You can tell by the look on her face that she doesn’t want to be there. Or, at least, not at the moment. Her brow is furrowed, her cheeks are pink and her eyes hold a powerful flash of fury.
You would think that in a place of her own element she would be content. And normally, she would be. Just yesterday she was at peace. Twelve thick, plastic protected books sat proudly, all stacked high while she hunched over and sped through a new one. Yes, that was: A reader and above all else, a writer.
But now, if you saw her you would think she was going to go crazy. Across from her sat a smug, tan boy. He was tall, awkwardly tall and he had an awful smirk on his face.
“Go away, I’m busy.” She would say. At this point you know she’s not playing games, but in her sacred silent place, she never was. The boy’s smirk falters for a split second, but as soon as it leaves, it’s back.
“I’m just saying you’re annoying. You get way too enthusiastic about books and learning. It’s disgusting.” He didn’t just say that, you think. You can almost feel the verbal smack. You feel her glare harden and those smooth, sweet chocolate eyes boil and burn.
“It’s not my fault you’re too stupid to appreciate knowledge.” She didn’t mean to say that. Everyone knows it. After she said it she jerks back like it didn’t just come from her mouth. His eyes are wide and his mouth agape. He really does think she meant it and it hurts because secretly, he’s in love with her.
It’s dead silent and her friends are passing uncomfortable looks between them. But the fighters are staring at each other with intense eyes.
“Whatever. You’re a jerk. At least I don’t spend my time writing things that I’ve never done.” Snap. You can pretty much hear her sanity break. Her nose flares and her fist clench.
She writes romance novels, or stories since she has yet to finish them. She takes pride in her writing and no one has ever said it was awful. Or, question if she has done anything related to what she writes about.
You want to tell her that he’s wrong. That she needs to calm down and continue reading, like she was doing before her friends decided to come up.
She’s hurt. You can see it in her eyes. They swim with insecurity and doubt and her lip trembles, almost like she is going to cry.
“The point of a true writer is not to experience all the things that our characters do. It’s to let our characters experience all the things we wish we could do. We become them. You would know that if you actually read.” She’s lethal now. Her guilt is gone and she’s transformed into a protective ball of defense with harsh words as her sword.
“I don’t need to read. In a few years books will be obsolete. Then what will you do? You’ll come on your knees begging to me to give you a job because being a writer is useless!”
She knows that. She knows that being a writer isn’t the best profession. That being a doctor or engineer will be much more productive, but that won’t stop her. She’s going to try.
“I will never beg to you.” A crystal slides down her cheek. Then another. Pretty soon she’s sobbing in her hands right in front of him. In front of her friends. It’s embarrassing and it makes her cry harder.
She lifts her head. Her once creamy skin is now a grayish white. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are red and watery. She thinks she must look terrible. To him, she’s never looked more beautiful.
“I know, okay? I know I like school too much. I know I’m annoying. I know I’m disgusting. I know I’ll never be loved like my characters. I know that becoming a writer may never happen. But for once can we just pretend that you don’t hate me?” Tears still falling down her face.
He looks at her in shock. It wasn’t supposed to go this far. He thinks. I was only teasing her. He doesn’t know that what he says affects her just as much as she does to him. That she is just as much as in love as he is. He wants to hug her. To hold her and kiss away her salty tears.
She stands up and before he knows it she’s running. A stab of pain pierces his heart, she’s running away from him. He’s losing her. He runs after her, without even looking back. He know’s their hearts are connected, which is why he always needs to be with her when he can. He needs her.
She’s running through the hall and he’s behind her. She stops, she’s never been one for running, and turns around. Before she can say anything he crushes her to his chest.
“God, you’re beautiful.” He doesn’t need to say anything else, it’s enough of an apology. He pulls away and peppers her tear stained face with kisses. He presses their foreheads together and looks into her eyes. They both wish they could stay like this forever.He smiles, then laughs and pretty soon, she’s laughing too.
They laugh together, their eyes closed yet they still see each other. She cuddles back into his chest and he rubs circles into her back. She looks up at him, her eyes hold that familiar flicker of warm he fell in love with.
“Better?” She smiles at him and nods. He loves that smile and hopes he’ll be able to see it for the rest of his life. They walk back to their friends hand in hand.
This has happened before and it will happen again. The only thing separating you from changing it is the thick glass of the past.