The wind toys with my hair as I stroll past Warbler’s Street on the way to Franny’s Café. My head is buried deep in a book called Sweet Revenge. It’s a tragic love story about a vindictive girl whose boyfriend cheats on her, so she decides to murder him. My feet know every crosswalk to stop at, street names to pass, and all sidewalk cracks to avoid, so I don’t have to break my attention from the novel. They effortlessly weave me through the crowded streets of Manhattan.

Just on time, the familiar scent of mediocre coffee and a bad excuse of banana bread wafts through my nose. This is what home smells like. I proceed to seat myself in my favorite spot; a table next to the window where the sun sparkles over your skin as if you’re being tickled by a giggly ghost. To my surprise, there was a couple already sitting there. The girl throws her head back in laughter while her boyfriend smiles stupidly. They lean in for a quick kiss, and I have to avert my eyes. The honeymoon phase. Many young couples go through it. They probably have that stereotypical dream of meeting each other under blue skies and in fields of roses. The sweet floral aroma engulfs the pair as they dramatically prance through the field, crushing the soft, unbelievably green grass beneath their feet. But soon the sky will turn a smoky gray. The flowers will burn away, tainting the scene with the scent of singed stems. The crispy brown grass will crumple and swirl away with the raging wind. Because that’s how it ends. Every single time.

Young love. Stupid, naïve, horrible, pointless, coveted, young love. There was a time where I wasn’t such a cynic. I had a boyfriend in high school; a beautiful boy with sun-kissed skin and raven black hair. His eyes were a warm chocolate brown and his smile made my heart flutter. I can still remember the day we met. It was tenth grade at Jonathon Head’s Big Highschool Bash. I had been to parties before, but I hadn’t seen him until that day. I was with my best friend, Jenna, but she quickly disappeared once her crush was in sight. His eyes were bored and wandering, while an over-enthusiastic girl was yapping to him. When we made eye contact, he simply smiled, and my heart did somersaults in my chest. Before I knew it, he was heading towards me, and I started to panic. God, where is Jenna? What am I supposed to say to him? ‘Hi, I’m Eliza and you make me wanna throw up, but in a good way!’

Suddenly, his mouth was right next to my ear.

   “Let’s talk outside. It’s loud in here”.

He is flirting with me. Nobody flirts with me. It’s not that I am ugly or unsocial; just not the type of girl you flirt with. 

“The name is Jason” he smirked, “And what do they call you?”

“Oh, uh, I’m Eliza,” I stuttered. Did I really almost forget my own name?

We started talking about school, our family, and life in general. I found myself spilling my deepest secrets to his cute dimpled face. We quickly became best friends, and soon after, he asked me to become his girlfriend. My friends and family instantly fell for his charms. We even invited him on vacation to the Bahamas! We were madly in love for two years. Well, I was madly in love for two years. 730 days of shared smiles. 17,531 hours of giggles after midnight. 1,051,897 minutes of endless memories. But people fall out of love. They get impatient and bored and suddenly you realize that you're pouring your heart into a person who doesn’t care about you anymore because you are too emotional or too moody or too paranoid or overreact to the person they claim you shouldn’t worry about. In short, he cheated on me, and I dumped him when I found out. I cried for a month, had some self-realization, and continued with the rest of my senior year. All our happy memories turned sour. It felt as if they never existed at all. I never dated for that long again. I vowed to never let myself get attached to anyone again.

The sound of my name brings me back to the present. 

“Eliza? Would you like the usual today?” My regular waitress, Anna, inquires.

   “Yes, of course” I reply distractedly. A familiar set of glossy black hair catches my eye. Suddenly, he turns and I see Jason Stewart, my high school sweetheart, having the audacity to show up in my café with his ridiculously handsome face. 

Is that really him? Does he see me? Why do I look like a rabid rat made a nest in my hair?

Much to my disappointment, his sparkly eyes find mine almost immediately, and he starts to make his way to my table. I try to subtly smooth out my porcupine hair and frazzled eyebrows (not that I care what he thinks anyway).

“Eliza Hemmingway! It has been so long. How are you?” he asked. Life couldn’t be any worse. I’m currently living off my minimum wage waitressing job and a daily ration of Ramen Noodles.

“I’m doing great!” I lie effortlessly, “How have you been?”

“I’m doing all right. I just completed my internship at Theta Technology and they have offered me a job. You know, that company that is building the first electric airplanes. It's quite a big deal.” he boasts. It seems like his ego from high school never got punctured. Bummer.

“That’s great!” I exclaim, trying to keep the edge of sarcasm out of my voice, but I fail.

“You’re still the same, huh? You could never just be happy for me.” he sighs as if I have been such a burden on his perfect life.

“I guess you still lack a sense of emotional intelligence!” I practically scream, chucking the hardcover book at his perfectly chiseled face. His head jerks back and blood starts to trickle out of his nose. I stalk out of the café in a huff. I hope he needs plastic surgery.

* * * 

The wind threatens to tangle my hair as I stalk past Franny’s Café. I knock tentatively at his door, swearing under my breath. How could I let my anger get the best of me? I need to control myself if this plan is going to work. The door swings open, revealing a tall shirtless man with bloody gauze stuck to the bridge of his nose. The moment Jason sees my face, he slams the door shut. I try to stop him by grabbing the edge of the door, but I overestimate my strength and my fingers get squished.

“Oh my god! You almost chopped my fingers off!” I shriek, examining the blood starting to seep out of the line forming across my fingers.

“Hey, that wasn’t my fault. Karma is a killer,” he jokes. “You can come in, but only to get a bandaid and make an apology.”

As I am soaking my wound, he crosses his arms and leans against the door frame. His biceps twitch slightly, as if he has just finished exercising.

“How was the work out?” I ask nonchalantly.

“It was good,” he hesitates. “How did you know?”

“Your bicep is twitching and you have a slight hitch in your voice as if you are trying to catch your breath. Not to mention, the gym shorts and sweat towel around your neck,” I state.

“You always were so observant,” he chuckles. Then, he gives me an expectant look, so I finally oblige.

“I’m sorry, okay? I always have had a violent streak, and I let my temper get the best of me,” I pout.

“Yeah, I know you,” He says with a hint of exasperation. But I also see a slight twinkle in his eye. Maybe he did miss me.

He plops on the couch next to me and stretches, flashing me a confused look.

“Hold on… How did you figure out where I liv–,” he started, but I quickly interrupted him.

“So what exactly do you do at Theta?” I ask. 

Eager to show off, he launches into an in-depth summary of all his engineering adventures and completely forgets about his previous question. Phew.

 Eventually, I coax him to bring out some beer, hoping that the booze will ease his mind. Our banter returns seamlessly as if we are still in highschool. With Jason, everything is so easy.

“Look at us, Eliza,” Jason hiccups, “Two friends catching up again.”

“We were never just friends, though,” I sigh, looking up at him over the rim of my beer bottle.

“We could never just be friends. We both know that,” he smirks, leaning in closer. 

This was my moment. Even after all these years, he is the only thing on my mind. Now, I finally have him. I move my hand to his neck. His lips barely brush mine before a beer bottle is smashed over his head. He jerks back in pain, but I pinch a nerve on his neck to hold him steady. I swiftly plunge the jagged beer bottle into his chest, directly over his heart. He falls forward, but I keep him upright, whispering in his ear.

“I have waited five years for this moment,” I sneer, “Five years until I could finally show you what true heartache feels like. I have stalked you and hunted you and observed you ever since you moved into Manhattan. All I had to do was inflate your ego a bit and get some alcohol in you to render you vulnerable. Your genius engineer mind can’t save you now! You make it so easy, Jason Stewart.”

“I don’t understand,” he chokes out. “You seemed flirty and agreeable…”

“Did you really think that I wanted you back? After everything you did to me? It was all an act; a part of my master plan. But you were right about one thing, poor, helpless Jason Stewart. Karma is a killer. It’s time you paid your debt.” 

I twisted the beer bottle further into his chest and felt his weak breath dissipate. Vengeance is a girl with a broken heart. Unpredictable, ruthless, calculated. ‘Forgive and forget’ is foreign to her. In order to sow her heart together again, she will tear your heart apart.