One Coffee

Where was he? How long had he slept? His arm was numb under his body and his back ached. He sat up, rubbing his eyes with one hand as the other reached for his phone. Ten-thirty, he’d slept about an hour. A chill ran down his sore back. It was cold there and he was already wearing the only sweater he had. And there was no coverage, of course, forget about internet.

He remembered the coffee machine at the hall. Getting up wasn’t easy, but the promise of a hot drink pulled stronger than his weariness.

He strolled across the waiting room, fishing in his pockets for change.

The family was enjoying a late picnic of snacks and the old man mopped the floor near the closed booths. An hour later and he still hummed the same song. Outside, it poured like frigging end of the world.

It was even colder in the empty hall. He shivered up to the coffee machine, so old it didn’t take bills, only coins. So he inserted one into the slot and waited for the buttons to light up.

They didn’t, and his coin clinked down to the tiny repayment tray.

“Whadda?” he grunted.

He tried again, with the same outcome. So he tried yet again, and again, and again, determined to make the frigging piece of junk work. Finally the machine was as kind as to take his coin, but the buttons remained dark and no paper cup showed up to gather anything. There was no sign the thing was working at all.

“C’mon!” he growled, smacking the buttons that refused to get the memo about his coin.

Anger sent a hot wave up his face, not the way he wanted to warm up.

He hit the side of the machine. “C’mon, bitch!”

Nothing. The damned thing seemed to be mocking him.

He took a step back to kick it and paused, a foot in the air. That was a guitar against the wall, between the coffee bitch and the next vending machine.

A muffled sound coming from the gap made him frown. He moved half a step to his left and spotted somebody sitting on the floor. A girl, curling up with her face hidden against her folded arms. The way her shoulders trembled could only mean she was crying her heart out quietly. Or maybe she was laughing her butt off? At him?

The fan.

The fan he’d heard playing from the restroom. Shit. Sure it was her, and he’d be damned if he felt like addressing her. But what if she was actually crying? He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t seen her and leave her there like that. He wasn’t such a bastard—yet.

“Hey,” he tried from where he stood, keeping his voice down. “You okay?”

The girl didn’t seem to hear him. The perfect excuse to retreat back to the waiting room, before she saw him, recognized him, and a moronic grin of devotion swept away any prior hint of intelligence.

But she let out another muffled groan. He swallowed a snort, hating the whole frigging situation, and stepped closer to her.

“Hey, girl,” he said a little louder, a reluctant hand reaching out for her arm. “What’s up?”

The girl shivered from head to toes when he touched her and looked up, showing her reddened eyes and the tears raining down her pale cheeks. She stuck to the wall behind her with an upset glance around.

Not a girl but a woman his age, even though she was dressed like she were ten years younger. Just like him, come to think about it. A dark fringe escaped from under her woolen cap, and some dark locks framed a nice, ordinary face.

“You okay?” he asked, still leaning toward her. It was the stupidest thing to ask, but he couldn’t come up with anything better.

Only then she met his eyes. And he had to admit her look was closer to a glare than to devotion.