Created

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The sharp sting in my heart was the only thing holding me back from immediately chasing after Melissa once the door slammed shut behind her. Her words sunk in deeper as I reflected and struggled to swallow the grief that rose in me. This was such a mess.
With a resigned and over-tired sigh, I reached for the door. I couldn’t let Melissa get too far away or I’d never find her. Walking out onto the city sidewalk, I looked every direction, searching. Even though it was late, (or maybe because it was late) Chicago teemed with life. Everywhere I looked, people, cars, lights and noises overwhelmed me. But, already a few yards away, I caught a glimpse of Melissa in the seething crowd. I was losing her fast.
“Melissa!” I yelled to her. Despite my efforts, my voice died amongst the noise of the city and was lost, even to my ears. There was no way she could hear me. I began running to catch up, resolved not to lose sight of her. I ducked and dodged around people on the street, trying not to hit anyone and still make it to Melissa soon as possible. She was striding along as fast as she could, clearly angry and frighteningly unapproachable. Anyone could see her fury and, apparently, everyone did because there was not a person on the street who wasn’t taking special care to avoid her. Only as I was catching up and almost upon her did I realize that I might be wise to do the same. But, then again, this was a choice between the smart thing and the right thing and I was learning fast that those choices were never the same.
I fell into the fast rhythm of Melissa’s steps, matching her footfall so I could keep up.
“Leave me alone, Adam,” Melissa growled at me. “I don’t want to have to deal with you right now.”
“We have to talk about it,” I told her. “We have to fix this.” Melissa huffed angrily in response.
“Well, I’m not,” she said defiantly. “It doesn’t have to be fixed.” I looked over at her pleadingly and felt my stomach drop a little. The anger I read on her face made me shudder and I hesitated to reply.
“Of… Of course it does,” I said softly, but over the noise of the city and the rage visibly screaming in Melissa’s head, who was going to hear me? My quiet plea for the normal and the content and the sane drowned in the graffiti of sounds. It was as though I hadn’t spoken at all.
Noticing something among the stores to the left, Melissa's tirade screeched to a halt. Her halt was so abrupt, I almost continued walking. When I caught myself and backed up the few steps I had advanced, I followed her gaze to a small soup shop before us. It was sandwiched between other large buildings and looked comically out of place.
A strange, thoughtful look melted away the fury carved into Melissa's face for only a split second before the mask of emotion was up again, but I caught the expression. Something about this little soup shop we had encountered soothed her, if only just for a second.
“Are we going in?” I asked hesitantly.
“I'm going in,” came the haughty response. Exasperated, I sighed quietly and followed her to the door.
“Melissa, talk to me,” I begged to no avail. My words were wasted on her ears. Wasn't this exact thing what sent me over the edge last time?
Melissa tugged on the door and a bell tinkled joyfully. She entered the empty cafe and let the door swing shut behind her. It would have hit me in the face if I hadn't grabbed it in time.
The place, I noticed, was small and cozy, with low ceilings and clean tile floors patterned comforting and serene colours like dark chocolate browns and cozy, rich crimsons. Straight ahead of me was a marble counter where two or three cash registers lined up in a row. Above that hung a large menu sign, complete with pictures of hot chocolates, coffees and soups to choose from. On the right of this was a small isle of benches and tables with maybe four tables on either side. Big, clean windows lined the wall facing the street so that customers could watch the city. At the very end of the line of tables on the far wall was a swinging door with a small window at the top, presumably the kitchen door. Overall, it appeared to be a normal cafe. All was quiet except for the whir of coffee machines in the back and the quiet jazz music streaming from speakers in the ceiling. Melissa made herself right at home, striding over to a booth by the window and dropping into a seat. Defiantly, she crossed her legs and folded her arms, staring stiffly and bitterly out the window. I sat down across from her and watched her awkwardly, biting my lip and waiting for her to speak. She didn't.
“I'm sorry,” I said quietly. Melissa turned even further towards the window and set her steady glare somewhere outside, avoiding eye contact with me. Understandable. She pursed her lips into a straight, stony line. That position of demanding and bitter anger reminded me of someone, but I couldn't think of who. “Please talk to me,” I pleaded in the same soft, apologetic voice.
“About what?” she hissed coldly. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“Nothing?” I replied questioningly. “I don't believe that.” Melissa's eyes flickered over to me and burned a hole into my forehead.
“You have the gal to say that?” she spat in a form half-question and half-statement. I didn't know how to respond, so I kept silent and tried unsuccessfully to meet her eyes.
“I'm sorry,” I repeated and Melissa took a breath.
“Doesn't really matter now, does it?” she sighed softly and I was a bit taken back by her gentleness, but she soon regained her sharp edges. “So just shut up.”
This time, I did and seconds later, it was Melissa to speak.
“It doesn't matter if you're sorry. 'Cause it's done,” she remarked. Her voice was casual and flippant, but her eyes told a different story. I shuddered to witness the fury in them. “You can't take any of it back. You can fix nothing,” she added and fell broodingly silent.
I didn't know what to do with myself after that. My fingers itched to be used and I caught my restless toes patting out a metronome beat in my shoes. I felt the aching need to move, to occupy my mind with some trivial action. Desperate to do just that, I reached for the salt shaker that innocently sat inches from my restless fingers. I clutched it, grateful for the small outlet and slid it across the table for my other hand to catch and slide back. I played this monotonous game with myself to still the dreaded anxiety flooding my mind and to distract myself from the awkward, accusing silence. A few minutes passed where the only sound to be heard was the salt shaker grinding it's way across the table top, one end to the other in perfect time.
“Stop!!” Melissa cried and slammed both hands on the table as hard as she could. The table shook and the salt tipped, hitting the counter before it had a chance to reach my hand again. “Stop that! You're making me sick!” I stared down at the few spilled grains of salt littering the table, feeling tired and apathetic.
“That's bad luck,” I pointed out.
“I don't believe in luck,” Melissa said. I didn't respond.
A few minutes of silence followed where I kept myself and my mind busy by rubbing the fabric of my jeans with my thumb. I knew I was only avoiding thinking about my situation as I counted the little white lines barely visible in the thick cloth. I realized I couldn't even force myself to smile. I wasn't happy.
Suddenly, Melissa laughed. I jumped a little and looked up, alarmed.
“It's funny, really,” she said.
“What is?” I asked.
“You. You're whole existence is rather amusing.” She looked away and half of her mouth tugged upward in a bitter grimace. Awkwardly, I looked down at myself and wondered what was so funny.
“I... I don't know what you mean,” I responded quietly.
“You're the product of a broken heart, Adam,” Melissa said. “If Erik hadn't been so depressed and so hopeless, you wouldn't have even existed.” She looked over at me and her eyes bore into mine. “Doesn't that make you feel something?”
“We have... We have to talk about important things,” I stammered timidly.
Slowly and fluidly, Melissa leaned back again and folded her arms. I heard the rustle of fabric as she crossed her legs underneath the table at the same slow, meticulous pace, almost expectantly. 'Come on,' her silence mocked me. 'What's this important thing you have to say? I'm wasting my time.'
“W-We have to go back to the lab,” I forced myself to speak, provoked by Melissa's impatient and expectant body language. I realized she was starting to intimidate me. Suddenly, I was no longer in the presence of a friend. I felt fear begin to close up my throat.
“Why?” she demanded curtly.
“To... To apologize,” I said, surprised. “We have to say sorry to Erik.” Melissa laughed bitterly-one loud, barked noise.
“If you think I'm apologizing to that man, then you don't know me that well!” she laughed again dryly. “I have nothing to apologize for.”
I didn't agree, but I thought it best not to voice that opinion.
“Do you think he'll just accept you back?” I asked incredulously.
“Well, yes, I do,” Melissa replied in an off-hand manner. “But that's not what I'm saying.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“Shut up and maybe you'll hear.” On her command, I closed my mouth and waited. Once she deemed me a good, quiet listener, she continued.
“What I was saying was that I'm not going back,” Melissa explained plainly. For a second, her words didn't register. I blinked and looked over at her, feeling confused.
“Wait... What?” I asked stupidly. Melissa gazed at me with pity-filled eyes and I caught a glimpse of my friend.
“Adam, I'm not going back,” Melissa said softly.
“That doesn't make sense,” I replied frantically. “Why?! What do you mean, you aren't coming back?!”
“I mean I'm not going back to the lab to grovel at Erik's feet for redemption.” Melissa's eyes flashed angrily as she spoke. “I'm sick of him. Absolutely sick.” I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Not Melissa. Not loyal, devoted, star-struck Melissa. No way this was happening.
“I don't get it...” I trailed off, in shock. Melissa rolled her eyes and leaned forward on the table.
“Gal, Adam, get a hint,” she said to me in her most irritated voice, but I still couldn't understand. Melissa loved Erik. No matter what he did, she always forgave him. Could it be that this was the final straw? “I'm sick of Erik. I'm sick of looking at him and feeling like I'm going to cry because I know that he doesn't care. I'm sick of being passed up for Arta. Every day, Adam! I'm sick of watching him daydream and know exactly who it's about. It's getting old. It got old a long time ago, actually, but I'm only just now doing something about it.”
“Melissa...,” I said, mainly because I didn't know what else to say and because I could see her frustration with him. “Of course he cares...”
"Yeah, I bet. You know, I've loved him, loved him with my whole heart for three years. And what do I get?” The fire in Melissa's eyes was reignited and she sat up furiously, talking so fast I could barely understand. “Arta this, Arta that. Arta, Arta, Arta. I can't take it! Every time we're doing stuff together and Arta wants something, he's gone. Every time I want to do something, but Arta doesn't want me to, it's all of a sudden two votes against mine! What does that tell you about how much he values me? I always come second with him. I always have and I always will."
I wished I could have argued with her, but all the points she brought up were pretty valid. When Arta was brought into the picture, Erik forgot everyone else. Such was his absolute devotion to her. He didn't seem to realize how much that hurt Melissa, though. He was only just now beginning to let Arta go, but that wasn't enough for Melissa. Not after three years of loving him and being abandoned by him. I wanted to console her and make her smile, but I couldn't find the words. Nothing she had said was stretched or a lie. He really didn't make it seem like he appreciated her.
"So you won't come back?" I asked quietly and Melissa snorted bitterly. That was a no. "Where will you go?"
"I'm a big girl," she said. "I can find myself an apartment."
"And... That's the end?" I mustered. She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, but the fury in her eyes still raged on.
"I guess."
"And I can't convince you to come back?"
"No," she said. "I think the only person who could convince me is Erik, but he won't even notice that I'm gone. He'll be too occupied crying himself to sleep over Arta."
"That's not true," I whispered.
"You know it is," Melissa replied. “And you know what? I don't even care. He can forget about me. He can forget about me ever coming back.”
"He'll miss you," I tried one last time, feeling hopelessness settle into my heart. "I'll miss you."
“Tough,” Melissa replied. “First lesson, Adam. Life sucks and crap happens.”
“I don't like this, Melissa.”
“None of us do.” Melissa stood and avoided looking at me. She was getting ready to leave and desperation struck me as I realized she might be leaving forever.
“Hold on,” I cried and stood, too. “You can't. You just can't!”
“Goodbye, Adam,” Melissa stepped out of the booth and began walking to the door. “Have a nice existence. I'm not sure if you can call it a life since you aren't technically living.”
“Melissa-”
“I think it's starting to rain. Don't short circuit or anything on the way home.” She cut me off with a casual warning. I watched her hopelessly as she walked to the door.
“A lot of this is my fault,” I muttered to myself and Melissa looked back at me to roll her eyes. “Please,” I begged one last time. Melissa didn't answer and again I watched her step out alone into the dark of the night and leave me behind. This scene was too familiar. I didn't want to live it again, but I didn't have a choice.
Melissa was right. Life sucked.