REBEL GRAINED

HER ARABICA

The sun rose, and Lars staggered to the bathroom. He swiped his hands on his face. His chin and jawline pricked with the sprouts of a three-day beard, his eyes throbbed with redness.

He made the worst decision of wanting to heal his pain by inflicting himself more.

For three days straight, scotch and gin, alcohol kept him company, and once more, he wondered why he could be like ordinary people and get over whatever tormented him.

Again he had to know the reason for his suffering, but he didn't. It had nothing to do with his money loss, even if it did instigate his current state.

No, it was something else, something more profound that stabbed him at regular intervals.

"Man, you reek," he whispered. He had no strength to shave, but he managed to take a shower, one that lasted.

Half an hour later, Lars got dressed. He made sure to pick something clean. Despite the heat, he chose a black tee and jeans, which suited his current mood.

The man didn't do himself up; it wasn't like she cared. He got in his car; the miles multiplied instead of decreasing. Never had the drive been so long, but he got there.

Suddenly he wondered what her thoughts were. He had made so many promises and stopped going to the truck abruptly. The woman probably saw him as a charlatan.

He queued up.

"Oh, a revenant," Palesa said and eyed the man who looked as though someone stranded him on a desert island for the past days.

"Eh, hi. Thulile can I speak to you," he asked.

Thulile feigned to ignore him while she decided on which attitude to adopt. Constantly stepped on by one way or another by men, she wished the cycle to stop, and it started with Lars.

The woman who already gave Lars a piece of her trust didn't wish for bad habits to install themselves between them.

And so she chose to show her discontent as she scribbled on Lars' cup, "Palesa, can you give this to him."

Lars took the cup and turned it right away.

Idiot.

"Haha, very funny. Is it a prediction or a piece of your mind I have here?"

Thulile came to the front, "listen, we're not working together, and seeing how things are going, we never will."

"Oh, don't be so fatalistic. I've been through some shit. I need someㅡ."

Lars paused. Was he really going to impose the idea that he needed comfort and thought she could procure him some. He knew it wasn't reasonable.

The woman observed him; the facial hair and hollow traits spoke for themselves. Lars wasn't lying, something was wrong, but he came.

It seemed every man around except Elije made an exception for her. Lars' eyes held so much suffering one could think he lost someone dear. Again, he had the gaze which screamed for help.

Thulile had nothing, nor ship, raft, or life jacket for the man.

There was nothing she could do exceptㅡ.

"Drink."

"What?"

"Drink your coffee," Thuile replied and went to the back.

Lars stepped aside to let the people order.

The man looked about him; a few chairs and tables would be perfect. Lars took his coffee and sat on the curb. His head still throbbed, and the sun hit hard on the back of his head.