DISCLAIMER: Obviously, I do not own the characters in this story. It's a FANFICTION!
I was loading my camera onto my bike when it happened.
Crash! My camera went flying. My glasses went flying. I even went flying. I swore and ran after my glasses, just barely making them out on the sidewalk.
"I am so sorry!" she cried, picking up my camera and handing it to me. "I'm so very sorry!"
I put my glasses on and took my camera from her. I took one look at it and blanched. My beautiful camera was completely busted. I stared at it in utter shock. It was broken. I'd had it for five years, and now she'd broken it.
"My… my camera," I whispered, stroking it gently.
"I'm really sorry!" she said again, sounding close to tears now. I looked up to her, ready to make a very un-Mark-like remark, but my throat stopped before I could say anything.
She was beautiful. She had shoulder-length, curly brown hair and beautiful dark brown eyes. She was light-skinned, but not as light as me. A light dusting of freckles covered her nose, and she had full, naturally red lips. She wasn't really thin, but she wasn't not thin either. I'd never seen such a beautiful woman in my entire life.
"It's okay," I finally said, despite what I really thought. I tried to think of something else to say, but no words came.
"Are you sure?" she said. "I'll pay to get it fixed. Or I'll buy you a new one, or something—"
"No," I interrupted, mentally kicking myself over and over again. "It's only a… only a…" I trailed off and looked down at my camera, tracing the rim of the lens with my index finger. I felt a strange empty feeling inside and wondered if it was possible to be in love with an inanimate object.
"No, it obviously means a lot to you. Please, let me do something to ease my guilt," she pleaded, putting her hands together. I stared at her beautiful face. She was obviously very flustered, and now her bottom lip was starting to quiver.
Why are women so emotional? I asked myself, not sure what to do. She was looking at me expectantly with those beautiful eyes, which at the moment were brimming with tears. I didn't want her to cry.
"I think I can fix it," I lied, pretending to study it for ways to start its repair. "Don't worry ab—"
"Oh, I'm so relieved!" she said, pulling me into a hug. An invisible spatula jutted into me a flipped my stomach over, squashing it down onto an invisible griddle. Suddenly I couldn't breathe, and it wasn't because she was squeezing the life out of me. She pulled back and looked me in the eye before I shifted my gaze away.
"Are you sure?" she asked, still sounding a little worried.
"Well, I think so," I said tentatively, starting to stroke my poor camera again.
What are you saying, Mark? I thought. She busted it! It's gone!
Something in my face must have betrayed my words. She put her hands on her hips and leaned her weight onto her right foot, raising an eyebrow.
"You're lying, aren't you?" she said.
I looked up, surprised. "Well—no! I mean… I can—well…" I stammered, caught off guard by her ability to see right through me.
"I'm in a hurry now," she said, pulling her big blue purse over her left shoulder. "Obviously, or I wouldn't have plowed right into you." She opened her purse and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. "I'm going to give you my number. Call me tomorrow and we can't meet for lunch. Bring your camera; we'll take it to a shop." She scribbled down some letters and numbers and held the paper out for me to take. I reached out for it, but she pulled it away.
"Wait—what's your name?" she asked, holding the paper up like a cigarette.
I blinked. "Mark," I replied, my voice cracking. "I'm Mark."
She handed me the paper. "Well, my name's on this," she said. She put her hand on my shoulder, and my stomach did a back flip. Then she started to run, leaving me staring after her.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Mark!" she called over her shoulder, narrowly missing running into another person. I waved goodbye, stupidly shaking my now-broken camera in the air. I pocketed the paper without looking at it and hooked my camera to my bike, feeling strangely light-headed.
On the bike ride back to the loft, my mind was filled to the brim with questions and strange thoughts. She was so energetic, so intriguing. I couldn't drive the image of her out of my head the whole way home, which made my navigation skills slightly less effective. I almost pulled in front of a speeding cab twice, both times getting honked at and startling me out of my dreamy state.
"Hey, Mark, back so soon?" said Roger as I walked in the door. He was sitting on the table, his guitar in one hand and a pen in the other. I put my bike down in the corner and removed my camera from its place, cradling it in my arms like a baby.
"Ooh," he said, seeing my destroyed camera. "How'd that happen?"
"Someone ran into me," I said simply, placing it gently on the counter and staring at it sadly for a moment.
"Sorry, man," Roger said sympathetically. "That sucks."
"Yeah," I said absentmindedly, heading for my room. "Yeah, it does."
"Don't dwell on it too much, Mark," he warned as I disappeared into my bedroom. I shut the door without a word and leaned up against it, looking up to the ceiling and sighing. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the paper she had given me. Her name and phone number were written neatly on it.
"Sarah," I read aloud, picturing her beautiful face. I pocketed the paper again and slid down to the floor, closing my eyes. "See you tomorrow, Sarah."