Passing Tides Ch. 01-05

-Author Note-

This is my first real attempt at any story of any genre, I dedicate it to S.B. who has always been a tremendous support and soldier in the battle for pure and simply happiness. It has never been easy, but it has always been a joy.

All feedback/critical analysis is greatly valued; I want to get better. Thank you.

*****

-Chapter 1-

My shoes clicked and clacked as I made my way down the cobblestone street that lead to the 'Passing Tides' tearoom that my father owned, the wind hushed and the faint reverb of the distance sea could be heard as I paced past the other local stores, closer and closer towards a work shift that fate had me destined to be late for.

The intervals between each step tapping against the unsteady and ancient foot path grew longer as my feeble walk turned to larger strides of bolder determination. Past the music shop with its dilapidated front, my heart rate increases, past the surf store and its window display piled with unsold stock, I feel my sides begin to tighten, my small bronze wrist watch mocks me with a reminder that I am now 20 minutes late; late for a father which has never tolerated my tardiness.

Finally, I can see Passing Tides, a standalone building set at the base of some narrow stone steps, a quaint looking home converted to serve tourists and villagers alike, its uneven cobbled walls and small wooden windows adorned with hanging baskets of flowers and potted outdoor plants. By now I'm close enough to read the sign above the door and while my strong heart beats the rhythm of determination, the shooting pain in my side and unsteady footing tells me that my ability to keep racing is drawing to a close.

As I make my way down the final steps I pass a middle aged couple that I've known for many years as the owners of a small convenience store, my mind acknowledges them but in my hurry I simply mutter.

"Sorry, sorry."

I reach for the door handle yet at my tempo it is the handle that hits me, my hand stings and the door jolts open.

Nothing. Around the room sits the same six round wooden tables, each with their four matching wooden chairs, dark varnished wood, heavy but not harsh on the eye, eccentric. Pressed against the far wall is the bookshelf, this out of place eyesore was my father's world, he had spent every opportunity updating its shelves with all the titles he considered to be 'classics'; whether these stories had proven to stand the test of time remains unsure as I'd never heard of one of them.

What was missing from the Passing Tides was not its furniture or its odd charm, what was missing at first glance appeared to be people.

I closed the door behind me and lent myself against the long wooden counter that also supported the till, a small weaved basket containing a selection of sealed biscuits and a glass counter full of homemade cakes. To me the silence of the cafe was unfamiliar and unwelcoming. The pain in my right hand still remained and now had a steady throb in the centre where it had struck the door, so with my one remaining hand I began brushing down my long dress and waistcoat, while I'd acquired no real mess to my clothes it was perhaps, to me, symbolic to dust myself off and begin work at once.

While the store was for now, my own to rule, rather than simply walk around the counter I took it upon myself to perch myself onto the work top, raise my legs and rotate my body so that when I hopped down I was exactly where I needed to be.

"I don't think dad would let you get away with that," muttered a voice, "Don't think he'd have you work for free neither."

It was my sister Angie, she had sat herself behind the counter, hiding away from the world; a trait that had existed ever since we had moved to the coast.

"25 minutes into my break, again." she mumbled "I'm still takin' an hour, I need an hour." With this she stood.

To me Angie a sister certainly but not by appearance, she stood tall and I did not, her hair was light and flowing, mine was auburn and unkempt, her figure was full and my frame was light. We rarely met eyes but there was still a bond held together, perhaps by respect or perhaps forged simply by the passing of time spent together in the confines this cafe.

And so the door rattled and my shift began. Alone.

Some time passed with only the sound of passing people, some voices familiar and some with unusual accents, likely to be the voices of those that had travelled from the city to reap the benefits of our seaside area.

Since my arrival the sun had settled itself at an angle in the afternoon sky which invited its rays into the room, as such the darkness had become light and the brightness began to glow. In an attempt to break the cycle of boredom I entered a small backroom that perhaps would've served as a kitchen before the building's conversion. The ideal outdoor sunshine had heated the room to a non-ideal temperature. While picking up a tablecloth and, running it under the cold tap, I let out a gasp as icy water hit my hands and fine drops of the freezing water dashed up my arm. With the chilled cloth in my hands I re-entered the cafe prepped to wash the unused table tops.

To my surprise I found myself confronted with three young adults sat around one of the back tables and talking quietly.

They paid no attention to my entrance, nor my sudden movement to hide the dripping wet cloth in my hand and the soaking wet arm holding it.

Three adults, very young. A young man wearing a red shirt with rolled up sleeves, facing away from me. Two girls, possibly related as I could see their faces and their similarities were striking, both with black waved hair, tidy appearance and mousey facial features. The only thing that separated the two from their symmetry was that one of them was wearing thick red framed glasses.

"There are..." I choke, the words are there but I cannot speak for coughing.

The three turn and the girl with the glasses begins to smirk; I take an immediate disliking to her.

I recover.

"There are small menus... a menu, the centre of your table."

While I do not consider myself to be of a weak nature the action of completing my sentence fills me with an aura of great accomplishment.

The young man glares at his smirking companion, she stops abruptly, and he smiles, turning to me, his face is kind.

"The menu? Thank you, we've seen, may we..." the man lists an order, nothing complex; as to be expected in a cafe such as ours.

The preparation of his order is a blur to me, I've worked for my father since leaving college prematurely, and every detail of an order is now a moment my memory no longer registers. I'm approaching my 27 birthday and since 17 years of age it would be no exaggeration to say I've served tens of thousands of customers.

As I approach their table holding an old wooden tray with carved handles I can feel the returning throb of my injured right hand, the pain shows me no mercy and my hand begins to wobble uncontrollably.

The teapot, saucers and plates begin to rattle. Before I reach the table the young man and dark hair girl without lens raise from their seats and take the tray from me. I feel a sense of shame, I tighten my wounded hand in anger, the dull pain acknowledges my emotion and responds in kind.

"I'm sorry, I'm... my hand," my speech begins to stutter, as is usual when confronted with strangers. Again. "I'm sorry... my hand aches, injury from today."

"Religious?"

My speech is cut short by another's. I turn to face its origin and I'm met with two large hazel eyes which are made larger by the lens they hide behind.

"Pardon?"

"Your cross, your Jesus cross, are you religious?" A limp wrist lazily points at the crucifix which hangs around my neck.

I wrap my hands around the cross as if shielding the metallic lord's ears from such a blunt and outspoken question.

"No." I can feel it, like a firm hand around my throat. Panic.

Focus, I build the sentence in my head, breathe; then speak.

"My mother, it was a gift from my mother," The fictitious devil that gripped me loosened its hold around my neck. "My mother wears one and this one belong to her mum, my grandma."

The young woman raises an eyebrow at me, then smiles. I feel that her smile is sincere but that she is also unsatisfied with my answer. She raises from her seat. My body tenses, my natural instinct is to prepare for confrontation. I feel a familiar thumping in my chest, it is the same rhythm that accompanied me on my way to work.

My fear is for naught however, the young girl picks up her satchel which has been resting under the table hidden from my view and turns to walk away. As she leaves she speaks aloud to her company.

"If all goes well I shall see you this evening."

Then raises her arm she shakes her hand which holds a mobile phone, then without a response she was gone.

The atmosphere feels tense. I wished Angie was with me, although we rarely make contact with one another she was an older sister that had always defended me, even when times throughout our family history had grown tense. While no direct confrontation had been made towards me I still felt a sickening knot within my belly. I collected the now emptied tray and began to walk away.

"I apologise!" came a voice.

It was the remaining female.

"She doesn't mean to be rude, my friend can be bold and curious but she doesn't mean to cause offence."

I turn and smile, I do not believe her. Thus, I do not reply and continue to walk towards the counter, the uneasiness continues to grow, perhaps if I can make it back behind the counter I can keep busy until they leave.

"I am sorry, really," now the man speaks out "We've all just had a busy couple of days, this is our first real rest from work since we arrived here. Again, no offence meant we're just a little stressed."

I turn to face him.

"Please, sit with us at least until another customer arrives."

With that he pushes the once occupied chair outwards with his foot under the table. Again, his smile is kind, in that brief moment I feel my anxiety fade.

I would sit, at least until my Angie returned from her lunch break.

The man tells me that his name is Nathaniel and that he and his friend Evie are students visiting the coastal area for environmental information for their degrees.

Their adventures summon a feeling of jealousy within me, I find that without forethought I am envious of their exploration and journey. They are both free of work commitments and only bound to their own will; not the will of other people.

This is my first sin.

I introduce myself formally in my own way, I tap upon my name badge.

"Josie?" Nathaniel asks. I nod.

"Well, Josie, why not tell us a bit about yourself? It's not right for us to do all the talking." He leans forward and Evie raises her mug of tea, urging me to continue.

While the girl with the glasses struck me as a rather rude and invasive woman, these two were humble and inviting. I felt comfortable talking to them, not simply because of their kinder ways but because I sincerely believe that they wish to know me.

However, the truth does not find my tongue.

"I'm working here while I study," my lie shocks me, "I want to be a photographer."

I point to a framed photograph on the wall, the photo is of a boat shed half claimed by the sea.

"That's one of mine, I took it last summer." it isn't mine at all, Angie took that photograph for the purpose of displaying in this very room.

I know my envy makes me lie but now I'm enjoying the persona I've created. Josie the trainee photographer isn't wasting her life in a cafe earning minimum wage.

Second sin,

"I'm twenty four soon so I feel like now feels like a good time to start my career." only a few years from the truth.

Perhaps I wanted to be a closer age to the group sat in front of me, though it is very possible that twenty four would still make me the oldest person at the table.

The two continue to keenly listen to my lies, although my heart tells me I am doing the wrong thing I feel... Free. For me this is a brief moment in which I can be whoever I want to be and who is here to correct my lies? Time will pass and these two strangers will leave this area; taking my non-truths with them.

It only takes a few moments of this causal lying and exchanging of stories before I feel like I've forgotten my life, its dull routines and fallen head over heels with the notion of being free, to have the freedom to make friends and travel. To have the spirit of adventure at my own command.

A lump starts to form in my throat, am I getting tearful?

My vision starts to blur as my eyes start to water. The notion that happiness makes you cry was almost forgotten until now.

I cut our conversation short gathering the wooden tray and walk back to where I and my life belong, behind the counter; ready to serve.

"Your work is beautiful," Evie announces "I think you have a real talent."

I smile but there is a pain inside.

"Is it for sale?" my attempt at separating my work from fantasy doesn't come as easily as I'd hoped.

"No, it's special to me." more lying. I try again to break away from the social circle, Angie is due back any moment and there is little evidence that I have done anything constructive within the hour. I send the couple a smile as I patrol behind the worktop

"If it's for sale it will be on our menu."

"Then perhaps we'll just have to settle for two more drinks. The same again, please."

My opportunity to wash the tables, or any other task, vanishes as I collect two upturned mugs from a shelf, right them and begin to fill them with boiling water.

"Such a beautiful area, when you really take time to look at it." Nathaniel states out loud, undoubtedly aimed towards me. I do my best to pretend I didn't hear him.

"I'm jealous, truly. Beautiful landscape..." Nathaniel continues "...beautiful architecture..." He goes on.

"Very beautiful people." Evie finishes.

I stop, realising that my stillness radiates acknowledgement of their talking.

I look over slowly to see Evie staring into her empty mug which is nestled between both her cupped hands. Silence.

The warm room with its golden glow becomes tense, the couple no longer seem to be a part of the atmosphere, their idle chattering didn't cut through the silence and their bodies were motionless in their chairs.

For the first time in many years I feel conscious of my work, each stir of the spoon and clatter of china cups seems deafening.

I pick up each mug by its thick handle and carry them over to their table. Click-clack, click-clack. My footsteps ripple in the silence.

A journey of less than 30 feet feels like a mile, as I approach the table Evie and Nathaniel lean backwards to make room for their order. There is still clutter on the table, left from earlier, and little space for additional drinks.

I lean forwards and each mug makes a dull thud as they meet the surface.

"Ah!" I let out an involuntary gasp, panic sets in. My mind is instantly scrambled and my vision blurs as I'm consumed by a binding shock.

A kiss, upon each side of my neck. I do not move an inch not because I choose so but because I cannot.

I regain some of my senses but the lips remain on my neck, in my peripheral I can see the blurred faces of Evie to my left and Nathaniel to my right; their breath tingles on my skin.

"I..."

I'm lost for words as time seems to stand as still as my own body, I feel a press and release against the left side of my neck, a tongue briefly breaks the kiss but as soon as the sensation arrived the lips pressed back against my skin.

I shudder, it is involuntary, I find it difficult to hold my leaning position, and I need to back away. Think, form the word, breathe and speak.

"Why?"

Nothing, no change and what has probably only been a few seconds to me could have been an hour.

"I must..." I speak out.

My words are stopped again. Hands run across my body, one slides across my right side and up towards my chest and another traces from the top left of my chest and downwards, brushing over my breast as it passes.

My breathing becomes manual as I find myself feeling desperately short of breath.

Without looking downwards it is difficult to determine the owner of each hand as they both glide over me lightly, the hand running upwards reaches the top of my dress, the fingers pressing over the base of my neck, in one swift motion my top button tugs away, exposing the more flesh and my crucifix necklace, another tug and another button opens.

The lips begin to place more kisses, wet to the touch, with a pressure and pace that sends my mind spiralling, my knees feel weak; I cannot think. This moment is neither something I want to embrace or run away from, without the ability to understand what is happening to me there is only an overwhelming heat coursing through my veins, keeping me its prisoner.

The hand undressing me seems to stop, there are no more buttons on my front left to slay and as I gain the courage to look downwards slowly I see the edge of the rounded table and then my two pale hands laid flat upon the polished surface. I look further down to find the front of my emerald green dress swung open like church doors exposing myself. My pale skin seems to almost glow in the sunlight.

I begin to feel faint as the kisses are now intertwined with licks and sucks.

With the swiftness of water the hands exploring my body raise my bra upwards exposing my breasts and then with the same speed they run down my light frame, over my stomach and below.

-Chapter 2-

The fumbling of foraging finger tips reaches my pussy, without any grace or permission they carelessly explore me.

It has been a year since I last felt the touch of another lover and this was far from the gentle, lovely and tender caress I was accustomed to.

My body is lifted and heaved closer to the table as my warmth is pressed, pulled and opened by soft hands searching for the bud that makes me spasm.

An impatient masculine hand joins the search. Nathaniel takes little time or finesse in taking control of the hunt for my sweet spot, his fingers and thumb pinching a lip of my pussy and tugging away. As my slit is held open leaving me at my most vulnerable Evie runs two fingers up and down my entrance; fingers made slick from my wetness.

The heat from between my thighs is unbearable. The world is spinning; I fear I will faint.

In a moment of confusion and lust I grab one of the arms that runs down my front of my unbuttoned dress and into the darkness in which hands pull and pry at my womanhood. The arm is thin, a woman's arm, although in this moment of lucid heat the owner is not relative. I lose some balance as I struggle to keep one hand on the table while trying to tame the others that explore my body.

I guide my own hand down Evie's thin pale arm, the tightness of three arms down my open fronted dress stretches at the material pulling it tightly across my chest and stemming my breathing. With a sudden jolt the dresses fabric gives into the pressure and both sides of the opening are forced apart, in one motion my pale breasts with peach erect nipples are uncaged and flung free for all to see, I fall forward and land upon one forearm; I am practically bent over the table.

With this new room available my hand strokes down Evie's slender arm until it meets the slick, warm and wet one running circles over my burning opening. I place my index and middle fingers over hers and drive both of us into the ill-fitting place that twitches and squeezes.

Suddenly, piercing the erotic fog of my undoing, the subtle tip tap of feet... then a thud sound resonates and the cafe door opens.

Angie has returned, and with her reality came crashing into my world like a runaway train.