Excerpt: Awake

If my nerves were a banjo, my strings would have broken by now. I always knew that giving my sister and me the adjoining rooms was a terrible idea, but my parents had maintained that we would probably always be close. Which, I suppose, we were, up until my dad died. That changed everything. I stopped sleeping, and Lauren stopped wearing pink. And yellow. And every other color underneath the sun that wasn't black. She also changed her music tastes. Whereas before she listened to happy, pop music, now she listened to grungy death-metal that made my ears bleed.

It was nearing 9:00 pm, and my mother had already gone to bed. Lauren was still listening to her terrible music, and I could practically feel my walls vibrating. Oh wait, I wasn't just hallucinating – my headboard was actually moving. Great. I stared at the ceiling irritably, trying to take deep breaths and calm myself down. Just a few more minutes, and I knew I could sneak out of the house without being caught. Not that everyone didn't know that I did it, but it made me feel better if I snuck out while mom was asleep. I didn't like worrying her more than was absolutely necessary.

Counting backwards in my head from ten, I breathed out a sigh of relief and threw my legs over the side of the bed. After pulling on my standard grey, large hoodie, I pulled my bag onto my shoulder and opened the door, letting myself out into the hallway. A quick glance told me that everyone – 'everyone' being my mother and sister – was either asleep or not paying attention, and that it was safe to leave.

Outside, the air was crisp, and it nipped lightly at my nose and fingertips as I walked down the sidewalk toward the local coffee shop, [Shop name here]. I slid my hands into the pocket of the jacket to warm them, glancing up at the darkened sky. This was the only sort of sky I ever got to see. And no, before you jump to some crazy, supernatural conclusion, I'm not a vampire. I'm an insomniac. That is, I don't sleep. And if I do, it's just for a few hours during the day. I was a typical night owl, doing most of my work during the night and early morning hours, before the sun rose.

By work, I mean that I spent most of my time in the coffee shop. I worked there, and when I wasn't working, I practically lived there, save for the few hours that I was forced to spend at home. Technically, being nineteen, I didn't have to go back home, but I loved my mother and sister. I wouldn't desert them for anything. Mom was feeble. Sick. Who was I to deny her wishes? A nobody with a crappy job, a bad, self-inflicted haircut, and dark circles under her eyes that relied on her mother for food and clean underwear for the next day. Yeah, that's what I thought. I owed her at least whatever 'joy' it brought her to have me at home for those few precious hours.

As I walked, my fingers tapped lightly on my thighs, a beat to a song I'd heard on the radio earlier in the day. I didn't know the name of the song, or the lyrics, but the beat and tune stuck with me. It may have even been one of Lauren's weirdo metal songs, come to think of it. But whatever. It was just something to occupy me for the short journey down to the shop.

It was open when I got there, just like it always was. This place was, like I said, my second home, from 9:30 pm until 1 or 2 the next afternoon. I pulled open the door and stepped into the warmth gratefully, tossing my short, messy hair out of my eyes as I searched out whoever was behind the counter. It was that new girl – I didn't know her name yet, nor was I about to ask her and find out.

I shoved my hand into the pocket of my jeans and approached the counter, pulling out a small wad of bills – what was left over from my last paycheck. “Large coffee,” I said shortly, dropping two one dollar bills on the counter and folding the rest over in half to stick back in my pocket. “Black,” I added after a moment, and went over to the pick-up area. I didn't need to look at her to know that she was wary of me. New people always tended to be. I supposed I probably looked pretty scary. A girl, her hair cropped so short that she might be a boy, with dark circles under her eyes and one of those mid-tone, quiet voices. Oh, and an attitude to match. Yeah, I was probably pretty sketchy to someone who didn't know me. And most new people didn't get the chance to know me. Why should they? They were just temporary, and I had long since vowed the exterminate all temporary things from my life.

I picked up my coffee and took it over to one of the booths in the back of the shop, my favorite one. It was angled so that I could sip my coffee for most of the day and watch people who came in without really noticing. It was one of my favorite things to do. I liked to make up stories about them, deciding what they were here for, why they had chosen this particular coffee shop to come to, and what their lives were like outside of this place.

However, for now, the shop was... relatively dead. Not that I expected any different. There were the usual regulars, the old men playing chess on the far side. I'm not sure that either of them actually knew how to play properly, I know for a fact that I'd never once heard any cries of 'checkmate!' from that side of the cafe. There was a young family that came in once a week – a girl, a young man, and a baby – sitting in their usual table in the middle. The baby was cooing and trying to pick up banana mush with its fingers, and the young couple were chatting animatedly about something over cappuccinos.

Smiling faintly, I took a sip of my coffee, savoring the bitter taste. I was a firm believer that putting things like sugar or milk into your coffee was blasphemous. If it was made to be sweet, it would be made that way, so why would you add sugar or artificial sweeteners to something that wasn't intended to be that way? Granted, the first time I tried it, I was five years old and thought everything could use an extra dose of sugar, but I was naïve then. Not unlike the baby, who was currently smearing his food all over the arm of the young brunette woman. From the look on her husband's face as he laughed at her, her expression must have been priceless.

My gaze then traveled to the two old men, playing their game of never-ending chess. I watched with amusement as their old, wrinkled hands moved the pieces, almost like it was an effort for them to move even that much. But they kept playing, never losing track of whose turn it was. Their voices were light and happy, although I couldn't make out what they were saying from this far away, and their eyes twinkled. They were content with their lives.

It was strange, juxtaposing these two groups of people. One group was just starting out on their journey through life, and the other was nearing its end. And yet they were both happy, content with where they were. And then... there was me. I felt oddly out of place, even though I knew neither group was acknowledging my existence. Even so, I shuffled down in my seat and propped my feet up on the chair across from me, tearing my eyes away from the other people in the shop. It felt, suddenly, almost like I was intruding on something private that I shouldn't be allowed to glimpse.

I sipped my coffee in silence, listening as the CD in the CD player turned itself over and began to play the same songs as before. The old men left first, packing up their chess game without declaring a winner. The young family left soon after that, and for a while it was just me, the new girl, and the rustling pages of her magazine.

Eventually, as 10:30 rolled around, several more people came in. I didn't recognize them, and from how they were dressed, I would guess that they weren't from around Portland. Probably just passing through on the way south for the winter. Travelers were like geese here in Maine – as soon as November hit, they would travel south faster than you could say 'freeze.'

New girl was packing up her things, it looked like. She'd taken off her apron, and as 11:00 came around, I knew it was time to change shifts. She was antsy, obviously eager to get off of work and go do whatever it was that she did. I mused thoughtfully as I watched her, taking in her obviously-dyed blonde hair and face with too much make up. She would probably go home and call her boyfriend, and complain about having to work so late. And the boyfriend would probably console her and offer to take her to dinner the next day, or a movie.

People like that made me envious and nauseas all at the same time. What would it be like to have the perfect life? To have a mom and a dad, and a normal sister, to sleep at night, and to have a boyfriend to call when I couldn't? Would it really be any better than what I was doing right now? Probably not, I concluded, draining the last of coffee from the cup.

As I stood to get another cup, the bell on the door jingled, signifying someone coming in.

“Hey, Ange.” I could have picked out Nick's voice in a room full of crowded people. I immediately grinned and looked up, watching as he relieved the new girl of her position. And he always gave those weird nicknames to people, even if he didn't know them that well. But that was Nick for you, I supposed.

Nick had worked here longer than I had been coming. I'd only been hanging around for around a year, but he'd worked here for nearly three. He was thin, and he had dark hair, usually gelled up in crazy, random directions that made me roll my eyes. Why he went through such a fuss about it was beyond me.

I approached the counter and set my cup down, grinning as I leaned my elbows on the hard surface, chin in my hands.

“Hey, Scottie,” he said brightly, giving my short, messy hair a ruffle. “You'll be having your usual 'black-on-black' I assume?” His tone was light and teasing as he took my cup back to the machine to refill it, not even waiting for an answer. He'd known me since we were practically babies – he knew how I took my coffee.

“Didn't know you were working the graveyard shift,” I commented, fiddling with the sleeve of my jacket. Nick normally worked day shift with me. It was unusual seeing him at the cafe this late at night, particularly working.

“Pulling a double. Mary quit,” he explained, “and we're short on people, as usual.”

“She did?” Not that I could say that I was surprised. That girl had been flighty from the moment she'd started working at the shop. She was always unexpectedly calling in sick or claiming that a relative had died. Honestly, if she hadn't quit, I'm sure she would have been fired pretty soon anyway. Good riddance.

“Yep. Said she was 'moving on' to 'bigger and better things' or some shit like that,” Nick responded, sliding me my cup across the counter.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. “The only thing that's big about her is her ego,” I said with distaste, taking a sip of the coffee Nick had just given me. He nodded in agreement and grabbed a rag, setting about wiping the counter off.

We stood in comfortable silence for a few moments, me enjoying my coffee and Nick wiping off the counter. Apparently new girl didn't know how to clean up after herself yet. Someone would probably bitch her out about it sooner or later, though, so I let the thought slide away, into the back of my mind.

“So how's your mom?” Nick always asked about mom, I should have expected it. She was practically his second mother, he'd lived at my house so much during the summers when we were younger.

“She's good. On new meds now, so her blood pressure is better,” I responded, idly picking at the skin next to one of my nails. “Yours?”

“Good, yeah,” he replied, twisting the rag in his hands. I nodded, running my fingertips over the cool ceramic of my mug. Nick didn't particularly like talking about his family. I'd met them a few times, and I couldn't say that I blamed him. They weren't the friendliest of folks. Not abusive, but they did know how to make a kid feel like crap.

Suddenly, the bell on the door jingled again, and I glanced behind me. A middle aged woman was entering with a toddler at her side. That was my cue to head back to my spot. I gave Nick a sporty salute and retreated, not even sparing the entering couple a glance.

I got comfortable again in my little spot, pulling up my hood and taking out a notebook and pen from my bag. I looked at the woman and her child, who was swinging their joined hands, tugging a little, pointing toward the display of sweets. She wanted something, and was making insistent, pleading noises.

My pen scratched lightly on the paper as I scribbled down a short backstory for this little family. I fancied that the woman with the child was a single mother, working a 9 to 5 job, and only took little Susie out for a special sweet run every Friday night, because that was all she could afford. And Susie was a bright little girl who was the apple of her mother's eye, the 'light' that kept her going, made her continue working hard every day, so that she might send Susie off to college one day and see her become something more than what she herself was at that moment.

Grinning to myself, I put the pen down, watching as the pair walked out of the shop. The little girl had a scone in her hand, and seemed quite happy. I couldn't quite pin why this place made people feel that way, but did know that it held true, even for me. There was a sense of contentment here that I couldn't achieve anywhere else.

Once midnight hit, Nick and I knew we were home free for the next few hours. This place was virtually dead from midnight until around 5 am, when people were getting up for work and heading into town. Nick joined me at my booth, and I tore a piece of paper from my notebook, handing it over so he could make a paper football from it. We spent the next hour or so playing paper football until our hands were sore from the simple flicking motion involved.

As we were about to start a round of 'The Question Game' – a game where you could only speak in questions – the bell jingled again, in rapid succession. Nick jumped up and hurried to get behind the counter as a small group of people walked in. They were young, about our age, but they looked older, somehow.

The one in the lead was tall and stocky. He had thin, lanky hair that hung in his eyes, and several piercings glared from his ears. No doubt he had more on his face, but it was obscured as he turned his back to me to approach the counter. A girl with dark hair followed him, and I was surprised at how confident she looked among this crowd of rough-looking boys. The rest of the young men were average looking, but all of them wore darker clothing. They were sketchy – the sort of people you wouldn't want to meet in a back alley when you were alone.

“Three coffees and a coke,” the 'leader' of the group said gruffly. Or he tried to sound gruff, anyway. His voice was slightly raspy; I wouldn't have been surprised if he did coke.

“Sorry, we don't sell soft-drinks,” Nick informed him. “Would you like something else off the men-”

“No. What kind of all-night place is this, doesn't sell soda?” the guy demanded, his fist colliding rather noisily with the countertop.

“Hey asshole,” I called, “it's a 'coffee' shop, in case you couldn't read.” Normally, I wasn't someone who would readily jump into a fight, but I didn't like it when people talked to Nick that way. He was my friend, and I was the only person who could (occasionally) treat him like shit, and that was only for around a week every month.

The entire group turned with their leader, just like a herd of sheep or something. They crowded behind him as he turned towards me, advancing. I got up, trying not to appear intimidated.

“Scott, don't,” Nick said in feeble protest, but apparently he knew better than to try and stop me, especially now that I had this group's attention.

“What'd you call me?” the taller man demanded, his pierced lip curling with contempt as he looked down at me through a fringe of greasy, unwashed hair.

“I called you an asshole,” I responded, giving him a slight smirk. “I didn't know you were deaf and blind. One more strike and they might as well call you Helen Keller.” One of his cronies snickered, but was promptly shut up as the girl of the group elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

“So, 'Scott',” he sneered, “you think you're a regular stand-up, don't you?”

I didn't respond, crossing my arms in front of my chest and eyeing him, not blinking. If either of us intimidated the other, we didn't let it show. At this close proximity, I could see the dark circles under his eyes as well, although his was probably drug induced, just judging by the way that he was breathing, how bad his breath smelled, and the slight amount of perspiration that littered his forehead.

“S'the matter? All bark and no bite? Scared we might hurt your boyfriend?” I bristled, hating the way his tone took on a whining, pitying tilt. “Faggot,” he spat, and I felt spittle on my face.

So, he thought I was a boy. I couldn't say I was actually surprised; I wore baggy clothes that hid my almost non-existent breasts, and my hair was chopped short, angular and messy. The mistake had been made countless times, but now I thought I might be able to use it to my advantage. Gathering my hand into a fist at my side, I shot my right arm out in a powerful punch, hitting the boy square in the jaw.

“Landon!” It was the girl, catching her stricken leader – Landon – as he stumbled backwards from the force of the blow.

“Now get your sorry asses out of here before I call the police,” I said, keeping my throbbing hand flenched in a tight fist.

Surprisingly, as Landon straightened up, the expression on his face wasn't one of offense or anger, but he was laughing. “Not bad, Scott. You've got a good arm on you,” he observed, his speech thickened slightly by the blood trickling into his mouth. “Clear out, boys,” he ordered, and obediently, the posse filed out into the streets, and were gone.

Nick came out from behind the counter, as usual, a worried expression on his face. “Scott, you okay?” he asked, putting a hand on my shoulder.

“Motherfucking OW,” I hissed, shaking out my hand and then holding it close to my chest. “If I ever try to punch someone again, remind me to not fucking do it.”