On the Otherside of Town

Denial with a Side of Coffee

Chapter Six:

Aurora's POV

“Aurora, can I see you after class, please?” Mr. Jenkin’s voice cut through the murmur of students, his eyes barely lifting from his desk.

A chorus of “Oooooh” rose from the class as the bell rang. I shoved my things into my bag, feeling the familiar wave of discomfort under everyone’s gaze.

I liked to stay in the background, the quiet one in the oversized hoodie who barely spoke above a whisper.

I had a rule to keep to myself, especially when it came to guys. Complications weren’t an option.

Having a relationship while f*****g my father was a non-starter. I never got close to anyone…

So I was so off my rocker when I decided to hook up with Micah when he started showing interest in me despite everything, Maybe I just wanted to feel like a normal girl for once. Despite everything and deep down, I knew that he was no good, there were a lot of red flags for one the secretly hooking up thing and the fact that I let him in so completely without a second thought.

I wasn’t exactly a stranger to secrets, but Micah had been a surprise—a dangerous, complicated one I knew I shouldn’t want.

Besides I was tired of walking around like the weird Trailer trash Kid with a scarlet S on my head…the father fucker!

As I walked up to Mr. Jenkson’s desk, my stomach clenched. “Ah, Aurora,” he started, his voice soft. “We missed you on Monday… and last Friday. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, Mr. Jenkins,” I mumbled, shifting my gaze to the floor. “I… um, wasn’t feeling well.” And if by ‘not feeling well’ I meant dealing with way more than any high schooler should, like being too busy laying on my back and spreading my legs for Daddy dearest while getting the life f****d out of my p***y till I could see straight, then sure, “Unwell” that was close enough.

He gave me a look, as if he could see right through the casual words I offered. I kept my eyes trained on the floor, the discomfort settling in again. There was a constant battle within me—a mix of guilt, shame, and the nagging question of why I felt so out of place, so exposed, naked, and ashamed.

After his brief but unsettling concern, interrogation… really. I escaped to my locker, grabbing my work uniform and apron.

I ducked into the girls’ bathroom, feeling the queasiness hit. Lately, it had been happening more often. I hadn’t seen a doctor yet. Doctors cost money, and in my world, things like morning sickness were just one more burden I’d have to handle on my own.

No health benefits, no sympathy, just survival.

I need to save up for the visit, us trailer trash didn’t get the luxury of health benefits

When I finally arrived at work, Bob glared as I tied on my apron. “You’re late, Aurora,” he barked.

I was already dreading the shift. My job wasn’t exactly glamorous, and my boss, Bob, and yes I live in one of those shitty ass backwater towns where people at your local hole-in-the-wall were named Bob, who always looked at me like I was something he could order off the menu. Which by the way wasted no time telling me that he would make me suck his d**k the next time I was late. I’d learned to brush off the comments, the leers—it was part of life here.

“Sorry, won’t happen again,” I apologized in my stupid timid little sexy voice I always gave Dad, when I was in trouble with him “My father would bend me over the couch, pull out his c**k and make me take him into my tight little asshole he would laugh as he f****d the s**t out of me as a punishment for disobeying him, that thought hit me like a height train and I shivered. Trying to display the composed version of myself I used to get through each day. I shut out Bob’s stare, ignoring the way he seemed to savor his small sense of power over me. The last thing I wanted was more trouble.

I pushed myself to make it through the shift, hiding the nausea, the exhaustion, the weight of it all. The constant touch and groping from all the perverts and sleazeballs that pass through that place looking for coffee and a nightwalker.

I was barely halfway through my shift when he walked in. The type you could spot a mile away—the slicked-back hair, the way his eyes lingered just a little too long on the wrong places. I could practically feel his stare as I wiped down the counter, my shoulders tense and braced for whatever crude comment he’d throw my way.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he said, sliding onto one of the stools at the counter. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing workin’ in a place like this?”

I plastered on my practiced smile, the one that said, *I’m here to serve your coffee, not listen to your crap,* and grabbed a mug. “Just making an honest living,” I replied, keeping my tone flat, hoping he’d get the hint. But guys like him? Hints weren’t exactly their thing.

He leaned forward, his eyes scanning me in a way that made my skin crawl. “How about you make my coffee extra sweet, just like you?” he said, winking like he’d just told the funniest joke in the world.

I gritted my teeth and poured his coffee, focusing on the steady stream and willing myself to ignore him. “Here you go,” I said, setting the cup in front of him and stepping back, keeping my distance.

But he wasn’t finished. “How about I get a smile, huh?” He leaned closer, his voice low and oily. “Bet you got a real pretty one hiding there.”

I forced a tight smile, the kind that barely reached my eyes. “Enjoy your coffee,” I said, already turning away.

He chuckled, clearly not ready to drop it. “Playing hard to get, huh? I like a little fire,” he added, his voice following me as I moved down the counter to get away.

I busied myself with the coffee machine, tuning out his voice, and focusing on the familiar sounds of steaming milk and clinking mugs. It was just another day, another sleazy customer, another reminder of why I kept to myself. Guys like him were everywhere, all thinking they had a right to a piece of me. But I’d learned to handle them, to let their words slide right off me and keep moving. Because that’s all I could do—keep moving, keep going, keep my head down, and wait for it all to end.

I felt like I was constantly walking a tightrope, balancing too many secrets, too much pressure. But that was life. And somehow, I’d keep holding on, one step at a time.