Empath
Chapter Four
Mark noticed the yellow piece of paper still stuck to his bedroom door out of the corner of his eye. In between everything else, he had all but forgotten about it. Tom had probably left while he'd been sleeping and written the note rather than wake him up. Mark pulled it off the door. His roommate's small, neat script was an island in the middle of the paper.
Out to get a present for Mel, be back later. Was gonna ask if you wanted to come with, but you looked pretty awful, so I let you sleep. Wild night?
-Tom
Mark folded the note in half with a sheepish half-smile. Understatement of the year. He flicked the note onto the desk as a long, drawn out yawn crawled lethargically from his lips. It surprised him, though it really shouldn't have; he was still carrying several nights' worth of insomnia on his back. Given the circumstances, he decided coffee would be a wonderful idea no matter how overpriced it was. Brushing papers aside, he rescued his wallet from the mess and left the apartment. Maybe this time I'll actually make it ten feet without hallucinating and passing out in an alley, he mused dryly.
-----
Queequeg's Cafe had been a favorite haunt of Mark's since high school. He, Tom, and Mel would go there every day and caffeinate themselves before going to their spot under the oak tree in the park down the street and talking about whatever was interesting. It didn't get much traffic, but the rent was cheap, so they managed to stay afloat. It was mostly the same bunch of customers that came in regularly; new ones tended to be scared away by the baristas. They were... Colorful, to say the least. They all knew Mark, but that wasn't to say they all liked him.
"Keep the fuckin' door open, asshole!" That was Jamie. Newest barista at the cafe, Jamie was a study in contrast. At first glance she seems sweet and caring, but underneath the Snow White-esque exterior lies a coldhearted bitch that would sooner cut your balls off with a rusty handsaw than flutter her eyelashes at you for a tip.
Mark just blinked, one hand still on the door. "Jamie, the door was closed when I came in."
She shot him a withering glare. "Look, Mark, I know you're slow, but seriously. Just open the fuckin' door, it's like, a million degrees out."
"Why can't you do it yourself? I'm the only person here. Customer service, you know." He smirked. Jamie was a year younger than him, and a good six inches shorter, so while she was possibly the most unlikable person he'd ever met, he did have fun pissing her off. Secretly, though, he did find her very attractive. How could he not? She had an absolutely killer body, and while pale-skinned, it only served to accentuate her dark brown hair and uncommonly green eyes. He found his mind wandering into dangerous territory, and regardless of his survival instinct, his eyes followed soon after.
But no. It'd never happen. Jamie was more likely to disembowel him than let him get anywhere near that close to her.
Which is why Mark was absolutely shocked when he looked at her face and saw her eyeing him in return. "Uh... Jamie?"
She blinked, as if snapping out of a daze. "Hm? Oh, nevermind." She blushed. Blushed. The closest Mark had ever seen her come to a blush was the tinge of red that abusive rage brought to her cheeks. She cleared her throat. "So, uh, what'll it be, Mark?"
"Uh..." Mark gulped. God, she's adorable when she's not being a total bitch. "Mocha, please? Large," he amended.
And then it got really weird. Jamie smiled at him. Not just smiled, but winked. "Coming right up, Mark." And she set to work, glancing flirtatiously at him all the while.
At first, Mark was absolutely flabbergasted, but the longer he thought about it, the more he didn't care how staggeringly unlikely this was actually happening. I guess a little self-confidence works wonders. He smiled inwardly.
Soon enough - sooner than he'd thought possible from Jamie - his coffee was ready. She scribbled something onto the side of the cup in black marker before handing it to him over the counter. "Come back soon, okay?" She let her hand linger under his own as she gave him the cup. Her eyes met his.
Ding!
The front door opened, letting in a man Mark recognized as being one of the cafe's regulars. He glanced at Mark, but as soon as he saw who was behind the counter, he started. Mark looked back. Jamie's hand was still on his. "Oh! Uh..." He fumbled ineffectively for words. Finally, he decided on "I'd, uh, better go." He thanked Jamie briefly and paid for his mocha before leaving her and the other customer to each other. As he brushed past the man, he received a look of awe and admiration that, on the whole, made Mark more uncomfortable than anything. When he made it out the door, he immediately heard Jamie hurling her customary abuse at the hapless man inside.
He sipped his mocha on the way back to the apartment, thinking. Now that he wasn't too busy admiring Jamie's anatomy, he could fully process the strangeness of the situation. She went from screeching at me like a demon to checking me out shamelessly. And the way she kept her hand on mine... His fingers tingled at the memory. Suddenly curious, he checked the side of the cup for whatever she'd written. In an elegant, flowing hand was a string of numbers and below them, two words. Call me.
Mark then decided that he couldn't care less what had brought this on. He had a potential date with a painfully hot brunette and all was well with the world.
Out to get a present for Mel, be back later. Was gonna ask if you wanted to come with, but you looked pretty awful, so I let you sleep. Wild night?
-Tom
Mark folded the note in half with a sheepish half-smile. Understatement of the year. He flicked the note onto the desk as a long, drawn out yawn crawled lethargically from his lips. It surprised him, though it really shouldn't have; he was still carrying several nights' worth of insomnia on his back. Given the circumstances, he decided coffee would be a wonderful idea no matter how overpriced it was. Brushing papers aside, he rescued his wallet from the mess and left the apartment. Maybe this time I'll actually make it ten feet without hallucinating and passing out in an alley, he mused dryly.
-----
Queequeg's Cafe had been a favorite haunt of Mark's since high school. He, Tom, and Mel would go there every day and caffeinate themselves before going to their spot under the oak tree in the park down the street and talking about whatever was interesting. It didn't get much traffic, but the rent was cheap, so they managed to stay afloat. It was mostly the same bunch of customers that came in regularly; new ones tended to be scared away by the baristas. They were... Colorful, to say the least. They all knew Mark, but that wasn't to say they all liked him.
"Keep the fuckin' door open, asshole!" That was Jamie. Newest barista at the cafe, Jamie was a study in contrast. At first glance she seems sweet and caring, but underneath the Snow White-esque exterior lies a coldhearted bitch that would sooner cut your balls off with a rusty handsaw than flutter her eyelashes at you for a tip.
Mark just blinked, one hand still on the door. "Jamie, the door was closed when I came in."
She shot him a withering glare. "Look, Mark, I know you're slow, but seriously. Just open the fuckin' door, it's like, a million degrees out."
"Why can't you do it yourself? I'm the only person here. Customer service, you know." He smirked. Jamie was a year younger than him, and a good six inches shorter, so while she was possibly the most unlikable person he'd ever met, he did have fun pissing her off. Secretly, though, he did find her very attractive. How could he not? She had an absolutely killer body, and while pale-skinned, it only served to accentuate her dark brown hair and uncommonly green eyes. He found his mind wandering into dangerous territory, and regardless of his survival instinct, his eyes followed soon after.
But no. It'd never happen. Jamie was more likely to disembowel him than let him get anywhere near that close to her.
Which is why Mark was absolutely shocked when he looked at her face and saw her eyeing him in return. "Uh... Jamie?"
She blinked, as if snapping out of a daze. "Hm? Oh, nevermind." She blushed. Blushed. The closest Mark had ever seen her come to a blush was the tinge of red that abusive rage brought to her cheeks. She cleared her throat. "So, uh, what'll it be, Mark?"
"Uh..." Mark gulped. God, she's adorable when she's not being a total bitch. "Mocha, please? Large," he amended.
And then it got really weird. Jamie smiled at him. Not just smiled, but winked. "Coming right up, Mark." And she set to work, glancing flirtatiously at him all the while.
At first, Mark was absolutely flabbergasted, but the longer he thought about it, the more he didn't care how staggeringly unlikely this was actually happening. I guess a little self-confidence works wonders. He smiled inwardly.
Soon enough - sooner than he'd thought possible from Jamie - his coffee was ready. She scribbled something onto the side of the cup in black marker before handing it to him over the counter. "Come back soon, okay?" She let her hand linger under his own as she gave him the cup. Her eyes met his.
Ding!
The front door opened, letting in a man Mark recognized as being one of the cafe's regulars. He glanced at Mark, but as soon as he saw who was behind the counter, he started. Mark looked back. Jamie's hand was still on his. "Oh! Uh..." He fumbled ineffectively for words. Finally, he decided on "I'd, uh, better go." He thanked Jamie briefly and paid for his mocha before leaving her and the other customer to each other. As he brushed past the man, he received a look of awe and admiration that, on the whole, made Mark more uncomfortable than anything. When he made it out the door, he immediately heard Jamie hurling her customary abuse at the hapless man inside.
He sipped his mocha on the way back to the apartment, thinking. Now that he wasn't too busy admiring Jamie's anatomy, he could fully process the strangeness of the situation. She went from screeching at me like a demon to checking me out shamelessly. And the way she kept her hand on mine... His fingers tingled at the memory. Suddenly curious, he checked the side of the cup for whatever she'd written. In an elegant, flowing hand was a string of numbers and below them, two words. Call me.
Mark then decided that he couldn't care less what had brought this on. He had a potential date with a painfully hot brunette and all was well with the world.