InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Cafe In Manahatta ❯ Part One ( Chapter 1 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: lil6ter 
The coffee was hot. Steaming hot as I poured it into his cup. It warmed my hands through the pristine white china. I set it down on his tray, smelling it and closing my eyes. His lips would touch the crisp edge of this cup. The coffee would pour into his mouth and warm it. He would bite into the scone that I have prepared for him with love, care, and extra everything. I set this one aside from the rest. He has been coming to my little café every Saturday and Sunday since it opened. He sits in the same place, drinks the same coffee, eats the same scones. He is my beautiful constant, and one day, I will build up the courage I need to go over there and talk to him and stop loving him from afar.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Psychological / Drama / Shoujo | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 04.14.2009 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.3K | Visits: 1.1K | Status: Completed
The coffee was hot. Steaming hot as I poured it into his cup. It warmed my hands through the pristine white china. I set it down on his tray, smelling it and closing my eyes. His lips would touch the crisp edge of this cup. The coffee would pour into his mouth and warm it. He would bite into the scone that I have prepared for him with love, care, and extra everything. I set this one aside from the rest. He has been coming to my little café every Saturday and Sunday since it opened. He sits in the same place, drinks the same coffee, eats the same scones. He is my beautiful constant, and one day, I will build up the courage I need to go over there and talk to him and stop loving him from afar.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Psychological / Drama / Shoujo | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 04.14.2009 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.3K | Visits: 1.1K | Status: Completed
Disclaimer: I love the only Inuyasha related thing I own. My cute little chibi inu key-chain which lives out its happy life on my iPod making fashion statements everywhere (Ha! Take that Parris Hilton! You want something hot? Then look at my iPod cuz it's so cute and knows how to accessorize.)
The Café In Manahatta
By: lil6ter
Part One
I have come to the conclusion that when hearts bleed, they really bleed. You can literally see the blood dripping down them, ever so slowly. All of that blood, coating it red, sliding down it, tainting it for the entire world to see.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
What makes a heart bleed?
Well, that is another conclusion that I have drawn.
Anything can make a heart bleed. Pain. Anger. Death. Loss. Betrayal. Anything bad really. Now you are asking me how I learned what makes a heart bleed? Well, I suppose that it is a natural question, and I suppose that I should answer it. It all started about eight years ago. It was a cool, crisp autumn night and I was walking down the not so lonely streets of Manhattan from a friend's house.
Sixteen. That is how old I was, and he was seventeen. The perfect age difference for a high school student. I bumped into him, or he into me, and we hit it off. Five years. That is how long we dated. One year. That is how long we were engaged. Two hours. That's how long it took for him to be beaten to death for two tickets to Cancun.
My heart bled. Red and gushing, it bled. It still bleeds, and I can still see the blood dripping down it.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
It pools in the pit of my soul, and it grows bigger and bigger. It's expanding even now. My bleeding heart kept bleeding after he was placed in the ground. After the dress was returned. After the invitations had to be canceled. After the caterer refused to give back our down payment.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
It took me two years to recover. Two years to pull my life back together all while looking at that ever-expanding puddle. I started our dream without him, or rather, I am continuing it without him. He bought a building for us so that we could run our own little café in Manhattan. We had always loved cafés and the feel of them. I loved to cook scones, and he brewed the best coffee on the east coast. Rich and smooth…it felt like hot velvet sliding down your throat. Thinking about it makes that little puddle widen more.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
I built this place into what it is. Glass tiles, slate, warm earth tones, glass display cases…I chose them all. I picked the pictures, and the paint colors. I did everything on my own, save for the help of my sister. My sister…I wish that I could call her that now. My blood runs redder because of her. The flow had ebbed, but now it is heavier, and the puddle grows thicker.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
I have seen it all: the pain, the anger, the loss, the death, the betrayal. All of it, and I know the color of my blood. I know how it runs as I watch it drip every day. Everyday since I met him.
A/N: I hope everyone likes it so far! I am gonna keep the chapters very short this time: short like this. And yes…I know that I am crazy starting this right now…but on the upside…I have my 1st seven done for this :D. R&R! Remember….every review gets a reply!