And so began the story of a sweet bitter love
With a disgust and a prick in the ass
But with a smile and blue hair
Next to the filthy cold ice cream
***
P.O.V.
[HE]
Again the same vicious circle was repeated that encompassed my life in a balloon with only routine repetition: home, university, internship, rehearsal.
It was the same every day. And honestly doing the same thing every day was boring to an extreme level.
I ended my student day at the university with the same books stored in my old and already worn brown backpack. It seemed that he even saw the same classes with the same strict teachers from that campus.
The rest was always the same. My feet moved, stepping on the same greyish road, leaving behind the imprints of my shoes.
The same nineteen trees divided into groups of eight at each end of the road. Rocking to the rhythm of the cold wind of every day. Those trunks with greenish leaves watched with thought as I crossed the street without interruptions or changed directions.
I won't lie to you, the only thing that was different about me was the clothes, although it wasn't that I was a young man with a multimillion-dollar inheritance to have 365 outfits to combine.
So at least once a week you saw me repeating the outfit as they say on those Pinterest pages.
I was a bit tired, well no, a bit was at best to describe how I felt living that monotonous, repetitive and absurdly boring existence.
I was a bit tired, well no, a bit was at best to describe how I felt living that monotonous, repetitive and absurdly boring existence.
It was as if they inserted a unique and exclusive mode to sound with an annoying beep telling me: Repeat, Repeat, Repeat. Everything was the same in the passage of my short, youthful and zero changing life as a teenager.
I sighed irritably.
At one point, I was honestly not affected by the fact that I said, felt and expressed the same thing. But right now, he demanded of me to change something, although I had no idea at that time that what was going to change my life would do so drastically and with secondary effects, perhaps they were good in their time but bad in others.
In the end if I change my life and all thanks to her.
As usual, a very associated custom, the walk after the university day was never to my house.
No, gentlemen, I did not come home like any normal being who, after doing anything, returned to his house.
I went straight, psyched and without denial to the cafeteria on the corner, not so far but not so close to the municipal park. The one that in its 20 years of operation, for some strange reason that I never understood—or perhaps it was never important to investigate—the only thing that they did not offer in their menu of sales and products was the aforementioned Café.
Thus, as you hear it, not a drop of the liquid that is essential for the human being.
Nothing, zero.
And it was somewhat illogical and ironic because the name that the place used in addition to being cataloged in the city as a "coffee shop" was Sweet Coffee in Spanish "Dulce Café"
Do you see what he told them?
Pure irony, gentlemen, irony.
If you were to enter the premises, you would not find—or find—a brown coffee bean, nor a steaming cup.
Not even a tiny drawing alluding to the brown liquid.
That is, the coffee in the "cafeteria" was not the protagonist, not even the nemesis at the table.
The coffee was simply a zero to the left and that in mathematical expression is absolutely shit.
Even a pimple on the forehead of an ugly man had more prominence than him
Without knowing how, when and at what time I set foot in the place, I took a seat right at that transparent quadrangular table, strategically placed in the corner of the establishment, next to the huge glass window.
What a great description to just say it was a table with cushioned chairs in front of a window!
But since I like to give him that touch of drama—the same touch that my life did not have before his arrival—I will exaggerate my narrative as much as I want.
Where do we stay?
Oh yeah
The grandiose table in the corner gave a perfectly peripheral vision of the outskirts of the premises. The people who used to pass —they always stood out were the same people and children—who traveled the route—which was the shortest way to the urbanizations of the city center— I already knew their names, faces and bodies by heart.
And it should be noted that my mind was failing more than usual.
Like Orlando, for example, or as people used to call him —out of affection and tenderness—Orlandito, was the little 10-year-old dark-haired boy who always played with a yellow balloon and who ended up letting go in the middle of the street.
Why?
I never asked him. But I did learn the answer several years later and not on my own.
She was followed by Josefina, an old lady —overgrown and perhaps with a tombstone of an invisible companion—nicknamed, Fina, not only because it was the diminutive of her name, but because in truth that lady was fine in every sense of the word, who was sunbathing —since that helps to have vitamins in the body, in the same way that it gives you skin cancer— on that old bench—perhaps from the same generation as Fina—made of rusty and opaque metal, carefully observing the cloudy sky , in search of an answer that would explain how her late husband left her house in debt.
And if I continued with the list, I could name you half a citadel but it would not be the case.
In the wait—just as boring as my whole being—for Sarahy, the black-haired girl with tattoos and piercings on her nose, tongue, and eyebrow, to come and serve me as she always did.
Because even she herself was the same every time she stepped on the premises. only she attended me
The reason?
She did not know, but later she herself confessed.
But you should not know that yet, there will be time for it but not now.
I just moved the metal napkin holder like it was some kind of toy. Yes, I know what you will think. And I agree! He was old enough to play car racing as Javier, the redhead at the opposite table, casually did.
But in my defense, my creativity wasn't the most suspicious, so it was the only thing I could think of to wait to be served. And Sarahy was always late coming to my table.
So yes, ladies and gentlemen, that was also part of my repetitive routine.
And believe it or not, it was the only thing that in my opinion should remain the same but it did not. Not when his presence pierced my field of vision.
I will give you a curious fact that you must remember until the end. three simple words
I HATE ICE CREAM
In capital letters so you don't forget. As she forgot or rather wanted to seem to forget making me suffer day after day. You'll see why I say that.
I continue. I hated ice cream—I still hate it but at manageable levels—and I only came to the cafeteria for one reason only—which eventually turned into two—for my delicious sugar-free cookies.
Oh almost forgot and to say hello to the owners. Don Ernesto and Doña Camila, my mother's friends since high school.
The funny thing about this whole thing is that upon hearing my voice pronounce the order or just observing the plate of twenty-five sugar-free cookies coming towards my table, the diners and clients were stunned, perplexed, with their little faces of astonishment and their mouths forming a huge funny letter O.
He suppressed his laughter, because he did make those expressions comical. But then I got used to it and began to nod slowly as if to tell them: yes friends, that is my order, your senses are in perfect condition, yes, they are for me. And they are sugar free.
I should mention that I hated all things sugar,
If I drank lemonade I did it without sugar,
If they served me coffee it was without sugar
He preferred plain jello to a glazed cake.
Okay, if I admit it, I wasn't a hermit either, if I ate sugar, only what was necessary, you know what the nutritionist recommended. Only what was essential for my body, considering that my existence was due in part to glucose in the blood.
—"Hello!" he greeted, breaking the charm and ending my career with the napkin holder, "Welcome to Sweet Coffee, do you want to order something?" He asked with an outstanding and very cute smile. Being the most kind to me, as if we knew each other as children.—
She wasn't Sarahy, a dark-style girl with black lips, dark circles under her eyes and a detestable mood like always mine, she was more of an aesthetic and kawaii style with big honey eyes, small pinkish lips, a neat little face and no stain .
When I saw her I knew it was not normal. And less with that bluish hair that he took pains to wear.
That's why the aesthetic style I told you about.
All of it transmitted a different Aura, different, it meant change in my life. She watched me anxiously, rocking on her feet expectantly at my response.
Some time later I learned that all that emotion was from being face to face again. So I didn't remember who he was.
He longed for my answer so much that he gave the slight impression of waiting for a wish to fulfill his task.
A wish that turned into thousands of little pieces when I opened my mouth to order what she clearly didn't expect.
—Cookies without sugar—I looked away indifferently—Please—I added feeling his gaze nailing inside my body. Like scanning me? Yes. She made me a visual scan, to capture it with her honey eyes and keep it in her mind.
I turned my gaze back to her, with an expression on my face that wasn't very friendly to tell the truth. His face gave an unexpected change.
He definitely didn't expect it.
From being engulfed in a smile, which enhanced the dimples at the corners of her cheeks, she became completely giddy. His eyes opened exaggeratedly like saucers -according to the language of Wattpad- his mouth was dry and I knew it because he moistened his lips surreptitiously. He began to nod repeatedly, as if assimilating what was requested.
He reacted quickly, with the pen he wrote down what was ordered in the pink notebook, he looked at me again and after smiling he vanished.
I thought, something had finally changed in my repetitive routine, something changed the moment she appeared, because she was that whirlpool that my life needed to destroy my boring order.
The minutes passed and his aesthetic presence flooded my field of vision again. The pinkish tray that rested on her forearms held my classic and traditional unsurprising but delicious plate of sugar free cookies, twenty five cookies to be exact. But by his side was what I took pains to hate and not try.
Being close enough between my table, the tray, her and a confused me, she mentioned
"As you ordered," he smiled, "Sugar-free cookies." Twenty-five to be exact.” She winked her honey-colored eye in amusement. Smiling widely as in the beginning.
There ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, it was the beginning of the insomnia club that night.
and those who followed him
I came out of my enrapture—Thank you but—I pointed out disgusted— The ice cream? How why or what for? I asked intrigued, sounding sharper and more sour than cookies would be right now.
The honey eyes became bright, a light that impressed me to see in the eyes of a human being-mortal-That unusual brightness in his gaze that it would be impossible not to remember.
"Courtesy of the house," she commented wrapped in illusion and emotion. I don't care about his mood, not at all. So I whispered loud enough for you to hear.
—I don't want it—I made a mojin denial—I hate ice cream. I don't like it, I don't want it—I complained childishly but to no avail. She didn't listen to my mini kind of tantrum.
On the contrary, he faded away smiling. Reminding me of that movie where the cat smiles and then disappears leaving the blonde girl in confusion, in this case she was that smiling cat and I was the confused blonde girl.
Or in a nutshell Alice in Wonderland and the Cheshire Cat.
I just disgusted my sugar free cookies, staring at the bowl of whitish ice cream. He seemed to challenge me as if he knew I wouldn't eat it.
That's why I couldn't eat my cookies in peace with that icy pressure.
He was my highest enemy in the world, he and I just didn't get along.
he tasted bad
I didn't want to try
he had sugar
I disgusted her
he was hers
I was nobody's
If you notice that I refer to Ice Cream as if he were the villain and I was his nemesis willing not to touch him?
Well there you see. I'm not exaggerating when I say I hate ice cream.
Nor did he exaggerate when he said that just at that moment I felt that all the eyes in the room were watching me.
It felt weird, you know? That feeling that they are looking at you but nobody really does, at least nobody directly. I get goosebumps. And I swore it could be the damn ice cream staring at me.
Inhale deeply, accumulating as much air as possible. You need to gather strength for what was coming.
I took the teaspoon and introduced it into the cold vanilla custard. Since I couldn't just leave it there—as much as I wanted to—and walk away like it was nothing, it would be impolite and the owners might get mad at the plagiarism.
Because here between two I did not think to pay for that horrendous dessert
And you'll tell me she said "Courtesy of the House." Yes, yes, I heard it but she didn't guarantee me that completely, did she?
The point is, I didn't mean to be rude. And I felt like I really needed to, I needed to eat that ice cream and I did.
I tried it and my palate reprimanded me for the bad taste
God only knows how hard I tried to swallow each bite.
But I drew a tremendous conclusion that I surely would not have achieved if I had not tried the disgusting dessert. After the chocolate ice cream —which unfortunately I tried before— the vanilla ice cream, it was definitely and without a doubt the worst flavor in the world of cold and creamy ice cream.
I ended up giving way to some loud crunches caused by my stomach that began to bother me with a painful stab.
And what a cost to eliminate that irritating pain that increased after the afternoon.
Getting up with dignity—because I hadn't lost it—I left the premises. Not without first leaving my disgust reflected on the small pinkish napkin in the cafeteria.
Implore the God or Goddess, sir or lady, Batman, Goku and any powerful entity in the universe for her to come back to the table and read it.
If he did. But he ignored what was written. Some time later I learned his reasons. But now with one hand on my stomach I was snorting and cursing for him disgusting unthinking rubbing on my taste buds.
This only accentuated my hatred towards ice cream and my desire to vomit.