SPL2.2 Completing a Story (Mini PETA)

The Breakup

Zion worries, one Friday night when in Café Isabel, where he frequently sips coffee, sees his girlfriend Bea with another guy. It occurs to him like a lightning strike in his thought, remembers the thousand excuses Bea makes. Bea, as Zion recalls, often declines his offer to go out on Friday nights. It is an unmistakable realization by now that Zion loses his mind amidst confusion, and begins to wonder again. Zion now with conviction stands up, some Reggie Bob Marley singing overture on the walls where the speakers hang: "Stand up...stand up... stand up for your right!"

Zion's heart was pounding to Bob Marley's "Get Up, Stand Up," reverberating through Café Isabel. At his usual corner table with a cup of coffee in hand, he stared out into the window where streetlights flickered softly. Unusually, the café had felt oppressive tonight, instead of the sanctuary it truly was from his racing mind. The thoughts that for weeks had gnawed at him suddenly snapped into crystal clarity, like a streak of lightning. Opposite, by the window at which city glow blended with interior warmth, was Bea. It was her signature laughter ringing in his ears, yet none was thrown at him. Next to her stood a tall guy, full of himself and totally confident, cool compared to Zion's fast-growing angst. The soft sound of Bea's laughter that soothed him only moments before pierced him as some kind of betrayal. Memories swarmed his mind: times of doubt he had brushed aside, excuses Bea always made whenever he asked why she couldn't meet him on any given night, the way her attention mostly wandered when they were together. Every one of those evasive responses now painted a picture he had been too scared to see. Bea looked up at the same moment, her eyes locking with Zion's as she laughed, and promptly froze. She faltered in her smile and paled, her skin washing white as unease riffled her features. Zion's breath jolted, his fist involuntarily clenching as a weight of truth bore into him. Upon some instinctive tide, he suddenly rose to his full height, his chair jarring back with a rasping shriek on the wooden floor. The sudden noise drew other patrons' attention, their conversations suddenly stopped, eyes darting between Zion and the oblivious pair by the window. Zion's steps were purposeful across the room as his gaze locked onto Bea and man beside her. Anger was building in him like a storm, giving him resolve against what he had run from for far too long. "Bea," Zion said shortly, his voice shaking with hurt and anger. "Who's this?" The man finally looked up, his brow furrowing before a smirk dismissed all concern. "Relax, man. It's nothing," he said, still infuriately casual. Bea opened her mouth to speak, words fumbling. "Z-Zion, I can explain" Zion cut her off, voice rising with each word. "Every lie, every excusethis is what it was for?" The café fell silent; all chatter and clinking of cups ceased as the tension in the room became palpable. Bea looked around, her eyes darting as if searching for an escape from Zion's glare that was piercing through her very soul. Zion's jaw clenched. "Step outside," he said-the words at the man, yet ringing with meaning for all in the room. The man faltered, his smirk slipping off his face as he realized Zion wasn't going to back down. "Look, I don't want any trouble," he said, raising his hands slightly-the pretended casualness showing unease. "Then you should've thought about that before sitting here with her," Zion shot back, his voice low and even. Bea stood up from her seat, caught his arm with a quivering hand, and returned, "Zion, please let's just talk. "It's not here," stated Zion firmly. He faced then and walked to the head of the café to let himself out. The poor guy's heart is heaving inside his chest while from behind, the unwilling ears-Bea and her catch-seemed to thunder towards it in the now suddenly noiseless space. The alley behind Café Isabel wasn't very well lighted-the single streetlamp danced in uneven intervals across the faded brick walls lined with graffiti, the hum of the city far off, barely heard, a vague murmur somewhere back there-as the three faced each other. The tension snapped, and in one swift moment, Zion threw the first punch, his fist connecting to the man's jaw. Pain shot through his knuckles, but he ignored it as the rage in his heart overpowered any physical discomfort. The man reeled backward, momentarily stunned, before retaliating with a wild swing that grazed Zion's cheek. Matters only escalated, with the tussle of flying punches wildly and their shouts as they fought. Zion, however, was slighter than that large a build and thus was able to move quickly around the blows aimed at him, planting finer blows where it hurt more. Driven by feelings of betrayal, Zion fought with pure savagery that had left no doubt in this fight. Bea's frantic cries for them to stop were barely taken in as the scuffle continued. Zion dodged another swing and countered with an uppercut, sending the man sprawling against the wall. The man slid to the ground, groaning in defeat as blood dripped from his lip. His chest heaving, Zion stepped back, his fists still clenched, his breaths ragged. He looked down at Bea, who knelt beside the man, her tearful eyes imploring in their plea for understanding from Zion. "It's over, Bea," Zion said in a measured tone, each word dripping with emotion. "You made your choice; now I'm making mine." Bea opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out. She cast her glance down at the man she was with, with a mixed expression of guilt and regret. Zion didn't wait to hear what she had to say. Gathering his things, Zion exited Café Isabel into quieted streets. The night air nipped cold and nibbled at his skin, but he welcomed it. Aimlessly, he walked the adrenaline of the fight ebbing little by little, leaving a gnawing ache in his chest. At the first light of dawn, Zion stood and watched as the sky changed to colors of orange and pink. The ache of betrayal still lingered but no longer consumed him. He could see now that the breakup, painful as it had been, was the first step toward recapturing himself. Zion lay in his bed, thinking about what was yet to come. The scars would stay because of Bea; those marks no longer reminded him of the pain but of growth. Closing his eyes, Zion prepared for a new part of his life, as he was stronger now.