Chapter One: The World is Not Enough
He entered the room, walking in a self-confident manner, and glancing at the crowd as if he was there by pure accident.
Of course, she knew better.
No doctor would end up in a psychology lecture, even if he was a neurologist. He used to joke that he treated the brain, but she understoud it.
Barely, but still...
She watched him entered the room, and she could see at once that the walk, the attitude was all a fake. He had fooled her once too of course, but that was before it all, he romance, the secrets, the break-up, the come-back, the running away...And now, tehre he was, searching for her in the crowd. She knew she was the one he was ssearcinh for, no matter how egotistical that sounded, she knew it, he knew it, he knew she knew it, and she knew that he knew that she knew he knew...but wouldn't tell. At least right away.
He still looked the same, and this wouldn't strike as odd to most people, seeing that she hadn't seen him in only nine moths, but who knew? He could have lost an eye, a leg, an arm, he might had have an accident...this things happen so suddenly. But if they did, she would probably get a call from Cameron telling her so. But then again...who knew?
He rolled his eyes annoyed. She probably tricked Cameron into telling him that she was here, so that she would tell him, pretending she wouldn't tell her she had told him, so that they could meet by some fortunate "accident".
He massaged his chin and glanced the people sitting in the chairs, listenning to some old guy. He knew that if she was there, she would sit on the front line, probably on the center chair, right in front of the old guy, and ake endless notes, so that she could later contradict his theory, andif they were still together, they would stay up all night and discuss it, ending up in bed, making sex, in between come-backs, making it even more interesting.
From the out-side, what you saw was a man, looked young yet had that adult look that only true adults have, wich makes it difficult to determine their age, speacially in men. Black hair, was dark skined, had deep brown eyes, and dressed in a full suit, black pants and white button-down shirt, with a black jacket to match the pants, on this hand, hanging from his back. And walking towards him, in almost slow motion, was a woman.
Not tall or short, around the midle, but on the shorter side, with a figure that told you she ate whatever she pleased yet with little effort she mantaied a good-looking body, long chocolate brown hair, lightly curly. Her skin would tell you she had family in a latin counrty, but probably from Europe, maybe Spain or Portugal, since her skin was a lighter shade of brown, and her eyes were a dark shade of brown also, but big. Big dark brown eyes.
She reached him, and smelled the perfum she had picked out for him, one day on a shooping spree of hers. She had convinced him to come along, and it had been an interesting day. He didn't notice her right away, but not much after she stopped beside him, it was as if his senses became alert, and his skin reacted to her precense with alarming sensitivty. He looked to his side, and his eyes meet hers, with a blank and quiet look. No immediate(sp?) emotion, or angry sparks. Just a blankness that showed more emptiness(sp?) then pain.
She couldn't face his eyes, so she focused on his eyebrows, and old trick to use, when'd you want to make the impression you're focused but not staring. But he knew this trick, and probably many others, so soon he elevated his body to a level where they were face to face.
No escape possible.
Yet she avoided to look into his eyes.
She stood there, in indecision, thiking what the best solution would be...what to say or do?
Her cup of coffe, made out of cheap material was now being destroyed by her nervous nails. She finally looked into his eyes, maybe because her mind was too busy arguing to not look into his eyes.
You know those horrible and filled with cliché books about romances that start wrong and end well? Where she's so pretty and he's so manly and strong.
Well, she loves those, and in true cliché fashion, the first thing they did before saying any word or smile or even a greeting signal...was a kiss.
Just a small kiss on the cheek.
She leaned foward, and raised her body to her tip-toes, and kissed his cheek right on the center, slowly, again in slow motion, as if she was afraid he'd freak out. And as she did so, he felt the smell of her hair reaching his brain. It smelled like trees and freshness. Is there such a smell? The smell of fresh things?
Whatever it was, he liked it, she had changed her shampoo. Before it smelled like lemon and some flower she liked.
They were now face to face again, and he finally talked. He didn't even think about what he was saying, he just...said something. That always seems to happen in this situations, dosen't it?
"Hey...Charlotte-Ann"
She gave a small smile, or was it a smirk? He never called her by her full name, always just Charlotte...just Charlotte.
"Hey Eric Forman" She said with an amused smile.
And it started all over again but first...let's start with the begging.
End of Chapter