Undream the Echoes

Elle
06.04.1998

I have come to the conclusion that Liam Berkshire is by far the most stubborn and most idiotic man I have ever met. After telling him that I basically hate him and I never want to see his face again, he decides it would be a good idea to stalk me for the next few weeks. He comes into the café everyday from three to four in the afternoon, orders the same thing (straight black coffee) and sits in the same red velvet chair by the window. Sometimes he reads the paper, sometimes he is writing on documents that I assume are for his work, and sometimes he just sips his coffee and stares lazily out the window. Every once in a while I catch him staring in my direction, and every time he quickly averts his gaze and pretends that he has no idea that I own this place. Yeah, my ass. I want to storm over there and yell at him for being such a fucking creep, and then make him feel embarrassed before kicking him out of my store permanently, but I never do. I know it will be better if I keep ignoring him. I know that it will pain him more if I pretend he doesn’t exist, if I don’t acknowledge the effort he’s putting in. I have to admit, I enjoy the fact that he comes here every day. I like that he comes back for more, that he keeps on giving me the chance to hurt him. I like making him suffer.

However, I cannot deny the fact that I also like that he is trying so hard. It’s flattering that he’s going through all of this to redeem himself and that he thinks I’m really worth it. Of course, I will never admit to that. And I will never give in to him.

He keeps on trying to gain my forgiveness. It doesn’t work. So far there have been several bouquets, sorry notes and boxed chocolates that have been sacrificed, and of course all of them have ended up in the dumpster in the back.

One day he summons up the courage to speak to me. He tries to apologize again but I keep ignoring him. “I’ll buy you a new dress,” he offers, and that’s when I lose my cool. I can’t keep pretending Liam Berkshire doesn’t exist, because my tongue is begging me to tell him what an asshole he is, and I cannot resist. I finally turn to him and spit with venom, “It’s not about the dress.”

Except it sort of is. I spent months saving up for a dress like that. My closet is full of old clothes that I can buy for cheap upstairs in the vintage boutique as well as hand-me-downs from my older sister. Although I own a business it doesn’t mean I get rich from it. It took me a very long time to buy a dress as pretty and as flowing and as well-fitting as that one, and although I don’t generally consider myself to be materialistic, I can’t help but feel a sense of pride every time I put it on. It is gorgeous and in turn it makes me feel gorgeous, which is something that money cannot buy. I had been waiting to wear it for a special occasion, and when Liam asked me out – and since I was thoroughly convinced I was going to marry him (I’m a fucking idiot) – I decided that our date together was that occasion.

And now it has a blood red stain from the wine splashes all over its front. It’s still hanging in my closet, even though it’s permanently wounded and I can never wear it again, because it would hurt me too much if I had to throw it away. I still like looking at it, and sometimes I even try it on and stare in the mirror and pretend the stain isn’t there. I know it’s pathetic.

I am about to yell at Liam a bit more, but then I realize he has a big goofy grin on his face. I am going to ask why he’s suddenly so happy and then I realize why: He has finally gotten me to stop ignoring him. Granted, he angered me in doing so, but at least I am talking to him again. Goddamn it.

He leaves the café, practically skipping to his car. I can’t help but glower after him.

The next day it is raining. I am still bitter about what happened yesterday and the grungy weather makes everything worse. I know that Liam will show up at three o’clock today and I know that he will try to talk to me again. Dread is the only emotion that stirs within me when I think this. So for all you hopeless romantics out there – no, my heart does not flutter in the slightest when I think of Liam. I am only filled with hatred, I promise.

I feel trapped, like I am being forced to play this stupid game with him. It isn’t fair. I really do not want to see him again, but there’s nothing I can do to prevent him from coming to my store. Last time I checked it was a free country and he’s allowed to do whatever his sick mind tells him to. I guess I can get a restraining order, but I’m not really sure what the grounds are for obtaining one, and I don’t feel like getting involved with the legal system anyway since have a shit load of unpaid parking permits. So basically I have no way out.

And then a thought strikes me. It’s my store, isn’t it?

I hurriedly pick up the phone and call Jason. It’s still an hour before the café opens. I still have time. “Hey, Jason?” I say to the teen, who answers his cell phone with such a groggy voice that makes me believe I have woken him up. “You can have the day off today.”

“Really?!” Well, that grabbed his attention. His voice is full of excitement and I can just envision him bolting upright in bed.

“Yeah. Really. I’m taking the day off too. The store’s going to be closed for the day.” Jason screams some profanities which I assume are from glee, and after I mutter some form of a goodbye I hang up.

But I know that I can’t go a day without work. I enjoy it, actually. I like being busy and stressed out; being bored is disastrous for me. So I go to the café anyway, a half an hour before it opens, but instead of flipping the CLOSED sign to OPEN like I usually do at eleven, I keep it where it is. For good measure I add a small handwritten note underneath: Sorry everyone. Feeling under the weather today. Be open again tomorrow. Everyone that regularly comes to the café knows me so I’m sure I’ll be forgiven. The place is usually less packed when it’s storming outside anyway, which is understandable. The café just isn’t the rainy-day sort of place.

I spend most of the day in the backroom, reorganizing things and dealing with paperwork and restocking the coffee and other things like that. I spend little time in my office, because it is even smaller than the bathroom here and I hate being crammed in tiny places. I like moving around, hustling and bustling even if there’s no good reason for it. After I do everything I can possibly do, I look at the clock – it’s 3:30. At first I’m stunned that I’ve worked for this long without realizing it, and then I feel proud for making this place so clean and spotless…and then I feel extremely happy about my decision to close the store today because on a normal day I would have to be dealing with Liam right now.

I have a grin on my face when I grab my keys to go home. It is quickly replaced with a scowl, however, as I see who is sitting on the front step outside the door.

His shaggy dark hair and unshaven face makes him look more tired than usual, but I can recognize him nonetheless. I open the door and the bell announces my presence. “Liam,” I say coldly.

He is surprised to see me at first, but then he quickly stands to his feet. Looking towards the ground, he holds out a hand full of white tulips, which look like they have been pulverized by the rain since several petals are missing. Liam looks pretty beat up at well. His hair and his clothes are dripping wet, and whatever determination he had when he arrived here is now gone; his amber eyes are empty and cold.

“These are for you,” he says in a sullen voice as he stares at the ground. When I stare at him, unmoving, he lets out an agitated sigh and says, “Can you just take them please? Just take them and I promise I won’t bother you anymore. You win, Elle. I’m too tired for this. You’ve proven that I’m not good enough for you and I’ve finally accepted that you’re right. So take these damn flowers because they cost me thirty bucks and I have been sitting in the rain for a half an hour waiting to see you. So please, please stop making me feel so worthless and pathetic and just take them already.”

Feeling a bit stunned by how hollow and sad he sounds, I numbly take the flowers. “Um. Thanks,” I mutter. I wonder where my confidence and anger have fled to.

“I’ll leave now,” he says, not sounding bitter at all, just empty. As promised, he turns to walk towards his car and his drenched shoes squish with each step.

“Wait,” I blurt out. I can’t help it. Watching him walk away like this feels like I just beat up a puppy and abandoned it in the street. It’s not fair to Liam. And I might be a mean heartless bitch, but I’m not that much of a bitch.

He turns to me slowly, all hope drained from his face, as if he just knows that I’m going to throw one last insult at him before he leaves. Goddamn mother of everything fucking holy, I can’t believe I am saying this: “Are you free tomorrow?”