#rusty writes

Every day the unexpected happens.

Whether it be finding a dollar bill previously left crumbled and forgotten in your coat pocket or looking into your bag to see you've left behind your wallet. Sometimes, what we are told is impossible turns out to happen. Today's unexpected happening is the rain trickling down from the sky onto the pedestrians strolling across the sidewalk. Each were unprepared for the precipitation wetting their coats. They’d convinced themselves that rain was impossible. Everyone had learned to trust the weather reporter, after all.

Many people filed into stores and other buildings. Each one's warm lighting seemed to offer promise of a coziness that could only be described as homey. A nearby coffee shop stood close by, it's incandescent lighting a welcoming invitation for the weary. An open sign hung sturdy and unwavering on the entrance. Open signs only started swaying when the door itself was opened by Sahara Dean; a passerby wandering inside for protection from the cool drops that caught the city off-guard.

Home was a word that perfectly described the little shop. Bustling with activity it was not, but the single patron and barista's conversation managed to bring life to the place all on its own. Two pairs of eyes turned to Sahara. One set regarded her in a curious fashion; the second set of eyes belonged to that of the patron whose face seemed almost familiar. It was similar to that of a dream: unreal yet somehow real despite that. An offered smile from the barista brought Sahara towards the pair. Taking up the seat beside the only patron, she watched as the other stiffened. Whatever had caused that reaction was impossible to tell, but Sahara chose to ignore it in favor of ordering a coffee.

Once she placed her order, the barista set to the task of brewing it. A calming aroma wafted throughout the little shop, overpowering anything else. Just the smell was enough to create an atmosphere all on its own. A hand was extended by the other patron and Sahara took it.

"Hey there, my name’s Paige White,” At that, she hesitated, debating whether to keep talking, “Sorry for bothering you, but are you, um- are you Sahara?"

Sahara nodded, a gesture that was followed by a soft hum of deep thought and a distracted look. Paige White rang a bell that she couldn't quite place the source of. An alarm that one couldn't remember the purpose of. There, but details that have since been pushed away and forgotten.  

Clinking of glass on the counter captured Sahara's attention from her inner thoughts. Mumbling a thanks, she took the glass mug set out on the table and blew on the steaming liquid. Awaiting the cooling of her drink, Sahara decided to fill the growing silence.

"Have we met?" A question directed at Paige that was met with the sound of a quick, humorless laugh.

"You don't know how disappointing it is to hear you say that."

Such a vague statement only brought about more confusion clouding Sahara’s mind. Trickles of guilt dripped into her conscience as the other girl's expression oozed a pitiful aura that overturned any previous feelings into empathy.

"Why? How do we know each other?"

Paige drew a deep breath, the words requiring great effort to get out, "We were in middle school together. Honors English."  

Adolescent years had been an unceasing nightmare. Memories of that time were scrambled and blurred, only the remembrance of certain, powerful feelings remained. Fear and anger were the most apparent ones. Looking back on them brought a burning sensation. Burning with rage at herself, at the people around her, at the world. Lungs burning in a struggle to take in some kind of air in an effort to run, in an effort to survive. Pain that devoured so much that all that was left behind was the feeling of being burned alive. Those feelings weren't a very pleasant thing to look back on.

 "I don't really remember much of middle school."  

"Neither do I." --- Paige's arm twitched--- "We were friends. At least, I thought of you as one. But, well, I thought everyone was my friend, so I wouldn't blame you if you didn't think of me as one."  

Sahara wrapped her hands around the glass of hot chocolate. Warmth from the mug seeped itself into her hands. Hot, but not too hot. Rather than responding immediately, she brought the drink to her mouth and sipped from the glass mug. At the motion, however, Paige seemed to shrink into her chair a moment.

Despite the obvious hesitance, she continued, albeit with a nervous tremor in her voice, "Anyways, um, as I was saying, we met right outside English class. I was really excited about it and skipping around, and I was- I mean, it was probably-"

Sahara ---to her ever-growing horror--- finally realized just who Paige was. "You were that girl I bullied.”

Now recognizing the person sitting in front of her, she remembered becoming violent on multiple occasions throughout the years. Envy was the motivation, as she recalled. Why didn't she get to smile like that? Why was she the only one who didn't get to feel the same happiness everyone else did? At the time, inflicting the same pain she was feeling seemed the reasonable response. Everyone else was happy and she needed someone to accompany her in her misery. Nobody understood, so she had to make them understand.

"What I did was wrong. You... I was going through some stuff. I was...  angry. And I took it out on you. I shouldn't have hurt you like that. You didn't deserve it."

Sahara paused to gauge how Paige was reacting. While still on edge, her posture was a little taller---a little less anxious. “I didn't know how to control my anger back then. I saw you standing there with that huge smile on your face, and, well, I was reminded of everything I wasn't, and everything that I wanted to be, everything that I was supposed to be.  I wanted to drag you down with me. So... I did. And that was wrong. I remember what happened back then. I may not have recognized you at first, but I remember. And if it helps at all, I’ve regretted who I was for years. I'm sorry."

Relaxed more than ever since she walked in, Paige offered her a small smile. Too quickly that smile disappeared and was replaced with a thoughtful and somewhat resigned expression. Taking a sip of her drink, it was obvious Paige was simply formulating a response.

"I really want to forgive you. I really do. But I'm not... I'm not over it. When I look at you, I don't feel safe. I still feel scared and panicked and anxious, and... I digress. My point is, when I see you, I can't stop thinking of it. All those times I was pinned against the wall and punched and" --she paused, her trembling hands clutching her mug-- "No matter how much I’d love to forget everything you did to me, I can’t. It isn’t going away. That's probably not the answer you wanted, and I'm... I really appreciate your apology. I think I can forgive you. Maybe not now, but... someday."

Sahara sent a glance down at her reflection muddled by the dark brown liquid. Had she ever really changed? Paige’s reaction was a lot better than she would have thought. There was a promise of a second chance in her words, and Sahara was eager to accept it.

“Here,” A receipt was slid in front of her, messy numbers hurriedly scribbled on, “I have to go, but here’s my number if you want to text me... I’ll see you later.”

Another chance.