Title: The Photo
Author: KC-Chick
Rating: T
Summary: Sometimes looking through old yearbooks isn't very fun. Sometimes it is.
Disclaimer: Not mine
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"I'm bored."
"Tough."
"Ellie!"
He grabs my hand and pulls me close to him, and I feel him breathe deep and I shiver. Because he just does that to me.
We're sitting in my new apartment just north of Manhattan. It's this little quaint studio right near the subway so I can get to school. In New York it's not worth driving. Mostly because you'd miss all the sights. And because New York drivers suck. I've never been the biggest fan of a car anyway. Walking has always been more me.
"Okay, fine. If you want something to do, unpack some boxes, or something. When I said I'd let you help me move in I didn't mean you'd just get to sit on the couch, Craig."
"There isn't a couch to sit on," he mutters.
"Oh shush, and grab a box," I instruct.
I watch him walk over to a brown box and I giggle, turning back around to sorting all of my old journalism books in a pile.
I feel over one of my very first notebooks that I used in TO. On the cover I wrote "The Core 2008-2009." I remember back to that time. Back to when Craig and I had to work our asses off to make our relationship work. Back to when I just wanted to run away from everything. To run away from him when life was throwing too much shit at me, at us. But I stuck through it. And now. Now when things are finally good. Finally, right, I'm glad I stuck it out.
"No way." Craig's voice brings me back to reality and I turn to take a peak at him.
He's sprawled out on the floor holding an old yearbook.
Oh no.
"Craig! I told you to unpack, not entertain yourself with embarrassing photos of our former sad, pathetic classmates."
"Ellie, this is… no. Someone must have photo-shopped this in or something."
"What? Heather Sinclair's nose? Probably."
"No. Though that is probably true," he chuckles.
"What?" I try to steal the yearbook away from him but he snags it away fast. That sneak. "Craig! Tell me."
"Ellie Nash used to have a bellybutton ring?"
I can feel my pupils widen. Shit. No, no, no. They did not photograph that and put it in the yearbook.
"What?" This time I get the book from him and sure enough, there I am. Ninth grade. Crimped hair. Plaid skirt. And bellybutton ring.
"Ellie Nash. You rebel."
"Craig Manning. You manwhore."
"Ouch, Elle. That hurt."
"I'm sure," I scoff.
"Awe c'mon. It's cute."
"And embarrassing."
"Is not."
"Whatever."
"Do you have some hidden tattoos I don't know about, too?"
"Go to hell."
"You do! That's what it says, doesn't it? Can I see it?"
"Shut up and help me unpack."
"Not until you show me…"
"Craig, you would have seen it if I had one."
"Not if you hid it."
He gives me a one over and I'm so in love with him that I don't find it perverted anymore.
"Perv." But I act like I do, just to humor him.
"You like it."
"Maybe. Or maybe I just let you think that."
"You've been lying to me for this long. Ellie Nash, I'm appalled," he comments in fake astonishment.
"More appalled than you were at the bellybutton ring? Wow."
"Ever think you'll get it again?"
"Uh no."
"C'mon. Not even for me?"
"How about you get one, since you're so obsessed with it?"
"How about I don't."
"That's what I thought."
"Did it hurt?" he ponders.
"Not really. I've always been at high tolerance for physical pain," I shrug.
I see Craig wince. After all these years he's still sensitive when I talk about my cutting past. Though I assure him that it'll always be a part of me. It's shaped a lot of who I am. And he knows that. But I suppose it's exactly how I react to him and any form of unstable substance. I get a bit jumpy even when he has a very dilute cocktail.
He grabs my waist, and kisses me, running his fingers over my tummy.
"Huh. I guess it'd be awkward if my fingers suddenly snagged."
"And painful."
"Yeah."
"Aren't you glad it's gone?"
He raises an eyebrow. "But it could have been fun!"
I roll my eyes. "You get enough fun."
"Tyrant."
"Queen."
"Right."
He kisses me again.
"Craig, I've got a whole apartment to unpack!"
He hugs me tight.
"Kay babe."
I pull away and he flashes me my smile.
I shiver and turn away from him, and to the many packed boxes of crap that I've accumulated over the years.
"So, Elle," I hear Craig huff.
"Hmm?" I answer absent mindedly.
"Did you ever hear about my tattoo?"
--
Fin.