They had to be kidding. They had to be. There was no logical reason that this could be happening to me. Someone had to be playing some sort of sick fucking joke.

Julie Abbey. I had barely walked through the doors freshman year when I heard about the golden girl of our year. The college had recruited her from the top performing arts high school in the city and gave her an offer she couldn't refuse. I had a few classes with her here and there in the early years, and what I could tell from our in-class exercises, she had a bit of raw talent. Even I could admit that. But I didn't think it was anything to run home and tell mom about. Yet, here I was, stressed out over how close she came to starring in my play.

I sighed in frustration and my breath came out in a cloud of smoke from the cold air. Through the thick socks tucked inside my rain boots. Through the not one, not two, but three sweaters I pulled on this morning in a desperate attempt to ward off any forces. Through the big and colossal and borderline-comical overcoat wrapped around the top three-fourths of my frame, I could still feel the icy wind.

It wasn't one of those ridiculously ineffective trench coats you see on TV, by the way. I'm talking full on marshmallow-style puffy coat. And still, still, despite all of that I could feel the bitter, despicable, never-fucking-ending cold.

I'm not one of those people who grew up in mild weather and think that anything below 40 degrees is considered freezing. I'm no stranger to winter. But, it still would have been nice if someone had warned me about what winter in the city is like before I moved here. No one sent me a polite little note to say: "By the way, any cold temperature is automatically made worse by the wind that will cut through any and every layer you throw on." Hence the three sweaters. And it still wasn't enough to dull the sharp teeth of winter.

My shoulders hunched forward as I waited for the cars to finish passing. I had been walking long enough that the rain was starting to creep in through the holes in my boots, only adding to the delight of this already wonderful day.

Isn't that always how it is? The worst days always start out raining. It's like the universe wants to be fucking poetic or something. I pulled open the door to Mugs and embraced the warmth and grind of coffee beans.

There is no better smell in the entire world than coffee grounds, until you start working in a coffee shop. When you practically live in a 20 by 40 box surrounded by milk steamers and flavor syrups, your life becomes a daily grind. Literally.

I blew out a breath of air and pulled my apron over my head. "Morning, Julia," my manager chirped. I grunted in return and poured some beans into the espresso machine. Tom was always far too peppy for 6am.

"How's everything with you?" He took a swallow of tea before stopping mid-sip. "Oh, hey, how'd the play thing go? There was a reading or something?"

"A casting," I muttered. "And I don't want to talk about it." Espresso. I needed the espresso machine to finish right now before I could even begin to think about anything. I watched intensely as the dark liquid filled the small pocket of the cup, each drop feeling like an agonizing stab because it wasn't finished yet.

I know she walked out, thank god, but I was still pissed off at how played I had been (pun not even fucking close to be intentional. Don't even laugh at it). She waltzed in and was practically handed the role on a silver platter, and I had no say in it! And she was so goddamn smug about the thing that I had to stop myself from smacking her clear across the face. Multiple times.

I hated people like that, the ones with no humility. Sure, maybe she had a few good reviews, but that didn't mean she had to strut around her entitled ass like she was a goddess gracing us mortals with her talent. She was an actress in a liberal arts college, they were two a penny.

Miles and Mr. Hoffstadt were only making it worse. Miles with his so-called 'rational approach' and Mr. Hofftadt practically wanting to award Julie with the Oscar now. I expected a coup from him, everyone knew Julie was his little pet, but Miles was supposed to be my friend. Sort of. As close to a friend as I could get, besides Clementine.

"Didn't find anyone?" Tim's voice brought me back as he began counting the register, whispering the numbers with each bill that kissed the counter.

"Worse, and I still don't want to talk about it." Tim was nice, I liked him, but only in smaller doses. As much as I was short with him and kept coming back and trying to get me to talk about my life. He was a tall guy in his late thirties with thin glasses and ebony braids that reached about an inch over his shoulders. He was annoyingly friendly, and most of his customers came back just because they liked him.

Well, mostly. The man did make a good cup of coffee which thank for the love of god was finished. I tossed back the bitter, black liquid in one gulp as winced as the sharp temperature burned the insides of my throat. I could still taste it as I returned to my prior task of making a pot of decaf, dark and regular roasts.

"Mimi says she wants to come see it whenever it's up and running."

I stopped in my tracks. "What?"

"Mimi. "My face remained blank. "My wife, you whackado." He tapped me on the head with his pen.

I rolled my eyes. "Of course I know who your wife is, Tim. You talk about her enough. Why does she want to come see my play?"

Tim shrugged. "You're a good employee, and you babysit our kids all the time. She has this crazy idea that you're kind of our friend and she wants to come support you."

My posture remained rigid as I stared at him. Friends? I could barely even remember Tim's last name! I had only babysat their kids because I needed the money and I figured they felt sorry for me. Plus, they were desperate. I barely classified him as a general acquaintance. "Oh, well..." Tim looked at me expectantly. "You really don't have to. It's not going to be much and you guys are so busy," I trailed off.

"I know we don't have to, we want to."

"I—" I looked at him, grappling for an excuse. "I just don't want to force you guys into something. And it's not very good."

Tim furrowed his brows but didn't say anything. I don't know why I didn't want them to come, it just didn't feel right. Weird and awkward and like they were trying too hard. "Well, okay, if that's how you feel." He closed the register drawer and tapped the counter twice. "Ready for another day in paradise?" he said with a grin.

I nodded curtly and leaned back against the wall while he went to go unlock the door and flip the sign. Earl, who had been waiting outside, walked in and began chatting with Tim the same way he always did.

It felt so dumb, so mindless and unnecessary. Tim couldn't possibly care about Earl's cat, and yet he asked him every morning. Tim called it his religion (I wasn't really sure how worshipping a higher figure and Earl's cat were the same thing, but frankly I didn't give a crap enough to ask). It felt ridiculous to me, and I only offered a small, tight lipped smile as he placed a dollar in the tip jar. Like he always did.

I watched Earl leave as someone else walked in right after. People didn't stop for anything to get their coffee. My back turned from the front door as I steamed some milk for a venti mocha, the hot air blowing up into my bangs and adjusting the hair ever-so-slightly.

Another day in paradise.

*****

I gripped my mug of tea tighter, attempting to extract any warmth from in that I possibly could. My feet were propped up on the edge of a chair, finally able to be rested after an entire day on my feet. A yellow blanket graced my shoulders overtop the two sweatshirts I had on, and a red one covered the lower half of my body.

Tim didn't ask about the play after our talk that morning. Sometimes, his friendly nature did have boundaries and he could tell it was a sore spot. The rest of the day was filled with his regular chatter and the cries of customers as to why their order wasn't finished yet and "had I washed my hands enough?" I was beginning to worry my eyes would get stuck from the amount of eye rolls I committed a day. Despite the warm air Mugs provided, I was glad to be finally finished 10 hours later.

My eyes looked longingly to the thermostat on the far wall. I had it high enough so the pipes wouldn't freeze, but that's all. Tuition was due this month, and there was nothing left to spare.

I checked my phone as I took a sip from my cup, but it was blank. No calls, no texts, just a portrait of Tennessee Williams grinning back at me. I pulled up the assignment sheet from my Survey of Dramatic Literature class, bunkering myself down for how I was going to spend the rest of my night.

Cold and alone. Just like all the rest.

Hey there! Welcome back to another installment Michaela rambles in her author's notes!

So, you guys got a little more of a taste of Julia. What did you think? Is she right in her judgement of Julie? Or is she just being bitter?  Or is she just the stone cold bitch Julie thinks she is? Lemme know in the comments! 

Dedication to @reaweiger for the lovely comments she left last chapter! She's also writing a pretty cool book so you should go check that out :) 

Shoutout to @olga_godim for making the awesome banner above!

Song: Spider in the Roses by Sonia Leigh

Don't forget to vote and comment (which gets you a dedication js) and I'll see you guys next Wednesday! 

Love, 

Michaela