Reflections From the Other Side

The waitress smiled at me as she poured my coffee, but her mind was somewhere far away from the greasy spoon we both found ourselves sweating in. She was stunning, despite the grey shadows that scarred her face beneath the eyes – I pitied her, regretted with an intense empathy the path her life had taken. She should have been a model, not wasting her life in this retro dump. Her hair was pinned back loosely so that strands of it had come free and was curling round to frame her face –


- I threaded my fingers through her hair and tugged, making her scream –

- And her eyes were bright and intense with the fresh enthusiasm and casual intelligence that her youth and a good education had leant her. She put the coffee cup down on a saucer in front of me with the practiced ease of someone confined to such a job ten hours of the day, six days a week. Her hands, lineless and smooth, looked soft and warm; her fingertips glowed pink from the heat of the beverages she served all hours of the day. She reminded me of other girls I had become acquainted with that week. I reached out –

- One hand around her throat, I threw her against the wall, heard her body hit the cold bricks with a sickening crunch –

- Towards her and held out a tip; her eyes widened in surprise as she saw the note I offered, and she smiled in gratitude. Thanking me, she moved away, pocketing the twenty as she went to see to another customer across the bar. I watched her hips sway as she walked – seedy, I reflected; she could only have been nineteen. But like all men, I couldn’t help but notice her slim figure and tiny waist, or the way she filled her tight blouse –

- I dragged her down to the ground with me, and pressed myself against her; her soft hands were streaked with blood now, though as she scratched pointlessly at my face, and I bit down on her sweet-scented shoulder in desperation, I couldn’t tell whether it was hers or mine –

- I looked away, embarrassed by my public display of weakness. Such things had a suitable time, and a private place. I drained the coffee cup, and stood up to leave, but no sooner had I gone three steps towards the door than she caught my arm; she held out my wallet to me, the one I had carelessly left on the counter where I’d been sitting moments before. Her lips curved upwards in an amused half-smile as she spoke, but I took the wallet without hearing what she said. All I could think of was the heat of her hand on my skin –

- She was screaming louder now, but there was nobody here to hear her; she was so, so warm. Why wouldn’t she stop struggling? It would be over in a minute…such intimate moments were so very fleeting –

-“Have a nice evening, sir,” she smiled, that youthful warmth even infecting her tone.

I craved that warmth, her heat. I was so very cold inside.