Chapter 4
Chapter 4 (Beatrice)
Yesterday’s incident had been running on repeat through her mind all night. Beatrice was running on very little sleep due to the obstructing thoughts of Café girl, Beatrice found that if she wasn’t caught in a daze of the girl, while she memorized each stride of paint across her ceiling roof, she was then either running back the commotion of the previous day’s events in a dream, each time waking with annoyance. Beatrice had finally decided that sleep was out of reach and decided that a run would clear her mind. When she had noted the time, it was 5 in the morning- half an hour earlier than her usual start- she decided that she would use this extra time to clear her mind by lengthening her run. It would rid her of the thoughts of Café girl that would not give her peace.
Beatrice had prepped for her run, opting for an all-black, tight fitted leggings and tank top. Most mornings she would dress in shorts and some variation of a tank top, but when she had opened her curtains, in the process catching the nippy breeze that drafted through, she decided that it would be colder than most mornings. It was change from the blistering heat she would normally end her run in. She grabbed her earphones, making a move to plug them into her phone only to be hit with the bitter memory of yesterday and who had her phone. Her run would be filled with the sounds of the early morning instead of her usual playlist. This meant that the thoughts of the girl would be harder to keep put. Just great, she thought. She prides herself on the fact that she is strong in controlling her thoughts and mental trailing’s, but she had been humble that night of restlessness.
She had set off and was pretty successful in containing her thoughts. She simply listened to her surroundings, the beat in which her trainers hit the pavement. She focused on the rate of her breathing. In. Hold 1 2 3 4 5. Out. She found that the burn in her chest when her lungs begged for her to release the air and take in another breath, had become a very good focal point, allowing for no other thoughts to corrupt her focus. If she wasn’t focusing on the burn, she was training her ears to the sound of the ocean and squawking gulls that caught the thermals off the water. She was thrown out of her concentrated box with the shrilling ping of her Fitbit watch. The beeping continued for 5 more seconds until it had well and truly broken her focus and replaced it with annoyance for the device. She slowed to a stop, she finally took in her surroundings, noticing where she had ended up in the end.
She wanted to laugh, not a humorous, good-hearted laugh but rather a self-pitied laugh towards whatever fates and powers above sought out to mock her this very morning. She walked to the railing of the boardwalk, placing her arms across the beams, and bracing her full body weight onto them. Her breathing, although steady throughout her run slowed further. She gazed out over the somewhat calm seafront, the ocean wasn’t rough, but she had certainly seen it calmer in the years she had lived in the area. Beatrice always marveled at the difference between home and California. It was all so different, to be expected of course, but always intrigued Beatrice each time. Firstly, she had never actually grown up near the coast, she had traveled to Southend-On-Sea once in a while, but her upbringing and parents’ profession requirements never really gave her many chances. She thought back on it, she possibly had made the trip with her parents once after they gave into her persistent begging for the beach experience, and possibly twice with her friends. But those trips soon came to an end when her parents had discovered the unauthorized trips and how much their reputations would suffer from such mundane activities. Beatrice had been raised in high-class London, their family and parents expected pristine, polished behavior and actions from their only child. Trips to the south-east England was not considered to be polished behavior. So, Beatrice spent majority of her childhood in the confided city ‘walls’ of London and the occasional trips to France, Belgium and of course: Switzerland, where her parents had enrolled her in an all-girls Catholic school.
She very rarely experienced the beach, but of those small experiences none of them matched to the image she was looking at now. England, the south coast specifically was always still, turquoise gentle seas with long beaches that would stretch themselves out at low tide but suddenly be engulfed by the gentle lapping of the incoming high tide. Winters would be icy cold, the wind belting one with sand grains. She remembered, she had gone with her parents in the winter, she wondered if they had done that on purpose, which then led way to her two other trips after she had complained to her primary school friends.
But California was so very different: the sea was rougher than the gentle lapping of water. The waves crash down across the still surface, churning up white froth. On bad days, when one would look out, after a storm maybe. You could see White Horses cress each wave and come tumbling down. White stallions line the horizon far out as the barges, that she finally noted lay on the horizon. Although, on this morning, no large white horses galloped across the shoreline, but rather smaller ones that were plotted in large distances from one another. The waves only reaching half a meter as they came strolling into the beach front. The rising sun glinted off the water, creating a slivery fish-scale image. If Beatrice could paint, it would be this scene that laid in front of her: The barges lining the horizon, the gulls above catching the smallest thermal that rose off the ocean as the water heated up, the flickering shades of silver lined with the white crashing of the waves. The glowing aura of the sun that had risen a substantial amount since arriving at the spot. It hung just off the shoreline, casting its light across the coastline.
It was peaceful.
But then it was shattered by the sound of rolling wheels along the boardwalk. Had Beatrice not been traumatized by a damn skateboard, she would agree to the fact that the noise of the wheels carving down the boardwalk added to the whole effect of the morning, of what made the scene she was in so beautiful. But that idea long passed after yesterday. Beatrice naturally half-glanced in the direction of the noise, being on a higher alert, subconsciously she focused on her shoulder that had bruised significantly over night.
She had a brief fear that it was Café girl, but she knew that was irrational, given that it was seven in the morning. But once Beatrice had glanced in the direction, she had in fact been correct, and that small irrational fear that it was Café girl was very much now a rational thought that caused the snapping of her neck back to the barges on the shoreline, were she kept her eyes focused. But her concentration became harder to maintain as the noise of Café girl made her way closer to Beatrice’s spot. She couldn’t help it, she caved and looked towards Café girl, to find she was already being glared at, Beatrice just returned a scoff at her pettiness.
She realized as Café girl skated off, she would have to see her again at some point today. At that, Beatrice decided she had been out long enough, and needed a shower to wash off all the sweat that lined her skin. She found that despite the cold morning, soon as the sun began its rise to its peak, she sweated more and more. So, she turned around and walked back to her apartment, being too stiff to run back. She would shower and head back on her course and make her way back to the café and retrieve her phone.
***
Her plan had been to go to the café, get her phone, assess the damage and head to campus. But soon as she stepped through the entrance of Loustic, she knew she wanted to stay for a little bit longer than she had initially planned. She had never actually entered the café when Camilla and she had eaten yesterday morning. So, Beatrice had no actual had an idea of what it would look like. Her restless thoughts had immediately been comforted by the intoxicating smell of coffee grinds and freshly bake pastries and treats. Both warming her heart, making her feel at home. There was a soft music playing in the background, she picked out that the lyrics had been French. She smiled when she realized it had been a song from her childhood. But with the fond memories, came the flood of years of unhappiness. The recently formed smile turned to one of regret and somberness. Beatrice scanned the surrounding area, there had been customers seated across the floor, round tables plotted every odd space. Some had occupied the center, and others neatly lined the windows, providing a scenic view to the open sea. Beatrice noted the pastries that had been freshly baked, settled in the displace case for all to see. The coffee machines had been set against the back chocolate-brown tiling. Beatrice continued to scan the room, there was no sight of the brown-haired bob and converses. So, she walked up to the counter and waited.
She only had to wait a few more seconds until the girl emerged from the bathrooms, seemingly uncomfortable and restless with the way her hair sat. She looked tired; she supposed that early mornings where not the usual for her. Beatrice wanted to take pity on the girl, give her benefit of the doubt. Beatrice knew Camila would, get Beatrice to provide some sort of sympathy for her. See the reasons behind her acts, make Beatrice understand her possible circumstances that led to her events. But right now, Camila was not here to be her rational side, so Beatrice was only adding this third round of events that only furthered proved her assumptions of the girls tardiness and lack of care for others or herself.
Café girl made her way to the till, seemingly unaware of Beatrice’s presence. The girl proceeded to take notes on her notepad that sat with the coffee machines. Beatrice stepped further up to the counter. When the girl finally did stop in her tracks, she still refused to look up at Beatrice. So, Beatrice cleared her throat. It was a petty move, but it was her returning the favor from this morning’s scoff. The girl snapped her head up to finally make eye contact with Beatrice. It hadn’t occurred to Beatrice that this had been the closest they had been to one-another since Café girl had put her on her ass yesterday afternoon. Beatrice couldn’t help but notice the whisps of hair that hung down her face, how her hair was an assortment of chestnut and highlighted sweeps of messy hair pulled back into a high bun. The girl looked cute. Beatrice also noted how soft her eyes were, and although her face was falling into a look of horrified surprised, it was obvious how soft her cheeks would be when she smiled and they bunched up, as if marshmallows had been stuffed in her cheeks. Beatrice stopped in her tracks, finally realizing where her train of thought had led off too. She pulled back immediately, she hoped she had maintained neutrality. She doubted Café girl would even bother to notice the strike of annoyance held for herself and the girl across the counter. They held eye contact, but it was apparent the girl in front of her had been analyzing Beatrice as much as she had. When she Café girl eventually stood back to take in Beatrice as a whole, her look changed, a look that immediately sent Beatrice’s stomach into a frenzy of twists and knots. The girl eyed her up and down, tracing each and every visible curve Beatrice’s body took on with her clothing. Beatrice clenched her jaw hard enough to feel the grinding of teeth. The girl had this glint in her eyes as she stepped back, a flirtatious smile lined her lips as she spread her arms out along the back counter.
Beatrice had been molded with composure growing up, her parents would have no such sweeping change in emotions- that was unprofessional. A woman, a woman of her family’s status was not allowed to show emotions nor crack under pressure. But as she held that prolonged eye contact with Café girl, all Beatrice could focus on was her slipping façade. She needed to fix this, if her mother had seen her right now, she’d been scolded, sent to her room, she would be forced to spend long hours on end with the etiquette teacher. A poised French woman, who embodied the devil with her patronizing and lethal cane. Beatrice internally winced at her childhood memories. Pull it together, she thought. So, she did. She mimicked the girls’ movements, to rest her body weight on the counter surface. She was calm and collected. As long as she remained as such, she was in control. But she once again, noticed how Café girl’s eyes racked over Beatrice’s forearms. Shit. The silence was finally broken, but not by Beatrice, a thought that spited her even further. With Café girl having first word, she knew she would not be able to lead this conversation, she was already one step behind, and one more hour added to her etiquette class.
“What can I get cha?” Beatrice could see the struggle in the girl holding back on some crude or sarcastic remark to finish the sentence with. Beatrice further leaned into her arms, straining her shirt tight around her biceps, watching the reaction be pulled out of Café girl with such ease. She continued her strategy by slowly processing every part of the girl ahead of her. Stopping to note the name tag that hung on her left breast pocket: Ava. Should ended her ascent by noting her slightly flushed cheeks that Beatrice would might have considered endearing had it been in other circumstances. The girl was panicking, becoming fidgety under Beatrice’s gaze, this time she would take pity on Ava.
“Well Ava… Good to see that you’re not late today.” Okay so, not entirely. She would not make this easy for her. She saw the nerve she struck as her face shifted from amusement to anger, but once she realized she used her name. The surprise that took over her face was worth it. She seemed to almost mentally stumble as she processed. Beatrice was being a bitch, she knew it. She did not know why. Maybe she wanted to have fun, or maybe she was just being difficult this morning, but she did not let up her attitude through the next few words the two exchanged. Ava didn’t seem to get offended easily, and Beatrice could take a hit or two. They both continued to play along, there was a tension that hung in the air as the two bickered between each other. Beatrice held back a smile at how fun it was quipping back against Ava, and Ava, seemingly was enjoying it too. But then Beatrice momentarily let her guard down, and Ava hit her where it hurt. An old scar, one that would hurt at random or when she accidently applied to much pressure to it. That’s what Ava had just done unintentionally, but intentional or not, that did not stop Beatrice’s defense mechanism engaging involuntarily. She shut down in an instance with an icy glare and cutting remark, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The look of worry on Ava’s face did not go unnoticed from Beatrice. Ava understood she had gone too far, Beatrice appreciated that she supposed. Ava finally brought attention to the thing Beatrice initially had returned to Loustic for: her cracked, sparking phone that Ava had now placed delicately on the counter between them. Beatrice wanted to flinch at the damage, the part that was taught to care about materialistic objects, the other part of her- the part she would never reveal to her mother or father- was indifferent, careless. She did not care. It was a phone at the end of the day. She never personally felt the need to desperately have one. When she started down at the piece of technology, she was almost relived, relived that she had a reason to close herself out from the world. But she did not show Ava that, instead she picked up the phone, and she pretended to examine the damage.
Pretend.
Pretend.
That’s all she does: Pretend.
And that’s what she did when she finally looked up at Ava and gave her a response, “You could have given this to me this morning you know?”
There was a slight hint of surprise, confusion but quickly masked with a smirk and a cheeky glint in her eyes, “But where’s the fun in that?” Beatrice watched as that smile formed, she watched as that smile punctuated each and every word, she watched as that smile filled her up with warmth. And she finally watched that smile grow as her very own formed across her features.
“I suppose.” Beatrice needed to leave, she knew she had too, and not for the sake of her course that started in 10 minutes, with a 15-minute walk. She needed to leave because she had to get rid of the warmth that started to flare in her stomach. She could not tell if that feeling had been a feeling of fear or safety bubbling, but neither would help settle her racing thoughts. She walked to the door with what looked like purpose and not fear by running away. She needed to leave the café, needed to leave the freshly baked goods and coffee, she needed to leave Ava.
But the girl made that a challenge as she quipped over the café customers, “Oh by the way, is my skateboard in a better place for your liking? Just wanted to get your stamp of approval. I mean you know what they say, a complete stranger’s opinion about you is in fact the most important.” Beatrice knew that Ava was no longer going to be a stranger in her life, and the same went for Beatrice in Ava’s very own. She just didn’t feel Ava had realized that just yet. It scared Beatrice to how she had just concluded to such.
So, she stopped in the doorway, at the cafes threshold, and threw a small thumbs up and a simple, “Much better Ava.” If Ava noted the way Beatrice’s lips curled around her name, she did not make a fuss to mention it. Beatrice would get use to saying that one name. The name that might just throw a wrench into Beatrice’s life plans and reputation. The name that churned up fear and excitement in Beatrice.
Ava.