For Want of Phish Food
By: Naught-But-Mortal
Disclaimer: Community: Dan Harmon and affiliates. Community: No mine.
Summary: She always knows the answers, Little Annie Adderall. Always seems a harsh word, though, when she doesn't know what the answer is. Sorta spoilers for episode 2x11.
"Ouch," is the first word that come to mind as she sits on her dilapidated sofa. To her left sits a pint of Boston Cream Ben & Jerry's (the nearest store was out of both Half Baked and Phish Food), to her right is her beloved journal. (It's something of a miracle that she still loves it, battered as the cover is with crossed out Vaughns, and Wingers, and Mrs. Jeffery Wingers. Still, she's scribbled enough over the incriminating evidence that only the most devoted of handwriting buffs would be able to distinguish the original ink intent.)
She grasps a pen (thin and black) and begins to write.
Dear Diary (because there is no other way for her to honestly start, and she has promised herself that that she'd, at the very least, be honest with herself),
I broke my heart today. I thought that the breaking would come with Rich's rejection. See, journal, I knew, even then, even before classes started, that I'd jump out the proverbial plane in pursuit of true love. And, even then, I knew that Rich never could be true love for me. (Seriously, sometimes I think Jeff is spot on with the Rich as the Serial Killer thing. Trust me, the way he reacted to the finger was all kinds of creepy.) The thing is, Rich rejecting me hurt, but it wasn't devastating. I had been prepared for devastating.
Rich, however, politely brushed me off, citing my age as a deterring factor. (As if he could find someone in his Podunk community that knew what 'deterring' meant.) The point is, I'd readied myself for battle. When battle wasn't needed, I surveyed my arsenal and found myself looking at what I had been those first few moments when I realized Jeff had only kissed me (kissed me back) because he was avoiding a fight. (Top notch lawyer my ass. ) I was a ball of fury encapsulated in fury wandering about looking for a fight.
And, really, all that UST (Abed explained, once upon a time, that UST meant Unresolved Sexual Tension) could never form into something that actually resolved. That would be far too easy. It would provide way too many answers.
So, it comes down to this, dearest Diary, what am I supposed to do? I'm not Little Annie Adderall anymore, but I am most certainly not a clueless teenager. So I am left here, sitting beside this pitiful pile of homework (okay, so mostly it's extra credit, what of it?), wishing I had ans….
Annie's head swiveled to allow her glare to land firmly on her door. For a moment she sat still, confused by the knocking sounds it emitted. Bang Bang Bang, it went again; this time with the addition of a doorbell ringing. (Something you should know about the former tenants of Annie's apartment: They loved Beethoven, the fifth symphony in particular. As such, Annie's doorbell constantly squawked with duhn dunh hunh huhhhhnnnn…. And, as usually, the sound of it was quite enough to force her to the apartment's entryway.
She hadn't planned on forgiving him (not right away, at least); but when she opened her door, Jeff was standing there, a sprig of baby's breath in one fist and a bag stuffed full of Ben & Jerry's Phish Food and Half Baked ice cream in the other.
No words were exchanged as they stared at each other. Annie didn't even comment on his sodden appearance (although she longed to). Finally, when it seemed time would never pass, Jeff pushed past her and headed to the kitchen.
Annie would have stopped him, she swears she would have; but the ice cream was beginning to melt and the coffee she didn't remember putting on was brewing. So, she closed the door and sat back on the couch, fingertips skimming her journal.
Dear Diary, (how else could she begin?)
I broke my heart today, but I think Jeff brought band-aids, so everything's going to be alright.
~Annie