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    Better Than New
    Better Than New
    Better Than New
    Ebook52 pages49 minutes

    Better Than New

    By Charley Descoteaux

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Theo, 20 year old community college student, is between two lives—his adulthood in which he's lacking a firm career direction, and the childhood in which he wasn't yet an amputee. On his own in Portland, Oregon, in the past year he's found friends, a home in the LGBT activism community, and a coffeehouse, The Broken Cup. He may have also found the man who can help him come to terms with one life so he can fully enjoy the other.

     

    2nd Edition: this story was previously published, content has not been updated substantially.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCeeTwo Publishing
    Release dateMay 19, 2018
    ISBN9781386215936
    Better Than New
    Author

    Charley Descoteaux

    Charley Descoteaux has always heard voices. She was relieved to learn they were fictional characters, and started writing when they insisted daydreaming just wasn’t good enough. In exchange, they’ve agreed to let her sleep once in a while. Charley grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area during a drought, and found her true home in the soggy Pacific Northwest. She has survived earthquakes, tornadoes, and floods, but couldn’t make it through one day without stories.Sign up for my newsletter: https://my.sendinblue.com/users/subscribe/js_id/2m34r/id/1

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      Book preview

      Better Than New - Charley Descoteaux

      BETTER THAN NEW

      By

      Charley Descoteaux

      Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content, which may only be suitable for mature readers.

      For everyone who’s ever felt broken.

      kintsukuroi: to repair with gold; the art of repairing pottery with gold or silver lacquer and the understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken.

      Stood up again. It’s worse to be stood up on a second date than on a first or a blind date. In those cases, he’s standing up the idea of you and not the real you. This time it wasn’t the idea getting stood up, it was the real me. He could’ve texted.

      So then I had the whole open mic night ahead of me with nobody to talk to, and the whole coffeehouse chock full of couples. I sat on the couch near the stage, the one covered in blue-ticking fabric, on the overstuffed arm. Every few minutes Ben’s laughter floated up from behind the counter and across the room, above the music and the conversations. Ben laughed like he’d never been sad a day in his life.

      The real me ended up doing something jerky, something I wouldn’t want anyone to know I’d done. I flirted with a guy who hadn’t been stood up. A guy who came in with someone and had spent a good hour just gazing at him. Everyone in the room could see they were in love, but I couldn’t help it. I told myself I only wanted to flirt a little, to boost my crushed ego, but that wasn’t it. I wanted to break something.

      Hey, Theo, what’re you doing with that?

      I looked where Ben was looking, at the ceramic mug in my right hand, and shrugged. I didn’t even remember going over to the counter.

      If you want to break something, trade me for this one first. Ben held out a plain white coffee cup, and when I grabbed it, he didn’t let go. Come back here.

      His grin almost made me want to smile myself so I checked for coffee drips on my Vans. Sometimes you really don’t want to be charmed by clear blue eyes and a friendly smile.

      Ben used the white coffee cup to pull me around the end of the counter and back behind it. He sat me on the stool he kept there for when it was slow. Stashed under the register, his abandoned paperback splayed open like an accordion.

      Now, let go of the first one.

      My right arm jiggled and I looked up. My face and ears burned. I’d almost broken my favorite mug, the one Ben’s little sister had hand painted to look like a snow leopard, and all because some asshole didn’t want to date someone with only one foot. I let Ben take it.

      Okay, now break it. Throw it over there. He pointed to the dip in the tiled floor where a grate covered a hole. The building used to be some kind of factory or warehouse, so the coffeehouse had all kinds of odd little details like that. Come on. Do it.

      It’ll make a mess.

      "May I direct your attention to the sign above the door? It doesn’t say The Broken Cup for nothing. Whose place is this?"

      Yours.

      So throw the cup onto the grate as hard as you can. He pushed my shoulder gently and nodded toward the grate. Stop thinking about it and do it.

      He goaded me on, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a dancer. The chains around his neck caught the light and flashed in my eyes. I bounced the cup in the palm of my hand a few times. That seemed to make him happier, so

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