HELENA (Chapter Six)

Chapter Six

The walk to the cafwas the most exercise I'd done in weeks. My pace was brisk, driven not by vitality but by the twin cravings of nicotine and bitter black coffee. The air carried the unmistakable bite of late autumn--sharp, crisp, and unforgiving. It seeped through the frayed cuffs of my denim jacket, despite its fluffy lining. The goose bumps on my arms spread like whispers of the season's arrival, a silent reminder that time marched forward whether I liked it or not.
When I reached Cafe Nuova, I hesitated at the threshold. Smoking indoors was a relic of the past, but the warmth beckoned. Inside, the cobblestone fireplace glowed faintly, an ember of simpler times. It sat at the cafs heart, surrounded by mismatched chairs and the hum of soft conversation. But nostalgia wasn't enough to lure me in. Instead, I chose rebellion, even if it was self-imposed. Outside, the patio's rusted metal furniture barely withstood the test of time. The chair groaned under my weight as I settled into it, the cigarette already dangling from my lips.
There weren't any ashtrays out here--a silent declaration from society. At what point had smoking become so taboo? I flicked the ash onto the ground with a shrug, the gesture as aimless as my thoughts.
The coffee arrived, its bitterness steaming through the chipped ceramic mug. I cradled it, letting its warmth seep into my palms. For a moment, the world receded. The traffic sounds softened, the chatter from inside blurred, and the cold nipped less fiercely. Alone with my thoughts, I sank deeper
into the chair, the cigarette smoldering between my fingers. I didn't want to think about the second half of my shift, which loomed on the horizon. Could I quit? Sure. But to what end? Another job would just be the same drudgery, maybe worse, probably for less pay. The hamster wheel keeps spinning, no matter where you stand on it.
The world is a joke, really--a sick, repetitive joke we all pretend to laugh at while it grinds us down. If this is the one we get, why do we spend it like this? School devours the first two decades of your life, conditioning you to sit and follow orders. Then comes work--a relentless grind that strips away what little freedom you thought you had.
Want a house? A holiday? The illusion of comfort? You'll need more hours, more overtime, more bending over backwards for people who don't know your name. And if you're lucky, you'll retire at 65, when your body's too tired and your soul too drained to do anything with the time you've finally bought. By 75, if you even make it that far, you'll be a burden. Some poor nurse or relative will be wiping your arse while they try to keep their own heads above water.
If life is so special, so sacred, why do we waste it like this?
I wondered in times like these about my mother. Did she feel satisfied at the end? Or was her relief simply that it was over? Maybe she was spared this endless loop. Maybe missing out on the grind was a gift--a strange, bitter blessing.
I was so lost in this spiral that I didn't notice her approach until she was sitting across from me. It wasn't the "no other seat, don't mind me" kind of sitting. Her presence was deliberate, her gaze steady and unflinching. It burned into me, not unkindly, but with a weight I wasn't prepared for.
"Out here all alone?"
I smirked, a faint spark of recognition lighting up the haze of my thoughts. "Not alone now, am I?"
She tilted her head back in a muted laugh. It wasn't loud or showy, but it had a bloom to it, as if it were flowering somewhere deep inside her chest. "No, not now."
"Funny seeing you here," she said, her tone easy yet deliberate. She lowered herself fully into the chair, crossing one leg over the other. "I just got out of class and saw you sitting here. Thought you looked... lost."
She wasn't wrong, but I wasn't about to admit that. "Lost in thought, maybe," I deflected, taking a drag from the cigarette. "What were you thinking about?"
Her question pierced through my defenses. Could I distill my tangled thoughts into words without cheapening them? I hesitated, then shrugged. "Why do we bother living in a world we're unhappy in?" The words fell out, bare and unadorned.
She didn't flinch. If anything, her expression deepened, her brow furrowing just slightly. "Is everyone unhappy, or is it just you?"
I leaned back, tapping ash from the cigarette with a flick of my finger. "I don't know. I can't be the only one. It's hard to believe anyone's satisfied with... this."
Her arms folded, her posture softening but her gaze sharpening. "Maybe it's not about satisfaction. Maybe it's about gratitude. We're blessed in ways we don't always see. You, maybe more than me."
My laugh came out harsher than I intended. "What makes you think I'm more blessed than you?"
Her gaze didn't waver. "I've been to your family's home." The words landed heavily, the implication obvious. My father's estate loomed between us like an unwelcome guest, its opulence a bitter reminder of things I wanted no part of.
I exhaled sharply, a bitter laugh escaping me. "That's one of a handful of times I've been there."
"Why only a handful?"
"I'm not close with my father. Or my stepmom."
Her lips curved into a small, teasing smile. "Ah, mummy and daddy issues." Her chuckle was light but deliberate. Her eyes glimmered with the kind of blue that held secrets. She saw through me, or maybe she just thought she did.
"I don't have issues," I shot back, my voice taut. "I'm just not close with them." My bitterness must have been obvious, because her tone softened when she spoke again.
"What I'm trying to say is that life's flawed--for some, more than most. It might feel restrictive, even meaningless, but it's all we've got. So you better make sure you live it, for those who couldn't."
I fell into silence. Not defeated, but contemplative. She'd thrown a gauntlet, but I wasn't ready to pick it up. Not yet. I studied her face instead. The way her jaw tightened slightly when she spoke with conviction. The way her hands moved just enough to punctuate her words, but not enough to distract. Her presence was magnetic, but not in an overwhelming way. She anchored me, even as my mind resisted.
"Does this mean I get to know your name now?" I asked, my voice dipping into something close to a plea.
Her lips curved into a knowing smile. "Helen... Helena actually."