get lost. I was familiar with the area I was approaching; I knew that a million little eateries dotted the shoreline that was less than two miles out. I got to my feet, padding foolishly barefoot along the slick deck to the controls. As I turned my boat, my destination now clearly set, I finger-combed my hair.

It had been a long time, since Lauren's death to be exact, when I had last cared about my appearance. My stomach had once again grown slack, but not so bad to send me spiraling back to my worst. My hair was in desperate need of a cut and I needed to brush my teeth badly. I was tempted for exactly thirty seconds to slow my speed and go clean up, but I realized that anything I ate for breakfast would mask my morning breath. After all, I wasn't going to get close to anyone.

Ever again.

One hour later, the hour hand on my watch turned to nine a.m. and I docked my boat in one of the few empty slots. I hopped out onto dry land, making sure I retraced my steps. When I was satisfied, I turned and looked at my breakfast options.

It was a warm morning that served to strengthen the smell of salt. Most of the restaurants were packed. I saw several couples, their heads pressed close together, laughing happily. I flinched as I saw a woman hold out a bite of waffle to her lover.

Those days were behind me.

I settled on a restaurant that was occupied by only a few stragglers. For a second I hesitated, wondering if the lack of customers was a result of horrible food. Yet, compared to the alternative (sitting in cupid's midst), I was prepared to down inedible cardboard.

A tiny gold bell chimed above the door as I pushed the swinging door opened. The place smelled slightly damp, yet at the same time slightly floral. I noticed the colorful bouquets of flowers in vases placed in the center of each table. I chose to sit at the counter.

Through a small window behind the counter I could see a rotund man draped in an apron the size of a tent working hard at the grill. I propped my elbows on the light tan wood, my feet pressing against the bottom rung of the bar stool. The padding on the seat was cut; I had a feeling I was going to have a bunny tail upon standing.

"Coffee? Coffee?"

The voice came from behind me; I didn't bother to turn. I heard one person mutter an ascent. There was a clatter, but it wasn't loud of enough to heighten my curiosity enough to look.

"Coffee?"

Suddenly the large glass container was hovering right by my arm and making a quick motion at the coffee cup turned on its end. I considered it for a moment before turning it over. The coffee began to fall into the cup...

And then it fell on my lap.

"Jesus Christ! Watch it!" I barked. I shoved back too fast, the barstool tipping recklessly. I crashed to the ground, my head bouncing off the floor like a basketball.

"OH NO!" the owner of the pot of coffee cried. I saw lime green flip-flops slap dangerously close to my ear. My hand grabbed the back of my head. When I pulled it away I was sure I was going to see sticky red blood, but there was nothing. I sat up slowly.

"Are you okay?"

I looked up and recoiled. It wasn't as if the woman crouching near me was ugly; no, she was far from it. My action was a result of spotting the large cast on her right arm and noticing how dangerously close the pot of coffee in her left hand was coming to pouring scalding hot coffee on my lap again.

"The coffee," I said.

The blonde glanced at the pot of coffee, her eyes widening in realization what I was all too aware of. She pulled it towards her.

"I'm so sorry," she said. She struggled to push herself up on slender legs. I straightened the barstool, using it to stand up.

My first thought was that I had never met a woman as short as the one in front of me. She was eye-level with my chest; as such her head was tilted back to look into my face. I leaned over and grabbed a napkin, promptly soaking up the brown liquid that had sunk into my shorts.

"I'm fine," I said. Truthfully, it wouldn't have mattered if I was injured. I never intended to use that part of my anatomy again. For the first time in my life, my reason, not lust, ruled my thoughts and actions.

"I feel so bad," she murmured. She put the pot down and grabbed a cloth hanging from the band of her apron. She soaked up the coffee on the counter.

"Accidents happen," I said. "Sorry for my outburst."

The woman shook her head. "Nonsense, don't apologize. Do you know what you want to order?"

I glanced around. I had attracted the attention of the few older men that sat at the flower tables. Each one had a large platter of pancakes before them.

"I'll have the pancakes," I said. The woman tucked the wet towel back into her apron and picked up the coffee pot.

"Right away," she said. "They're all-you-can eat. And I promise not to drop it on you."

I gave her a small smile, the only type of smile I could form. "That would be great. Thanks."

As she bustled away, I swapped out my torn stool with one that looked slightly sturdier. I poured in a container of creme into my coffee cup and took a tentative sip. I nodded in satisfaction.

It tasted much better in my mouth than it had felt on my skin, skin that still stung. Not that it mattered, of course.

I was used to pain.