"Did I miss anything?" I asked as I walked toward the counter from the back, Employees Only, room of a warmly lit coffee shop. I adjusted the white button-down shirt that was tucked into my high-waist pleated skirt—the cute but modestly chic uniform we were obligated to wear.

Aptly named The Coffee Shoppe, (maybe not all that original in hindsight) was actually one of my favorite places to be at when I wasn't home rotting away like some sack of decaying flesh. Morbid, but you get the idea. It kept me busy—kept me from being alone in my thoughts (which weren't at all happy ones). And in a sense it helped remind me that I was very much still alive. It gave me some form of clarity before I went back home and reminded myself why I shouldn't feel so thankful.

Every time I got there, I always remembered to take in a deep breath and inhale. It always smelled like freshly ground coffee beans all the time. Every now and then you'd get a hint of caramel, vanilla, chocolate or even cinnamon in the air. It was a beautiful blend of aromas that made my senses come to life. Then the vibe... the atmosphere was always so good and I guess it had to do with the aesthetic of it all. The interior, for one, though rather small-ish was still quaint and homey. And the furniture was a nice balance of modern and classic designs. You had the beautiful dark wooden paneling on the wall behind the front counter, with a contrasting cream color on the remaining walls. The floor was of a dark matted smooth tile which allowed the furniture (like the wooden tables, chairs and red couches) to stand out against it. All in all it was simplistic but the vibe was good regardless, so it brought a lot of customers that needed a place to feel relaxed and comfortable. Myself included. Which was why I got the job there. 

"Not really. Same old same. As usual." Millie, one of my co-workers, responded as she finished tending to one of the customers. She then eyed me up and down and then added, "So I assume from the way you look that the walk over was a pleasant one."

My eyes narrowed at her teasing grin. "You can say that." She laughed when I playfully nudged her on my way toward the tables. I roughly ran my fingers through my damp hair in order to quicken the drying process. The heater did well in warming me up since it had just been raining outside, making the already cold weather seem less than ideal for going around on foot. Luckily, I only lived a few blocks up the road.

Grabbing the clean rag from the apron tied to my waste, I began spraying all of the empty tables with the cleaning solution before rubbing them down. To be honest, I could've gotten a "better job" anywhere else but it wasn't about experience or my qualifications, it was about what allowed me to balance time between my classes and my... issues. I couldn't dedicate my time to working a fulltime job with too many responsibilities. I easily recognized that I didn't have the mental capacity to handle it all. So you can say that for the time being, I settled. And you know what? There's absolutely nothing wrong with that. I actually really enjoyed this job and for whatever reason, it helped ease my mind. My boss was also very understanding about my back condition, for precautionary reasons, but even then it never became an issue. I felt normal here. I had no time to think about the things I lost. I only kept my mind on my work, often socializing with my coworkers and customers. 

I worked my usual six-hour shift before I decided to grab a bus and head over to campus in order to spend some time in the library. Thursdays were usually a very slow day for me—since I didn't have classes I always took that time to work the earlier shifts and longer hours than my usual four. It was 5:25 in the afternoon and it hadn't rained since the light showers earlier in the day, which was a good thing. I didn't feel like catching a cold in the library—they freaking kept that place freezing for whatever reason, despite it being the autumn season (my favorite season apart from summer).

One the bus ride over, as I listened to my low-fi playlist, I gazed outside the window and watched the beautiful fall colors that painted the canvas in vivid warm hues of yellow, orange and red. If summer was my favorite season because of the weather, fall had to be my favorite because of the colors. I appreciated those tones found in the trees (and even the clothes) and the way it complimented the golden skies as the late afternoon approached. I was enjoying the way my playlist matched the weather when suddenly I caught sight of a drop of water against the large bus window.

Unfortunately for me,  I was caught once again by a thin veil of rain showers upon my arrival to the main entrance of my university campus. On the way in I saw other students (who were in the courtyard between classes) fumbling with their things and trying to get under cover from the rain. It looked almost like they didn't expect it. Which meant I brought the rain with me. Oops. Oh well. 

I quickly made my way toward the library (a one-story stand alone building) on the South side of campus and thanked my lucky stars that—because I had been working earlier—I was wearing my favorite pair of Converse (which had Dr. Scholl's gel insoles in them). Because of my back problems, I often strayed away from flat shoes. I learned that thick heeled pumps and platforms that slightly arched my foot were actually better for me, so I normally opted for them over any other kind of shoes. Granted, my feet still hurt after a while but I would rather deal with the mild pain of a few sore spots on my foot over having to deal with the excruciating pain in my back.  I swear I've met elderly people who didn't have to deal with this . But heels and rain didn't match, but thankfully Converse did. So it was times like these that I was grateful for my work uniform.

When I got inside the library I was greeted by the unnecessary gust of wind that blew out from the vent over the door, sending a chill down my spine. Again, I don't understand why they found the need to maintain it so damn cold all the time, but they did. I ruffled my matted hair and patted some of the water drops of my clothes, not really caring about my appearance anymore and headed in after greeting the older woman who worked behind the main desk. I saw her often whenever I visited and upon occasion I would make sure to bring her something from the cafe. Today was no different as I handed her a small white bakery box filled with freshly made blueberry scones. She smiled at me and after exchanging some conversation about the scones and the weather, I excused myself to start toward the Literary Classics section. I was itching to finally get my hands on 'The Picture of Dorian Gray' and read it. I had recently gotten into reading some of the works of Oscar Wilde and this story was the next in my reading list.

The Literary Classics section was off toward the back of the building—way back in a more secluded area with it's own study—isolated from rest of the study tables that were conveniently placed more towards the front of the library. Don't get me wrong, I was totally okay with being among other people. It's just that those tables sometimes got too crowded with study groups, so I simply preferred just going off on my own and not having to worry about getting in other peoples' ways or being disturbed by something. Besides, when I want to read a book, I want to truly invest my time and focus on the story anyway.

Weaving through the aisles I came to a stop in front of my now favorite author and used my finger to point through each of his works in order to find the one I was looking for. A smile crept onto my face when I found the only copy still sitting on the shelf.  "Found you."  I was about to walk back toward the table where I had left my things, when a curious sound nearby caught my attention.

What is that?

I furrowed my brows when I started toward the end of the aisle, the faint muffled sounds becoming louder as I did. I don't know what was driving me to move forward—considering that this place was kind of creepy—but I guess the impulsive and adventurous side of me secretly hoped I would be involved in some kind of ghostly haunting. Trust me, I know how that sounded, but one could only hope and I was never the type of person to be against the idea as long as nothing too freaky happened.

Making to the end, I found myself aligning myself with the row of shelves so that my body was perfectly hidden behind it (for safety, of course). With the sounds becoming a little more rough, I hesitated. What if it is something scary? I considered this for a moment before I finally came to the conclusion I needed to. Well, too late to worry about that now. I was already invested in the mystery. Taking a breath and working up my courage, I slowly peaked from around the corner and upon doing so I couldn't help the deep frown that formed on my face. It didn't dawn on me at first as I looked at the scene in front of me. But after a few moments of letting it process, I was able to get a better understanding as soon as I was able to make the distinction between the two bodily forms that were pressed against one another on the back walls in the secluded-most part of the already secluded area (the now muffled sounds resonating clearly as overlapping vocalizations of moans and groans). I should've known. You can say that at that moment I was completely turned off from reading.

Get a ing room. Like how gross and tasteless did you have to be to do something like that in public, whether or not you think no one is around? Like have some class and self-respect.  

Trying to hold back my disgusted groan, because the last thing I wanted to do was interrupt, I headed back to my table with the book in hand. After making myself comfortable, quickly forgetting about what it was I had just had the displeasure of seeing, I began immersing myself into yet another one of Oscar Wilde's works. It was a philosophical novel of the Gothic fiction genre that solidified his notoriety as a scandalous (though not intended) writer who "offended the moral sensibilities" of those that read his fictional writings and possibly lead to corrupting and demoralizing the easily influenced youth. Of course that was a statement beyond ridiculous statements, but at that time it was to be expected. Oscar Wilde was a man who didn't give a about what other people had to say. He didn't fear questioning morals, ideals and lifestyles. That's why he's admired even now, long after  his demise. He didn't fear criticism or what others had to say about his art. It was his art, his passion and no one would ever change that.

In a sense, I could understand why such a novel was considered a thing of controversy during it's Victorian era of origin. A beautiful piece of literature that perfectly embodied the vain ideals of a young man who coveted his youth and physical appearance more so than his own morals to the point that he would even sell his soul in order to preserve his young and handsome self. But it was still a work of fiction nonetheless. It presented a hedonistic ideal—that beauty and sensual fulfillment are the only things worth pursuing in life—but didn't glorify it. It also presented other strong themes such as aestheticism, duplicity, homoism, and debauchery.

The story itself had a very simple, straight-to-the-point plot: A narcissistic young man (Dorian Grey)—who is the subject of a full-length portrait in oil by an artist (Basil Howard) who is impressed and infatuated by his beauty—is enthralled by a dandy aristocrats' (Lord Henry) self-indulgent philosophy of hedonism after hearing him espousing his worldview to the artist one day. Newly understanding that his beauty will fade and that beauty and sensual fulfillment are the only aspects in life worth pursuing, Dorian expresses the desire to sell his soul, to ensure that the picture, rather than he, will age and fade. The wish is granted and he soon pursues a libertine life of varied and amoral experiences; all the while his portrait ages and records every soul-corrupting sin in his stead. Again, I could totally understand why such a novel was considered a thing of controversy during it's time of publishing. It certainly was a ballsy one on Wilde's part and I was easily won over.

I was about twenty pages in when I suddenly heard movement, followed by the distant sounds of footsteps that accompanied a retreating feminine back by the time I looked up from my book to see what the noise was all about. Another set of footsteps then caught my attention, only these sounded a little closer, and by the time I looked over my shoulder I could already see the source turning the corner from behind an aisle of bookshelves.

I easily recognized him when we locked eyes. In fact, I distinctly remember having a class with him the day before yesterday. My eyes immediately ran over his current state; his eyes were wide (almost erratic looking) and his golden blonde hair was messily tousled (even more so than usual). It would be him, I concluded after recalling what I had seen going on back in that direction nearly thirty minutes ago. I'm pretty sure I made a disgusted look just thinking about what it was they had finished doing before I decided to turn back around and go back to my book and hope that he didn't realize who I was and would just keep walking.

I had just finished flipping the page and started reading the next one when I heard the chair across from me being dragged out from underneath the table. The distinctive sound of someone sitting down and then scooting in was soon followed and I couldn't  help but sigh at the new presence sitting across from me. I could feel his stare on me and it annoyed me so much that I couldn't help but sigh once again before marking the book and then closing it shut with a loud bang. Obviously I wasn't going to be able to concentrate and I needed to make it as painfully obvious as possible that I didn't appreciate being bothered when I was reading.

"What?" I spat when I looked up to see him staring straight at me. Damn, he was annoying.

"Your eyes look darker," He pointed out simply, acting as if I hadn't just been rude to him five seconds ago. As if though we were on good terms or something. That's a weird way of starting up a conversation, by the way.

I sighed in exasperation and reminded myself to stay calm. I would just have to make time for Dorian Grey later. "Yeah, they usually get darker when the weather is ," I admitted, hoping that I might come off  uninteresting enough to drive him away. But then I looked up at his eyes and I could easily say the same thing about them. Though not darker, they certainly seemed brighter than usual. I wondered if it had anything to do with ing around in public. Welp, that just turned me off to him again.

"You don't like the rain?" He asked, his brows furrowing and I can see that my answer was having a more opposing effect than I initially intended.

"I do," I answered skeptically, feeling one of my brows raise just slightly. "Just not at the moment." That's for sure. All the while as I was reading, I was using that as a distraction to keep myself from trembling every second from the fact that I was still very much soaked and cold after having to walk through the rain like an idiot.

"And why is that?" There was a grin forming on his lips and I couldn't tell if he was messing with me or not.

Does he know I caught him? And what's with all these weird questions? What a strange way of making conversation with someone.

I scrutinized him carefully before I answered. Studying him. Considering he was in the same year as me I could safely assume that he was most likely younger. I say this because I took a year off before entering college to get my act together again (so I ended up being in the same class as a younger age group). It was only a year or two difference, not much of a big deal. But it still amazed me how someone who was younger than me and only in their sophomore year of college was already so damn promiscuous. Granted, I only knew this based on word of mouth and now... well... you know. "Because I'm freaking cold," I then confessed as I wrapped my arms around myself. It didn't help that I wasn't exactly dressed properly for the weather. "I have no idea who the hell told them it was a good idea to keep this place like the inside of a freezer." The last sentence was meant to come out as a snide com