The Scars She Hides

Part 24 - Squares vs Circles

CHARLOTTE

My heart was pounding, beating aggressively against my rib cage in a way that made sweat begin to bead on my temples. The people in front of me were talking loudly too be polite in a public setting. The people behind me were too close to be comfortable. The coffee grinder made it impossible to think coherent thoughts. My headphones were out of the question because the only thing louder than the coffee grinder was the bell above the door signalling when some other caffeine depraved soul entered the shop, and I couldn't help but turn my head to check who walked through the doors next everytime the bell sounded.

Why was I doing this? Why was I here? Why on God's green earth was I standing in line at the most popular coffee shop on campus when I could have sent in my mobile order to the coffee stall outside the library like I always did? No lines, no noise, no human interaction needed.

Small tasks. That's why.

Also, exposure therapy. "Exposure to the feared objects, activities or situations in a safe environment helps reduce fear and decrease avoidance." If research is to be believed. And what safer place to interact with men my age and or close to it than the busiest coffee shop on campus?

Probably a lot of safer and psychologically healthier places to start than here, but options were limited and I get coffee everyday anyways, so... two birds with one stone.

The closer I got to the front of the line the more anxious I felt. The boy at the counter looked nice enough. He was tall, a little on the gangly side, but all in all he was just an average college aged kid. Nothing scary about him.

Except the fact that he was stronger than me. He was bigger than me. If he wanted to he could reach over the counter and grab me and I could struggle all I wanted but... in the end it would do me no good.

My thoughts were spiraling out of control. Scenarios of aggressive boys at the cash register filling my head and chest with such fear and chaos that by the time I stepped up to the counter I was practically shaking.

I couldn't hear what the boy behind the counter said. His lips were moving, he was asking me something. Waiting. I couldn't hear anything but the coffee grinder and the roar of thoughts tumbling over themselves like a tsunami in my head.

Lips moving, coffee grinding, people behind me, the bell ringing, he was asking me something but I couldn't hear him over the bell ringing, there was someone behind me. I turned to look - I had to look- and I caught the flash of the cashier's hand in my peripheral vision.

I flinched away violently, clutching my arms to my body tightly like that would stop him from taking whatever he wanted from me-

Grabbing me- he was grabbing me-

He was looking in shock, hand reached out and frozen above the menu tapped to the counter. He was pointing at the menu on the counter. He was waiting for my order. What else would he want from me? He was just doing his job. I could feel the murmurs of the crowd around me, feel the states itching my skin. The boy opened his mouth again, but I bolted from the shop, ringing the damn bell one last time before I sprinted away from the house of horrors that was Starbucks.

My bag thumped painfully against my back as I ran all the way to Holden's workshop. Shame oozed and coated my insides. Nothing escaped its oily contamination. By the time I made it upstairs and to the door of the workshop I was sick with it. My stomach in knots, chest aching with the effort to breath, and my scars burning like the day they were made.

Pulling my hood up over my head I tightened the strings a bit so my neck was completely covered. I tugged sleeves down past my knuckles and fisted the ends with clammy fingers.