Freya
~
My heart stopped when I glanced at the time on my watch.
Late.
Again.
Without a second thought, I grabbed my bag and sprinted down the street, my breath coming in short, desperate gasps. The cold air whipped against my skin, but I didn’t slow down—not even when my legs protested with sharp aches.
By the time I burst through the café doors, Mr. Grayson stood behind the counter, arms crossed, expression tight with irritation.
“You’re late,” he said flatly.
“I… I’m sorry,” I panted, pushing strands of hair from my damp forehead. “I—”
“I don’t want excuses. You’ll do a double shift today to make up for it. Get moving.”
I wanted to protest. To say something—anything—but I knew better. This job was the only thing keeping me from completely drowning. Without it, I had nothing.
So I simply nodded, grabbed an apron, and set to work.
The routine was mind-numbing—making coffee, wiping down tables, scrubbing dishes until my fingers wrinkled. Every movement was mechanical, as if I was programmed to do the same thing over and over.
I glanced at the door, watching people come and go, laughter in their voices, freedom in their steps.
I'm eighteen now. Shouldn’t something ‘exciting’ happen?
Shouldn’t life be different?
But as I cleaned another table, dragging a rag across the stained wooden surface, I sighed.
Nothing had changed.
Nothing at all.
The sharp chime of the bell above the café door startled me out of my daydream. My feet ached, my hands smelled of dish soap, and my apron was stained from hours of making coffee, wiping tables, and scrubbing countertops.
I was exhausted.
And yet, the moment I turned to face the new customers, my stomach twisted into knots.
It was them.
The rich kids from Hartley High. My tormentors. The ones who reminded me daily that I was beneath them.
I gripped the tray in my hands, willing myself to stay calm. My boss, Mr. Grayson, gave me a sharp look from behind the counter. “Quit standing there and get moving, Moore! You’re already behind schedule.”
The bullies laughed, their cruel laughter cutting through the café's warm atmosphere like a blade.
I swallowed my pride, forced my feet to move, and approached their table.
“What do you want?” I asked, keeping my voice steady despite the heat creeping up my neck.
“Look who it is—the scholarship loser,” Manson Reynolds drawled, his eyes flicking over my stained apron. “Bet the tips here barely cover your bus fare, huh?”
His friends laughed, and I clenched my fists inside my apron pocket.
"We'll take five caramel frappes," Mason said, tapping the menu lazily. “And make sure mine's perfect, or else I’ll make sure Grayson knows what an incompetent mess you are.”
I stood still, a frown on my face. Something moved within me. I don't know what it was, but I was tired of living a boring, controlled and miserable life.
“You want frappes? Go make it yourself!” I threw my apron on his face. “I quit.”
“Wh–what are you doing Moore? Make the damn frappes!” Mason roared.
I turned towards him, angered. “Are you deaf? I said I quit.”
He was too stunned to speak and I was too angry to stay. I left the cafe in a fit of rage.
The bell above the café door jingled as I stepped outside, stretching my sore fingers and rolling my stiff shoulders. My body felt heavy with exhaustion, but my mind buzzed restlessly.
I was eighteen. Shouldn’t something exciting happen?
I sighed, pulling my jacket tighter around myself as I walked down the street. Then, a flicker of movement caught my eye.
A cat.
Not just any cat, a black stray with dark stripes running along its sleek body. It sat at the edge of the sidewalk, its green eyes watching me, unblinking.
I crouched slightly, extending my hand. “It’s just you and me, abandoned by the world. I’ll take care of you.”
But before I could take a step closer, the cat bolted.
“Hey! Wait—”
Without thinking, I chased after it, weaving through narrow streets and quiet alleyways. My breath came in quick bursts, my footsteps echoing against damp brick walls.
Finally, the cat stopped—its tail flicking, its body motionless.
Between two tall buildings, hidden within the shadows, stood something impossible.
A door.
No hinges, no frame. Just… standing alone. Suspended in the air as if it had always been there.
I froze, my heart pounding in my ears.
The cat didn’t hesitate–it jumped forward, disappearing through the door’s shimmering surface.
I stared, my pulse quickening.
Something deep inside me stirred.
Something familiar.
I took a breath. Then another.
And before I could talk myself out of it, I stepped forward.
