Forever

A gentle breeze stirred through the limbs and the leaves rustled together, a soft whisper which stirred through her hair. It was absolutely perfect, she thought, and she adjusted herself on the limb which she sat on, her back against the tree trunk. Robin’s foot dangled just above and to the side as he lounged on a limb higher than she. With a wide smile on her face, she sighed, content.

“I love to come here,” Antigone confessed, as though Robin had no idea. They all but shared a mind, after all. “And it smells so fantastic!”

Sweet strawberry, heightened by a sharp citrus, prickled her nose in a rather ticklish manner as she took in a deep breath. Many scents wafted – the earthy smells from the nutty trees, and the various fruity scents and floral blossoms. All mingled in the air but up here, in the citberry tree, the fusion of strawberry and citrus was strongest and her chest swelled and filled with it. If it was possible to bottle and stopper this scent, she gladly would have.

“We should move up here,” said Robin, leaning over his limb to grin down at Antigone. He wore a toothy smile, reminiscent of the days when he was eight. “We can pack up our belongings and come up here. Maybe put together a pull and levy systems to get the big things up, like blankets and pillows.”

Antigone giggled, delightfully amused by his proposition, no matter how far-fetched it may be. It would be lovely, she mused, to fall asleep and wake every day to the sweet, tickling scent of the citberry tree. But it would so uncomfortable! Though she was perfectly content for now, she knew better than to think she could ever stay in the tree longer than a few hours. As if it sensed her thoughts, the pink leaves of the tree brushed across her cheek – a gentle, faintly tickling gesture to remind her how much she loved it up here.

“If only we could,” Antigone finally said, craning her head to catch a glimpse of Robin. He’d settled back against the trunk, one leg stretched out before him, the other propped up, arms folded simply in his lap. Robin’s sense of balance was far more developed than hers and she envied this about him. Adorned in dresses or heavy skirts, she could never simply rest the way he did and even if it wasn’t for such, she could sit perfectly still and yet feel as if she was about to lean off to one side or the other. Back pressed firm against the trunk, her fingers dug into the soft bark on either side of her to cling to the limb on which she rested. “Unfortunately, Robin, I dare point out we are not birds and thus, we nest in homes. Safe from the elements and in comfortable beds.”

Robin snorted. It wasn’t a derisive noise but one induced by humor. A scuffling above her alerted her attention to him and she watched with bated breath as he moved around, positioning himself forward on his belly, arms and legs dangling. Wide eyes watched for any sign of slippage, and when she realized he was stable, she released her breath and reached up towards his hand and slipped her fingers between his, entangled at the finger tips. A content sigh washed over her lips – this, she thought to herself, was simplistic perfection: the most tantalizing scent in the world, the best view in the kingdom, and one of her best friends in the universe.

Their following silence was comfortable. Above her, Robin’s rhythmic breathing stirred leaves together as the gentle breeze wove in through the branches and twigs. Loose tendrils of her hair danced around her face and she didn’t bother to bat them away but instead closed her eyes and listened. Birds sang in the distance and she wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard the faint chirping of a squirrel. Robin had a point, though. The location was perfect for sleep and, if it weren’t for the fear in the back of her mind, reminding her of falling to her doom, she could have easily dozed.

Fortunately, Robin broke the silence, and her sleepiness dissipated at once.

“Did you hear Bevony’s marriage has been scheduled?”

Antigone had not. Interest piqued, she looked upward at Robin’s sleepy face. His messy hair fell over the curve of his cheek and down the nape of his neck. He didn’t seem to mind, though, and paid it no heed as he swayed his arm, fingertips still gripping her own.

“Mmmhm. One month from now, yet another of our friends shall be wed.”

“But she is only fourteen!”

Antigone was aghast, despite the typical age range for marriage spanning from thirteen to sixteen. Often, once one was betrothed, hardly more than two years would pass before the two would be wed. The case, of course, exempted Robin and Antigone, both of whom had been betrothed since before their birth yet remained unwed at thirteen. Not that either of them complained, mind. As an unmarried girl, she was quite content to carry about with her lessons and running amuck through the Court with Robin and Ellie and Scooter. Once married, she’d not have such liberties and her job would to be stay home and cook and clean for her husband, and other horribly homey, horribly boring things she was not yet enticed by.

It wasn’t that she wished to never marry. That was Ellie, who refused the idea with contempt and disdain. She was proud to were pants like a man and to clop around in heavy boots. In fact, she climbed a tree much better than Antigone, whom had been taught by Robin while young. This was one of the reasons Antigone most loved Ellie. Ellie absolutely was her own person, spirited and liberated of any expectations of a “proper young lady”. In her own way, Antigone supposed, she, too, was. After all, soon, she and Ellie might be the remaining unwed females of their friends!

“I do not understand why you are so shocked,” murmured Robin, a grin in his voice. “After all, will that not be you and I soon enough?”

The girl scoffed.

“Why ought we rush it? We have so long ahead of us, haven’t we? Years and years and years. And already, we share our free minutes with each other. How different will it be after?”

A wicked grin on Robin’s face told Antigone what he wasn’t saying and a flush colored her cheeks a faint pink. Freeing her fingers from his, she swatted at his hands and he laughed, her favorite rumbly laugh. Nevertheless, warmth spread throughout her, a sort of current in her belly. They would have a future together. There was no reason to rush towards that just yet! Antigone was more than content to remain a child.

“What if something should happen to either of us? Before, I mean,” inquired Robin.

A chill doused Antigone and she froze, eyes on the boy above her. The look on his face was so serious – as it often was when Robin set his mind to thinking deeply – and it also rather terrified her. Whatever was going through his mind, she had no desire of knowing, because the way his brows knit and his lower lip jutted out told her his mind had run away.

Re-clasping their fingers, she gave them a squeeze and offered Robin a reassuring smile.

“Do not even think that way,” she scolded him, her stern voice gentle. “No harm shall come to either of us. Or Ellie, either! It shall be us three forever, I can promise you that.”

A wan smile tugged on the boy’s lip. “Oh, drat. Smelly Ellie shall be here forever?” The groan in his voice was fake and Antigone knew it. “But that is not a promise you can make and readily keep, Antigone. We are not in control of ourselves or our futures or what happens to us.”

“No, we are not. But our futures have been decided so far! I shall marry one of my best friends in the world! And we will be happy together and spend a long life with each other. Is that not what you think of when you ponder the future?”

Without warning, Robin swung down onto Antigone’s limb, prompting a shrill cry from her. He seemed unphased by it and lowered himself into a sitting position and straddled the limb precariously.

“That is the only future I will imagine,” he promised her, jaw set as his intense gaze met hers.

Then, before Antigone could react, he leaned forward, pressed his lips against her forehead and swung down from the limb. Playful laughter followed him and he called over his shoulder “Hurry up, slowpoke!”

Kidnapped

“I don’t bake,” is how Crickette responded, her voice flat, brows furled.

I disregarded this, waving my hand as if to wave away such a nonsensical comment. “Everybody bakes,” I informed her, before I twirled away. My lunch break was up and for the past few days, I’d been late back to work after lunch. Needless to say, my boss was becoming less and less lenient about it. “I’ll see you after work!” I called to her in the sing-song voice I knew grated her nerves. As I pushed through the door, my last glance at her included a teasing Chance, laughing and jibing something I couldn’t hear.

Satisfied, I hummed and swung my arms as I crossed the street. The more I worked here, the more I had come to not only appreciate but to really love downtown. It felt like its own town in itself, with the old apartment buildings and the newer apartments and the cafes and the pizzeria and all the fantastic shops and the old buildings and the modern styled buildings and the people. Groups of people trickled down the sidewalk, sidestepping each other as one came in the way of another. Apparently, people came from all over the area – who would have thought it? Not surprisingly, today was gorgeous and therefore, the district bustled with people. Before I went back to Pomegranates, I watched two boys chase each other, weaving around light poles and groups of people, through little families, and I laughed to myself, reminded of a distant memory, of a distant friend existent only within my mind anymore.

I was more than okay with the busy, though. I know for a lot of people, it’s a big deal, because there’s less time for gossip and dancing to the same pop hits repeated over and over on the radio, but I didn’t mind. The more smoothies I made, the closer to home I was. Also helping was probably the fact that I continuously reminded myself that every minute counted towards a larger paycheck. Money is very motivating in itself.

By the time I’d mixed the last of the strawberry banana smoothies, I was the first to untie my apron, beating Mariette Miller to the punch clock for once. Either something was wrong with her brain or I was really on the ball for the day, because Mariette Miller made a point to making it to the punch clock first every shift she worked. But Mariette didn’t have a Crickette buddy more than willing to escape if she didn’t hurry, either.

Purse in hand, I darted across the street, out in front of traffic, shouting and more than likely unheard apology as I leapt over the curb and onto the sidewalk. An old lady with a bulging paper bag side-stepped me and I swung open the door to PWNd, a triumphant grin in place as my eyes found Crickette who was still behind the counter, talking quietly with Chance. When she looked up and spotted me, she sighed heavily, and I laughed.

“How did you get out so fast?” she groaned as Chance parted with her to greet a customer.

I merely grinned, the sort of cat-who-got-the-canary grin and sidled over toward the counter where she stood. “Guess I’m just really excited about cookies,” I told her.

I knew Crickette well enough to know baking cookies wasn’t exactly the sort of pastime she was regular at with Drima and Theo. I also knew well enough Drima was the sort who would refuse to bake cookies and Theo had never considered it. And while maybe Crickette was right and she didn’t bake, that could easily be remedied. Fear of doing something simply because you didn’t do said something was kind of silly, I rationalized, and I wouldn’t let her cop out with such an excuse. Baking itself wasn’t really fun without somebody else and I picked Crickette. She needed to get out and do more things, anyway.

Resigned, Crickette punched out and cast one last withering look towards Chance. He merely offered her a rueful grin and a thumbs up as he followed us out of the chilly store, into the heat of the street. Goosebumps rose on my skin and I ran my hands up and down my arms to attempt to warm them away. Once I was satisfied, I reached for Crickette’s wrist and enclosed it with my own fingers, giving her a tug.

“Tell your little friend good-bye, Beetle Bug, we’re on a mission!” I instructed, before I started across the street, dragging a flailing Crickette behind me.

She protested, squeaked, and stumbled her way with me, while Chance’s voice called after us. “Have fun, Lady Bird! Don’t be too mean, Karma!”

I laughed to myself.

Mean. Hah.

Serendipity

This little ficlet comes from a future short story/novella/novel idea of mine, entitled Serendipity. It involves a wanderer who calls himself Maverick and drifts into a small beach town and meets Abbigail, a girl who suffers from the monotony of the town she's spent her whole life in. He meets her while she's working her shift at this little diner and leaves his number behind. When she doesn't call him, he shows up at the diner for a week. When she finally agrees to hang out with him, a friendship and eventual relationship blooms. Maverick spices up Abbigail's boring life with little adventures, introducing her to a side of life she's forgotten to sample.

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His arms wound around her waist and before she could stop him, she was falling, rushing, senses distorting as up became sideways and she landed with a gasp of breath on the sandy beach. And even in that moment, the brief number of seconds it took to fall from here to there, she didn’t cry out, she didn’t squeak. Though her heart sped up, a sense of security was found in the cage of arms, even though she landed in the sand with no buffer.

She rolled onto her back and there he was, hovering over her, delight in his blue eyes. Above him, a canvas of purple blended into violent into pink into yellow on fire and he was all but a silhouette. Yet, his eyes seemed bright, and as happened often when caught off guard, she sucked in her breath when they made eye-contact. It was horribly corny, horribly cliché for someone to be so gorgeous they stole your breath, and Abbigail resented herself for being one of those people, but sometimes, it really was as if he sent jolts of electricity coursing through her.

“You could have killed me!” she admonished in jest, the right side of her mouth quirking upwards.

On either side of her, his fingers dug in to the sand as he held his body over hers, though he lowered his face towards her. For a moment, a brief moment, she wondered if he would kiss her, even though she’d told him not to, and fire in the pit of her belly betrayed her. Hope doused quickly, though, because he merely nuzzled his nose against hers.

“You’re such a drama-queen, Abbigail,” he pointed out, before he pulled back on his haunches and crouched over her. He tipped his head to the side, eyes serious as he fixated his gaze upon her. Probably not even realizing it, he drew his long fingers through his curls and then he chuckled, a soft noise.

Brows lowered over her eyes, Abbigail surveyed him and a crease formed in her forehead. “Why are you laughing?” she demanded as a self-conscious smile curled on her lips.

Rather than answer right away, he moved to her side, laying on his side next to her in the sand. Propped up by his left hand, he used his free hand to reach over and very gently, touch the cleft in her chin with his index finger. Her breath hitched, caught in her throat, and all she could do was watch him while her stomach vibrated in a manner which may or may not have been pleasant. And even though she resented it about herself and any other girl who thought something so cliché, she couldn’t help but note how very beautiful he looked. In order to prevent herself from blushing, she tried to focus on the hemp bracelet he wore on his tiny wrist.

This focused distract didn’t last long, though. Suddenly, his face loomed near hers, his mouth hovered at her ear. Her toes curled and her breath released in an audible gasp. He responded to this with another dry chuckle and shivers cascaded over her body.

“What’s your favorite word?” he asked her, voice low.

Her brain buzzed, the sort of fizzle of all ideas and every sense of coherency evaporating. Laying perfectly still in the sand, she waited for her nerves to stop dancing, attempted to focus on his speech. A hollow feeling settled over her stomach. She’d expected something more. Something magical, something sweet, maybe romantic. This was Maverick, of the spontaneous ideas, the impulsive adventures, the headstrong ideas. And he wanted to know her favorite word, as if he’d become some sort of freaking philosopher?

It didn’t make sense to her.

Nothing came to her.

“I… I don’t think I have one. Maybe… I don’t know. Asshat?”

Whatever serene moment he’d built was broken and his laughter came out loud and effervescent, reminiscent of a child. It carried no sound of mockery; only pure delighted humor spilled through his loud laugh. Even still, she felt her cheeks flush, warm, aware this mustn’t be the sort of answer he was looking for. It was his fault, she maintained, though. He set the fail up, in the moment his mouth neared her ear and disrupted any sense of cognition she had.

Who tried to maintain a serious, intellectual conversation while trying to seduce someone?

He nuzzled her neck with his nose and shivers trickled along the path he drew.

“You seem flustered,” he murmured.

She felt like punching him.

“Do you know what my favorite word is?”

Avoiding contact with his eyes, Abbigail looked away and pushed herself into a sitting position, propped up on her elbows behind her. Where this conversation was going, she couldn’t tell. Then again, when it came to Maverick, she couldn’t figure most things out. He remained an enigma, like a ball of yarn so tightly tangled she didn’t know how to follow the path. His thoughts lead from one point to another with no clear path in between. To try and jump ahead of him, to follow his thought process, seemed impossible. It was silly to say he was unpredictable, but he certainly wasn’t easily figured out.

When Abbigail finally hazarded a glance his way, she found a serene smile on his face. No mocking smile, no teasing laughter. Just serious contemplation.

“I have no idea,” she finally told him, aware he was waiting on her response.

Again, he chuckled, then he expelled a loud sigh and stretched, his arms reaching for the stars dotting the sky above. With his arms, his shirt rose and the bared midriff seemed to taunt Abbigail. Before she had a chance to reach up and tickle him, though, his hands were back in his lap, shirt covering his stomach and he was talking.

“Serendipity. I bet you didn’t think that, did you? That’s the word.”

She blinked. “Serendpity.”

“You know. Luck. Good fortune.”

“I know what it means,” Abbigail stated, scrunching her nose as she eyed him out the corner of her eyes. “It’s more that… I guess you’re right. I wasn’t expecting that at all.”

Now his grin turned somewhat teasing, in that low-key sort of way, as though he was running a million taunting jibes through his mind, shared only with himself. Curious, she watched him, wondering what was going through his mind and why his eyes looked like they were dancing.

“It’s really dumb and I haven’t confessed this to many people, but I like to think I live my life fueled on serendipitous moments. It’s how I get around the country, meet the people I do, manage this lifestyle. And it was sort of serendipitous, wasn’t it, that I met you?”

Abbigail responded with a dismissive snort. “You ate a diner and you happened to think I was cute. That’s not serendipitous, that’s just… I don’t know. I mean, I didn’t even talk to you for like, a week.”

Maverick merely shrugged. “But that’s not the point of it. The point is. I chose that diner on a night you were working. You weren’t even the waitress. But I still got to meet you and I still wound up here. Serendipity. Good fortune.”

And even though she had told him not yet, even though she didn’t yet know what to make of him, even though she felt like a whirlwind around him, his arms were around her waist, his mouth pressed against hers, and somehow their bodies pressed together.

Despite it all, she didn’t pull away and her arms snaked around his neck as she held herself closer to him. Because she had told him not yet and she didn’t know what to make of him and he made her feel like a whirlwind and it was exhilarating and it felt right and her body seemed to burst into the most pleasant of fires. They melded together and their hearts raced each others’ as they lay in the sand and she kissed him hard and realized this was exactly what she was looking for.

And perhaps he was right. Perhaps it was serendipity.

Karma Whitticker (n) undefined

The first thing we need to establish is this: I’m not an elitist nor am I some sort of snob. I know that’s what some of them thought, in school. They looked at me, sitting at lunch with the Booksih Girls, and they saw the way I looked away and they thought She’s a snob. Or a bitch. I guess they could have thought that, and I guess I might have my moments, but I’m not, I promise. But sometimes, I just didn’t have the patience for them. I get it. I know the world judges. It’s what we do best, what we were raised doing; comparing and judging is a way of lives for us. But I hate it, and maybe I’m a hypocrite, because I guess I judged them, too, but that doesn’t mean I can’t say I hate it, okay?

Admittedly, I was different in school, but I have my reasons. Not necessarily great reasons, but I thought them good enough. When I showed up at school, I didn’t want to stand out. I didn’t want to be susceptible and I didn’t want them to find anything to pick at, which sounds horrible in retrospect, because why was I so afraid of being myself anyway? They’re just kids I went to school with, y’know? But that’s the thing. The kids you go to school with are sometimes the most terrifying people you know and I knew this. So I didn’t want to stand out and I was content to hang out with the Bookish Girls because they weren’t obnoxious or overly pretentious and we didn’t spend every lunch period gossiping. It’s not like we discussed great literature every time we hung out, because we had crushes on boys and we told each other about it, but it wasn’t like wandering over to some of the other tables where people were talking about each other.

Hanging out with the Bookish Girls made me feel… intellectual, I guess. Higher than a bubbly girl. And that’s the thing. When people first meet you, if you babble and you talk a lot and you laugh that obnoxious laugh, they’re going to think Gee, isn’t she a bubblehead and then they write you off and your opinion has no weight or matter and that’s all you are to them. Just some vapid blonde.

That semester was horrible and I’d never been so happy to get out of a school. As soon as my fingers clutched that diploma, I was free and nobody told me liberty felt so amazing. Like I could do anything and I could finally be who I’d always wanted to be. I didn’t have to pretend to be a Bookish Girl, because while they were fine and they seemed happy with their lives, maybe they weren’t. Maybe they felt stuffy and boring and that’s why they were Bookish Girls: because they were also afraid t be who they were or maybe they didn’t even know who they wanted to be.

So, the very next day, I woke up I bagged up my school clothes and I pulled on a vibrant orange t-shirt and I paired it with the sort of obnoxious yellow jeans that would have made people stare and I slipped in to purple flats and I went to the edgiest stylist I’d found in town and I told her to chop my hair off. Chop it off, make me look different, make me look raw. And after she hacked at my hair, after she cropped it so short in the back and left these long chunks in the front and tapered it up, we added dark pink peek-a-boo highlights, because I’d dreamt myself like that once.

And when I looked in the mirror and we studied myself, me with my pink streaked edgy hair and she in the faux-hawk sharing a reflection, I just knew. I wasn’t wary or anticipatory about my hair. I didn’t feel nervous and I didn’t even feel like I’d made a mistake. Never before had I been so certain about anything. Not even about my Nokia, even though everyone else around me swore on their Canon Rebels. And it wasn’t just the hair or the color. My certainty was of more than that.

It was that I liked who I was about to become. I liked the person inside me, who was ready to finally break free. The bubbly, babbly, intellectual, wise, foolish, silly, loud, obnoxious, nosy, brainy, witty, emotional, edgy, bold girl who had been begging, for so long, to break out.

I didn’t just like her. I loved her.

That was the day I went home and sent that e-mail to Crickette. And yes, I did choose Comic Sans on purpose. And yes, I realized I sounded vapid and ditzy and she would probably judge me. But, maybe it was the hair or a renewed faith in my sense of self, but I could handle it. And, maybe, if I could have my way, I would change her. Change her mind, change her opinion. Take her by surprise.

She could judge all she wanted, but I would prove this girl wrong. I was more than just a vapid bubblehead.

Omegle Dare

He told me it was fun.

“It’s full of hilarious, Crickette,” Chance promised.

I don’t know when I started taking peoples’ words for truth. It bothers me, to think about it, because it’s so unlike me. If somebody told me to jump off a bridge, I never would have said Oh, sure, let me go do that right now! But with Chance, and Karma because she deserved credit for this change in me, in my life, I realized anything the old Crickette might have said or done was invalid at this point. I wasn’t certain at which point it’d happened, but somewhere through this summer I had changed.

I’d shed part of my old skin, and I didn’t know how it felt.

This was a harmless dare, though. Sometimes, I hated the dares. Chance came up with things I’d never thought of – couldn’t imagine. Like the pudding fight. Who found fun in flinging pudding around? And the mess. Oh god, it’d been horrible. But he’d laughed so much and I just… I don’t know. The sound of his laugh, the way his eyes crinkled. Admitting it makes me feel silly, but yes, there were extents to which I’d go if it meant making Chance’s eyes crinkle like that.

But not jumping off bridges.

The dare haunted me all through work. Even though he didn’t work with me that day, it remained on my mind, sitting at the edge as if it was sure I’d return to it. I talked my way through the day, comparing and contrasting the differences between Halo and Call of Duty and which I preferred (Call of Duty, if you really want to know), explaining to a confused mother why her son’s ancient PlayStation wouldn’t play any PS2 games. But all day long, I heard his taunting voice in the back of my mind.

“I dare you,” he’d said.

I sat on my bed, laptop set up before me. An idle Firefox browser sat open, watching me. Waiting. Taunting. It knew. I don’t know how, but it knew.

Where the melodrama came from, I couldn’t even be certain, but I felt apprehensive as I typed the address in the bar. Omegele. Why was I even nervous?! They were people behind their own screens!

And so it began. A series of random, anonymous people. Twelve who started off with “asl” (five to whom I responded with “pdf?” and resulted in confusion). One person warned me against perverts (why did Chance throw me into pervert-ville?!). Three said nothing to me (two to whom I began “Are you there God? It’s me, Crickette”, which resulted in a few humorous moments, if you couldn’t guess).

I don’t know. Maybe Chance and I shared a different sort of humor, because as person after person disconnected, I wasn’t laughing. Drima would have encouraged me to troll, I’m sure, except I had no idea how to respond to people. Even with a screen in front of me, I found myself stalling for something to say. Words never were my forte. Photography, video games, eating pastries til I burst? Those were my talents. I left charisma to Karma, I left babbling to Drima.

If anything, it was humiliating. Even people who didn’t know me didn’t give a damn.

Scoffing at myself, I hit the “x” and closed the browser off. I crossed my arms and stared at the desktop, fuming. I don’t even know what I was fuming about – just… fuming. Maybe that’s what Chance was trying to prove to me. My… anti-social or whatever it was. My inability to understand people, to play along, to let down my guard.

But that wasn’t true, was it?

I had let down my guard – on numerous occasions! In fact, on a lot of occasions this summer. Even though Karma was the sort of person I would have turned away from, I’d befriended her. Even though Drima was one of my best friends, I’d pulled away from her and started to tell her the truth, inclusive of everything on my mind. I’d even been standing up to my mother!

And of course. Chance. Of course my guard had fallen. The entire night after the party would never have happened otherwise.

So what the hell was the point of this stupid Omegle experiment, anyway?

Then, I did something old Crickette never would have done. I pulled out my phone and, instead of going straight to messages, I hit the talk button. While I counted the rings, my fingers drummed against my knees, until I heard a click.

“Miss Crickette!” Chance greeted.

Take that Old!Crickette.

I Dare You

“Today is your birthday?” Chance blinked, matching his inquisitive tone.

I shrugged and looked away from him. My gaze came to rest on Karma, who didn’t look so much surprised as she did upset. Narrowed eyes focused on me and her lips pursed with unspoken words. All but stumbling in haste, I moved towards the plate of sugar cookies Drima had set down, glancing instead at Theo. He seemed to share my awkward sentiments, judging by the way he squirmed in place. The tension in the air seemed to crackle.

“Didn’t you know?” Drima’s voice was triumphant, her smile smug. “Gee. I guess Crickette didn’t you’re important enough to tell?”

“Drima! God!” I snapped, annoyed.

Karma ignored Drima’s ribbing. “You should have told me. I don’t have anything for you.”

“I don’t care. I didn’t want anything,” I explained. In my peripheral vision, Drima continued her smug grin and hot anger filled my chest and head. “My birthday is no big. I don’t celebrate. It’s why I didn’t tell anyone.”

“You know I love to celebrate, though! Parties! Fun! Food!”

“And you know I hate attention.”

Something touched my wrist and I jolted, before I found Chance was somehow at my side. Annoyed, surprised, pleased, my stomach fluttered and my heart sped up. Stupid, stupid, stupid, I lectured myself and I tried to focus on something else, like Karma’s pout.

“C’mon, Crickette,” wheedled Drima, in her sugary voice. “I went through all this trouble for you. Just enjoy it!”

I took in a slow, deep breath through my nose.

“It’s just a birthday,” Chance murmured near my ear. “Just have some fun and humor them. They’re your friends.”

But I didn’t want to. Drima was being a brat, doing this not because she wanted to be a good friend, but to mark her territory. And I wasn’t territory to be marked! Never before had she been interested in throwing me a surprise party and had it not been for her alleged fear that Karma was stealing me, she probably wouldn’t have this year, either. Hot-headed, I narrowed my eyes on Drima, opened my mouth to tell her what I thought of this stupid party scheme, tell her I knew her real intentions, but fingers slipped between my own and I froze.

“I dare you,” Chance whispered.

And I swear, I felt lips on my ear.

Peppy Music

Lack of coordination be damned, I loved DDR. Despite my feet stumbling over the mat, my love for Dance Dance Revolution reached beyond and because of it, my mp3 player was filled with the music. I loved driving around, accompanied by happy, peppy, uplifting music. Most was completely nonsensical. Much wasn’t even in English. It was the perfect background music and I had a habit of finding myself seat dancing to it at red lights – a super guilty pleasure of mine that few knew of.

However, I’d forgotten about it this afternoon. The only people I gave rides to were Theo and Drima and they were more than used to my less than conventional driving music and the accompanying bad dancing. As Chance let himself into the passenger side of my car, I thought nothing of it as I turned the ignition. It was about five seconds after the upbeat, computer-generated music possessed my body in a series of shimmying wiggles in my seat that I realized what I was doing. Freezing, I ceased my bouncy dancing, horribly aware of Chance’s eyes on me.

Ignoring the flush heating my face, I stared forward intently, lips pressed firmly together, and I put the car into drive. Resisting the music was difficult and my fingers yearned to drum the steering wheel but my face was burning and I couldn’t dance and I absolutely could not look at Chance and I was horrified and oh my god I had just danced around to DDR music in front of Chance!

I tried to ignore the sound of choking laughter. Mortified, my lips formed a firmer line.

More strangled giggles. A weird, chortling noise.

A snort.

“What?” I snapped, eyes still glued ahead, cheeks radiating more heat.

“That. Was. So. Cute!”

I Could Lose Myself to You

This doodle is a scene that probably will never be in Shadow Guardians, though I wouldn’t mind finding a way to work it in. :] Eeeek. I… love it. :] FLUFFEH! Like, so sweet it gives you cavities fluffeh.

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When one knew eternity stretched so far ahead, it was easy to spend much time simply sharing company. Back then, time was limited – forever was infinitely shorter. People scrambled, grappled. They fought to find the other half and often settled out of desperation. Finite time caused for such mistakes.

In the Shadow Realm, no such rush plagued. When one had eternity, there was no reason not to savor every moment. Georgie couldn’t be certain if she would always be at Noah’s side. Such an existence was as unpredictable as one spent alive. Certainly, though, she knew she’d quite like to.

Fingers entwined, Noah ushered her into the observatory and closed the door behind them. When she moved towards the window, though, he tightened his grip and tugged her back to him. Stumbling, she fell back against him and from this position, she felt, rather than heard, the rumble of his laughter in his chest.

“So controlled by routine,” her murmured, his voice low, his laugh loud.

Georgie blinked as she straightened and eyed him. “Are we breaking the habit?”

At her question, a smile formed, slow, upon his face. His eyes were intense as they found hers. She shivered when his free hand brushed aside a lock of her hair from her cheek.

“We could do to shake up the routine.”

His low voice caressed her heart and left a trail of ghostly finger tips along her chest. Sucking in her breath, Georgie watched Noah’s face. They had forever, but this moment… The tension grew palpable, anxiety danced in her toes. Again, Noah’s thumb stroked her cheek, the motion slower, deliberated. Fire leapt in her stomach.

“I’m not sure what it is about you,” he whispered, the sound barely a breath of air. “It’s… It’s not like I was never attracted to anyone else but… you… You… twist me around.”

Georgie knew it was irrational for jealousy to clutch her chest, but logic did nothing against its tight grip. Of course she was not the first. There had been Becca, of course. And before her, probably others. For that matter, maybe there had been others before her, here in the Shadow Realm. Yet, something so petty in matter swelled her heart in pain unjustified. Foolish, she chastised. All that matters is now.

“I want you to… I want you to be the last, Gee.” His murmur burst into urgency, the look in his face no longer gentle but stricken.

Her heart stirred and her body tingled. She knew this well – he tried to so hard to play cool, but emotion sized him, got the better of him and spilled forth in an outburst. At this, she smiled. His loss of composure comforted her jealous heart. Such a tell-tale sign.

“Don’t jump so far ahead,” whispered Georgie. “We… we’ve got forever. Literally. Forever.”

Panic. Confusion. She watched the flicker of his face, all the while she wore a tender smile. Did he not understand? Her lips parted, but she was given no chance to explain. His hand released hers and fumbled for her waist. The motion was jerky and he simultaneously stepped back against the door and tugged her close.

“What’s forever if I can’t fully enjoy it?” he asked, his whisper haggard.

The wrench in her heart took Georgie by surprise, but it was probably the look in his eyes which turned her to ice. Was he scared? Sad? Hurt? She couldn’t stand that. Even still – he spoke of such intimacy, of something so serious. There was no reason to rush. No cause for headstrong, recklessness. What was so wrong with just enjoying time, just taking comfort in each other’s presence. With all of forever before them, why did they have to scramble, to fumble, to rush something so beautiful, when they could take time and savor every moment?

“Can’t you enjoy forever now?” She didn’t expect her voice to crack. “Isn’t this good enough for you? Us… this…”

His laughter was hollow, but Georgie’s focus was on the way Noah held her chin, cradled in his thumb and forefinger.

“You’ve got no idea. Of course! God, of course. But… God, Gee. My… my patience… and us. Tension… Sometimes I just… I want to…”

Breath held, Georgie watched Noah search for the words. He looked so helpless, so frustrated, with his forehead wrinkled like that, his nose scrunched, his lips set in that pout. Again, fire swallowed her stomach, engulfed her whole. A tremble shook her finger as she lift it and Noah’s search ceased. The tip of her finger tingled, whether an effect of his mouth or boldness, she didn’t know. In their silence, her eyes fell shut, lashes fluttered against her cheeks, as she gently traced his pillowy lips. Like his caress, her motions were slow, deliberated, as her finger followed the gentle curves and dips of his mouth.

Georgie imagined the building pressure within her might be leaning towards combustion.

When his lips formed around her finger tip, she gasped, a sharp exhale. Even with her eyes closed, she sensed his chuckle around the kiss.

And then, with a groan, Noah pushed her finger away and tugged her, again, to him. Before she had a chance to react, his hands cradled her face, fingers tangled back in her hair. Their ragged breath match each others’, mingled as he touched his forehead against hers. It shamed her to be so corny, but more than anything, Georgie loved how his whispered “Gee” reverberated in her heart and tickled her cheek.

She did want it. In that moment, more than anything, she wanted it.

His kiss lingered upon her forehead, his lips not budging, and her heart raced in her throat.

“Noah,” she breathed.

His arms, tight around her, were secure and promising as they crushed her against him. They had all of forever – eternity stretched before them.

But Georgie understood the race, the rush. Their hearts thrummed against each other and their fingers trembled with yearning. They fumbled their touch, their trace, their search. Noah’s arms around her filled her with promise, though

After all. They had all of forever.

Between You and Me

This is a Shadow Guardians based writing doodle. :] There may be spoilers, to those who aren't up-to-date with the writing. But. It's cute? And sort of bittersweet? But. I LIKE IT SO. Whatever. =D

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Angelica would be so pissed if she found out. He was mostly certain she would not – and if hope wouldn’t work, he crossed his fingers inside the baggy pockets of his hoodie. Deep inside, a vague memory stirred, one yet unforgotten. Above him, a night sky as he crossed fingers and leant towards her. His stomach clenched as he reminisced, as he turned her face and his memory self brushed his lips against her cheek. Misfortune seemed their destiny from the start. This realization crumbled his heart. Carefully, he shook the memory from his mind; later, he would log it in his journal.

For now, more important matters begged for attention.

At first, he said nothing. In silence, he stood in the doorway. His weight shifted and his lanky form leant against the doorframe. Eyes steadfast, he watched her from behind, like he’d done so many times, so long ago. This was so natural to him, it could have been a scene from his life. Her slender fingers held the brush with such ease, an act natural to her, and the trail of blue followed her sweeping arc.

Not moving, he waited as she paused, her arm lowered, as she lay the brush down with such care, as she pivoted slowly.

“Adam.”

No surprise colored her voice or her eyes. If anything, they both were gentle, if not rather empty.

He chose not to offer her a real response and only muttered a gruff “yeah”.

Persistent and unfazed as always, she was not deterred, and instead, offered him a serene smile. Her smokey eyes were half-lidded as she watched him and his stomach stirred again. Such a look on her face was so familiar, and he recalled nights shared together, tangled hair and swollen fingers. Adam bit back a groan and tore his eyes away.

“I’m not surprised, you know.” The serenity of her speech was most jarring – her husky voice sounded almost tender, almost understanding.

And that made him angry.

“About what?” he asked. To busy himself, he jammed his hands further into his pockets, tugged his hoodie away from his body in straining effort. Anything to keep him from meeting her face.

When she spoke again, her voice sounded nearer. “About everything. You. Me. The way you reacted. How you avoided me. That it took you so long.”

He flinched, as if it was the sound of her speech which most hurt. In a way, though, it was.

“Don’t sound so proud, Roni.” His attempt to spit these words was half-hearted and they instead tumbled, uncertain and hesitant, but he was still pleased with the way she started, if only subtly.

In her silence, he took a cursory study of her. During their first encounter, he had been too shocked, too appalled to really take her in. Now, he drank her in, his gaze thirsty. She was different. For some reason, this surprised him so much a nervous flutter tickled his stomach. Her once beautiful hair was mangy, a mess, unkempt. When he was alive, he’d loved her hair – it was so silky and soft when he wound the tresses round his fingers, or when they fell in damp waves fresh out of the shower. Thinking on this, his throat tightened, and he shifted his gaze, tried to move his thoughts onward. Instead, he took in her thin build. So thin, so fragile. Before his eyes, she appeared breakable, so easily breakable. With little force, he could snap her. Had she wasted away?

Swallowing around the lump in his throat was impossible. He merely sighed, the noise heavy.

“I realize you’re upset with me-“

Adam did not allow her to finish. “Upset does not begin to cover it!” His interruption exploded from him, too loud for his ears. “Upset. Angry. Pissed off! You… knew… you… I just don’t understand!”

Bitter laughter responded. “Of course you don’t,” said Roni, and again, Adam felt a swell of anger from her assurance. “I told you. You cannot understand it. Even still… even now you’re too good, too pure. But you’re also too selfish.”

He felt his brows twist and rounded upon the girl before him. Unlike his, which had found his shoes so curious, her eyes were intent upon him, equally gentle and sad. It broke his heart to see the mess she had become. To see her. Why did she not realize this? And why was he so masochistic as to come looking for her like this? Later, he told himself, he would yell at Rowan for not talking him out of this asinine idea.

“You never realized, Adam. All that time, I was suffering, alone, depressed, empty. And you never knew! Maybe I was too good an actress or maybe you didn’t know the real me, but whatever the case, when you left me, you left me and it hurt so much, Adam!”

Every time she spoke his name, his heart shattered further and his hands balled into his fists inside his pockets. How dare she speak to him like this. How dare she! Anger boiled in his veins, swam dizzy in his head. Was he swaying on the spot? He felt as if he was.

“If you’d just spoken to me… if you hadn’t acted so rashly, things would’ve been different. I wouldn’t have lost you. And your mother-“

This, he could not listen to. A hand went up in the air, flagging her for silence. Obedient, she fell quiet at once.

“I told you, Roni. I explained this already.”

He watched her swallow, her lips turn inward.

“Yes. You did. But. I’m confused. If you don’t want to discuss that… then why did you come to find me? I’m confused, Adam. Explain this for me.”

“I… don’t know.” The truth sounded so helpless when spoken out loud, but he couldn’t muster a lie for her. Never for her. Somehow, Roni effortlessly commanded and received his honesty and he hated it. Eyes on his feet, he felt, rather than saw, her move closer.

“I wish you could understand,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath of air in his ear. “I wish you could understand how sorry I am. How

Against his will, he shivered. There was no way to prevent the involuntary tremble, but he hated himself for it all the same. That his body reacted, still, to her. After all this time! It bothered him.

“That life… that… it’s over,” he croaked.

Her sad hum was melodic, but haunting. “I know, Adam. Can’t we start over?”

Slender fingers laced between his. Upon reflex, he gripped her hand in his. She must’ve taken this for an affirmation, for she moved near him. Adam was not sure how he felt about this.

This was a lie, actually. Adam knew very well how he felt about this. A very large, very massive sum of himself wanted her. He wanted to pull her back into his arms like he used to, and to feel her mouth on his again. More than anything, he missed the fingers tangled in hair and the warmth of skin upon skin. Raspy breathing was the only sound audible and he realized, it came from him.

It caused him physical pain to do so, but he pulled away from her, his fingers last to trail away from hers.

She took a shuddering breath, eyes on the floor.

“I’m sorry.”

Her apology shocked him and Adam felt that crushing weight in his chest. Against his better judgment, he gave in to his will. The two steps between them closed in a fraction of a second and he pulled her to him. Gangly arms tugged her to his chest, crossed over the back of his head. Erratic thoughts ran through his head, all about her, about them, about how this hurt, and he took a deep breath, before he lowered his mouth to the top of her head.

“We can start over,” he mumbled into her hair. “But. I won’t… we… I can’t make promises. You screwed up and you shouldn’t be here. We’ll start over. But we’ll be friends. We’ll… get to know each other again. The real us. Not a fake you or a fake me or people masquerading, okay? We’ll be honest and real and we’ll start over.”

Roni said nothing at first. When she moved her thing, wiry arms around him and held him back, though, he kissed the top of her head once more, bid good-bye to their past, and opened his arms.

There was no point to a grudge if he had forever. If anything, forever was an opportunity. Ever the optimist, Adam knew he had to be a fool to pass it over. And, while he knew he and Roni were too different, far different from who they used to be, a beam of hope shown, if only for their friendship. To spend eternity avoiding her was impossible. It was impossible before and even more so now.

Adam would always love her, and she him.

But now, he realized, he could learn who she really was, and maybe, perhaps, he could figure out how to love the real Roni, if only through friendship.