Ah, the cups of watery, tasteless coffee — a group therapy staple, if what she had seen on TV or in movies could be believed. A stereotype? Perhaps, but perhaps now she could wrap her head around why. Distraction. Where one avoided talking, attention inevitably wandered elsewhere; how many tiles on the ceiling, what exact shade of beige adorned blank walls, the flimsy paper cup of weak coffee held between shaky hands. Anything to take the edge off, distract from the fact that their comfort zones lay so far away, they couldn’t see the boundaries from where they sat.
She hadn’t thought to take a cup when she arrived, so sure had she been that her stay would be short-lived. Yet there she sat, trading tales of woe with a stranger; at what point had she taken the turn down that road?
Walk it back, turn it down, lock the memories back in the box and bury it. Empathy and understanding wouldn’t heal anything, wouldn’t paper over the cracks — telling her story would accomplish nothing more than to tear open old wounds, drive the cracks even wider.
“Even bad coffee’s better than no coffee,” the change in his manner wasn’t lost on her, perhaps she could put that down to uncomfortable surroundings, too, “But I’ll pass, thanks.” Fidgeting had always been her tell, the dead giveaway whenever she felt uncomfortable; she’d not take a cup. “Not strong enough,” she joked, unable to brush the shift in dynamic under the carpet, “Benefits of working in a bar, can chase all of this with free tequila. Or bourbon. Feels more like a bourbon day, really.”
Stay or go? She’d never hear the end of it if she left early, Libertus would make sure of that but if she stayed, what was the alternative? More awkward conversation, another argument with herself over what she shared?
“Thinking about heading out, honestly,” sighing, she glanced over toward the door, a relatively easy escape, all told, “Time for some fresh air, try to forget the fact that my brother might’ve been right all along. He’s never gonna tire of reminding me.” Because despite own misgivings, shehad talked ( however vague ), and that certainly counted for something — the tiniest of victories on a long road of defeats, even if she couldn’t quite bring herself to admit it. “Think I’ve talked enough for one day,” leaning forward where she sat, she let humour tinge her tone, “Can’t spill allthe secrets on the first day, gotta save something for next time. Might as well save the shitty coffee, too.”
Pelna smiled. It was a small, fleeting thing, there and gone again before he could decide if it was merely a reflex or an awkward kind of solidarity. "I'm not sure there really is such a thing as too strong coffee, to be honest. Especially when you're part of the military. Or were, I guess I should day," he said, eyes downcast as he swirled the last dregs of coffee around in his paper cup.
He'd never minded silence much, enjoyed spending time in quiet solitude, even. But awkward silences had never sat well, prickling along his skin like grains of sand during a desert storm. Especially when he was pretty sure he'd been the one who caused them in the first place. Which, looking back, he seemed to have a special kind of talent for. Not that there was any way out of it but through it.
"Can't say I blame you. I'm pretty sure I'd kill for a drink right now; bourbon or not." Then again, he'd probably be the first casualty of that particular endeavor. Well, maybe nothing quite so dramatic, though experience had taught him the combination of alcohol and anti-seizure medication could be its own kind of cocktail. And not in a fun way. "Can't say I know your brother, either, but I imagine he'd be happy for whatever helps. Even if you're leaving early."
Pelna looked up to cast his own longing glance at the door. It would be easy to slip out unnoticed. Especially with people still trickling in, standing in small groups or lingering just outside for a quick smoke. And he wouldn't even have to do it alone.
Pelna shook his head, told himself not to lose his nerve now.
"I think I'll try and take my chances here. At least for a little while longer. Bad coffee's still better than no coffee, right?" Besides, it was a lot quieter here than out there. The mere thought of having to brave public transport with Leika in tow it's own kind of unsettling. And he didn't want to call Neelam. "Although I might be setting the bar unreasonably high for myself for the next meeting."
Then again, he wasn’t necessarily known as the smartest guy around.
"Do you think you'll be back?" He nodded his head in the direction of the slowly filling circle of chairs. "I know I’d be happy to see a familiar face. Kinda like moral support. Only if you’re up for it, of course."
