More Than Just Words

I tap my foot impatiently as I wait for my turn at the coffee shop. I clutch my phone in my hand, scrolling through the latest tweets about Velvety, the fashion brand I work for. They are all negative, mocking the company's poor sales and tasteless designs. I feel a surge of anxiety as I see a screenshot of the latest sales report: a dismal number for Velvety.

How am I supposed to fix this mess? I wonder, biting my lip. I have been the social media manager for Velvety for two years, and it has been a constant struggle to keep up with the trends and the competition. But nothing has prepared me for the backlash that follows their latest product: a graphic tee for young girls with the words "future brides" on it. It is so wrong, and I know it. I have tried to warn them, but they have ignored me. Now, they are facing a storm of criticism and boycotts.

I have to speak up, I think as I begin to type a tweet "I don't agree with Velvety's "future brides" tees. They're wrong and hurtful. I warned them, but they didn't listen. I'm sorry and ashamed. #BoycottVelvety #NotMyFuture..."

I pause, gritting hard then delete it. What if this backfires? I think, feeling my heart race. I scan the room, as if expecting someone to jump out at me. My eyes are wide and alert, and my fingers tremble slightly. Biting my lip and fidgeting with my hair, unable to relax or focus, I look like a deer caught in the headlights, ready to bolt at any sign of danger. "I hope no one recognizes me here."

I bite my nails, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder. I gaze around the coffee shop, taking in the sights and smells. The espresso machine wafts caramel and vanilla, making my mouth water but not even that can get my mind off my worries. The hiss of steaming milk and the low murmur of conversation fill my ears. I lean against the smooth, cool countertop, lost in thought.

People bustle back and forth around me, each with their own problems. Across the street, a young couple catches my eye. The girl leans towards her boyfriend and puts her arm around his shoulder. He rests his hand on her knee.

"Hey, babe, look at this," he says, showing her his phone.

She giggles and snuggles even closer to him. "That's hilarious. You're so funny."

They whisper something in each other's ears, then burst into laughter.

My teeth clench and turn, avoiding their blissful faces. A sour taste fills my mouth, a tight knot twists in my stomach, a cold shiver runs down my spine. I envy them for their laughter, their closeness, their spark. But I know it won't last. Love is a lie, a trap, a curse. I felt it once, and it broke me.

I force myself to focus on something else, anything else, but love. I'm fine on my own, anyway.

My phone buzzes in my hand, making me anxious. I check it and see more tweets about Velvety. None of them are good.

@Fashionista: Velvety is canceled. How can they promote such a sexist and creepy message to young girls? #BoycottVelvety #NotMyFuture

@AngryMom: I'm returning all the clothes I bought from Velvety for my daughter. They should be ashamed of themselves. Who's with me? #BoycottVelvety #NotMyFuture

@LoyalFan: I used to love Velvety, but now I'm so disappointed. What were they thinking? And where is their social media manager? She should apologize and resign. #BoycottVelvety #NotMyFuture

I read the tweets and a knot forms in my throat. They are right. I should apologize and resign, but I'm afraid of what will happen if I do. I'm afraid of losing my job, my income, my reputation.

"Next!" The barista calls out, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I look up and realize it's my turn to order. Fumbling with my phone, I pull some change out of my hand bag. I hand it to the waitress and grab my coffee and bagel. Just at that moment, my phone chimes again, interrupting me. Oh no! Not again! Another Twitter user spewing hate directly at me for working with Velvety. Not many people follow me online even though Velvety has posted me several times; in fact, I could barely crack five hundred followers weeks ago, but as of yesterday, I have over a thousand followers, with enough people calling to cancel me along with Velvety. Why are people blaming me? I'm just doing my job, I slouch, groaning as I scroll through my phone.

I'm still consumed by the chaos at work, when a commotion near the entrance catches my attention. A group of guys enters, lugging camera equipment and carrying tripods. My curiosity is piqued, but I'm soon jolted back to reality when I bump into someone as I collect my coffee. The hot liquid splashes all over me, and I yelp in pain.

I look up and gasp. It's Richard, the one person I had hoped to never see again. What is he doing here?

"Richard?!" I stare at him in disbelief.

My eyes widen and my mouth hangs open, unable to form any words. I blink several times, as if trying to clear my vision. Is this a dream? A nightmare? Why is he here? My face heats up and my fists clench, ready to lash out at him. How dare he show up like this, after what he had done to me? But then I remember he isn't here for me and this is a public space after all.

My chest beats fast as I look at him. He is still handsome, with his brown eyes and hair. His Bluwood cologne wafts lemon and blackcurrant. He still wears it.

He smiles slightly and reaches for me. "Wow! Loretta? Ah... I- I'm so sorry. Let me help you."

I jerk away from him. "Don't touch me!" Glaring at Richard, I snap. I try to tuck my coily hair behind my ears, but it's too thick and bouncy. He looks at me with those intense brown eyes, as if he knows everything about me. He stares down at me, with glassy eyes. Those damn eyes that makes legs weak. Why does he still affect me after all these years? I hope he doesn't notice how I tremble.

Looking down at my dress, I fidget with the strap of my bag. I wonder if I look good enough, then shake the thought off my head. It shouldn't matter how he sees me. Besides, he's ruined my dress now.

"Fuck! I wasn't... I wasn't looking when... sorry about the dress," he says, trying to sound casual.

I snort. "Yeah, right. You're always sorry, Richard."

Like I've just escaped a fire, I stumble back then run into the bathroom. The sweet scent of lavender soap wafts from the sink, calming my nerves. I turn on the faucet to wash the coffee stain off my dress and listen to the sound of running water filling the room. It's like a soothing melody, drowning out the noise in my head.

I look at myself in the mirror and sigh. The large coffee stain on my favorite cream floral gown is like a dark blotch on my day, ruining everything. I wish I had worn a simple black top instead, something that wouldn't stand out or attract attention.

My heart races as I realize Richard is here, in the same coffee shop as me. How could this be? After all these years, after all he had done to me. The day he dumped me, in front of the whole school, flashes in my mind. We had been dating for three months, and I thought he loved me. But he didn't. He said he was bored of me, that I was too plain, too shy, too boring. He said he wanted someone more fun, more exciting, more like him and said he was sorry, but he wasn't. Richard walked away, leaving me alone and humiliated.

I shut my eyes, my hands visibly shaking. But with two long exhales, I push them away and focus on cleaning up. I can't let him see how much he has hurt me, how much he still hurts me.

My phone beeps as I'm about to leave the bathroom. I open my email and gasp. Velvety is closing down. I type a frantic email, asking about my payment. I need the money badly. Tears stream down my face as I wait, but there is no reply. A wave of fear washes over me. What will I do now?

I take a deep breath and push open the bathroom door. I step out into the bustling coffee shop and see Richard and his crew setting up their cameras. My heart pounds in my chest. A guy pats Richard on the shoulder and laughs. It's Adam fucking Cooper, one of the guys who made the breakup worse. Trying to ignore Richard's gaze, I walk back to my table. I don't want him to see me cry, to see me weak.

But as I reach my table, I waver. The sight of Richard and the memories he brings back hit me like a tidal wave. I remember his smile, his kiss, his betrayal. I remember the pain, the tears, the humiliation. I feel dizzy and nauseous, as if I'm drowning in the past.

He hurt me so much in high school. Why is he here? What is he filming? My hands shake and my face heats up with anger and embarrassment.

I sit down and glance at Adam, who is laughing loudly. I have a bad feeling about this. This encounter is only the beginning of something bigger and more complicated, and I brace myself for what is to come.