A short story about two women meeting because of a book.
Inspiration songs are Show me what I'm looking for (Carolina Liar), Stop & Stare (One Republic), and Giants (Lights)
Part 1.
Show me what I'm looking for
Death.
She feels it in the air before the words are pronounced. She smells it, feels it creeping up in her skin, taking roots around her bones and making her entire body slightly shiver. After many months spent in this hospital, she knows when to say farewell better than she used to. She knows when someone's spirit has moved on.
She knows when to let go and she still doesn't know if it is a blessing or a tragedy.
"Gustus is gone, Clarke."
The blonde sighs and wipes a tear coming out of her eyes. The wrinkled hand she's holding doesn't belong to someone with a beating heart anymore. She knows that she needs to leave the room and care for other patients, but this one was special. This gentleman was alone when he came to the hospital just a month ago. In thirty days, his longest conversation had been with Clarke. The doctor had developed affection for the man, taking a few minutes to discuss with him every day, breaking the loneliness he was trapped in. She had learned about his days in the army, his wars against foreign countries and his battles against his own persona.
His secrets now belong to her and she can feel the heavy weight of history on her conscience.
"May we meet again," she whispers.
It's a sentence she whispers to every lost soul she encounters. She first heard it from her dad, when her only worries used to be the future tests coming up at school. It conveys hope and she believes the world needs more of it. Whenever she loses someone, she murmurs it, wishing them the best to a journey no one has ever come back from. She never forgets it. It is her mantra, her personal touch in a place where she must always be better and faster at helping people, so muchthat the concept of humanity is sometimes overlooked.
She fears that she is already losing her humanity.
It hurts for her to say goodbye, but it doesn't handicap her like it used to in her younger years. It doesn't make her curse the world or scream for fairness and equity anymore. It doesn't keep her awake night after night, wishing upon a star that things were different. She doesn't feel a bottomless void in her heart anymore and she knows she will able to move on quickly. Her blessing echo in the empty room. It takes her ten seconds to walk away, a personal record.
She almost stumbles but catches her step quickly.
She's becoming someone she doesn't want to be, but she lives in denial.
Denial is her strongest weakness.
It never gets easier to lose someone, but she has mastered the skill of ignoring her pain.
Life.
She knows it before the judge even announces the sentence. Her case is solid, unbeatable, and the defendant has been found guilty of first degree murder. He will trade his freedom for a life sentence. She glances over at her client and nods solemnly.
The man stands strong, but his eyes show a deep level of sorrow engraved onto his soul. His wife was tortured and murdered coldly by someone they used to consider a friend. Every detail of the investigation pointed that the victim had been kept alive through days of abuse, both physical and psychological.
"For the murder of Maya Vie, the defendant is sentenced to a life imprisonment with twenty-five years parole ineligibility."
Lexa sighs in approval as the hearing comes to an end and the criminal is carried away by guards.
It had taken months, but the respected lawyer had found all the evidence needed to see justice served. For weeks, she had gathered the puzzle pieces carefully, interrogating the key witnesses, collaborating with the police and, most importantly, making sure Jasper Jordan never lost faith in the system. She had seen the light leave his eyes little by little, no matter how strong the evidence was and how certain she was that they would convince the jury beyond a reasonable doubt. She had learned about his entire life, his glorious days and happiest memories. She had learned about a time that didn't seem to exist anymore, for he was slowly finding a new home in the arms of depression.
"Her fight is over," she says with a calm tone.
It won't heal the wounds, but it's a sentence she whispers to every client. Their loss has no equal and it's her way of letting them know that they did everything they could. It's how she finds closure after a trial.
She can almost imagine Maya looking from above. She knows Jasper heard her, but she is aware that the man has a long way to go on a path only he can walk on. She feels the misery irradiating from him, his heart agonizing with every heartbeat. He's been stabbed in the chest by fate and he won't stop bleeding.
She sees the lie behind his smile, the torment behind his gratitude and the constant barriers of suffering trapping him from all sides. She feels the lack of conviction in his handshake as they part way and wonders if he will ever find peace again.
She knows he might not.
She walks to her car to go back to her office. She has a dozen files waiting for her, all of them involving the most horrifying crimes of the moment. It doesn't matter if she wins all of them. It will never bring her clients' loved ones back. Her thoughts wander to Jasper while she drives. She wonders what it feels like to go through such a devastating loss and having to get back to a normal life afterwards.
Is it ever going to be normal again?
She shakes her head. She cares about him today, but she won't tomorrow. She will have moved on. Her job needs her to because subjectivity doesn't belong here. No matter who wins in the end, no matter what her opinion is, there will always be lives destroyed, losses that could have been avoided and a perpetual conflict between the notions of right and wrong.
She used to let emotions decide for her and she was proud of it. She used to be impulsive and take risks, playing with fire with every opportunity, but then, she became passionate about laws and doctrines. A few years in the field has taught her that it isn't what she thought it would be.
She has become someone she doesn't recognize and she can't deny it.
Her ability to separate head from heart prevents her from dwelling on any feeling.
The door creaks when she walks in confidently. The smell of old books twirls around her, dances to her cells and fills her senses. She is back to the place she considers to be her second home. She feels a familiar wave of excitement blooming in her body as she starts wandering in the different sections. She is surrounded by many places to explore and her hunger for the unknown only grows stronger. She can feel her credit card in her pocket, waiting as if it were a passport ready to take her for the adventure of a lifetime.
Clarke makes a few steps in a specific direction before she changes her mind. She has started by the same rows since her very first visit here and she wants today to be different. She moves to the opposite side with ease. She knows the place like the back of her hand. 'Welcome back' floats invisibly in the air as she dives into the scent from newly printed books.
"Hi Raven," she smiles at the employee who also happens to be her childhood friend.
Raven waves back, half hidden by a pile of books waiting to be organized in the best way to capture the reader's attention. She glances at her friend and flinches when she realizes that Clarke, for the first time since this place opened three years ago, is breaking free from her usual itinerary. She briefly wonders what happened today, but she won't push Clarke for answers. The blonde knows where to find her if she wants to talk.
Blue eyes move from one book cover to another. They scan the titles and quickly judge the design of the covers, despite Clarke knowing it is a bad habit to choose this way. She can't help the action, but she is wise enough to fight the reflex of picking only the best-looking ones. She brushes her fingers on the works of fiction, savoring the way the different textures feel against her skin.
A part of her wants to go faster, to go back to the rhythm she follows at work, but she is not there anymore. Everywhere she looks, hundreds of books salute her like she is their leader. This isn't the place or the time to rush. Time flows differently in a place where words are kings and ideas are queens. And the scent alone is enough to teleport her to another dimension.
She picks a random novel and reads the back cover, wondering if it fits her interests. A reflection on human rights. She picks the next one, doing the same thing. A mysterious murder that has never been solved. She does it for the entire row, letting hours and minutes run out of her reach. Love story with a happy ending. Love story with a tragic ending. Thriller about aliens. Kidnapping. Slaves testimonies. Wonders of a parallel existence. Tale from a cat's point of view. Apocalypse. Hope. Friendship. Lost family. Sexuality. Time travelling.
She can't choose. Some days, she enjoys reading summaries more than the actual book. She opens a novel to a random page and seeks a few paragraphs to analyze. Reading small passages makes her feel like she is looking through the keyhole of a door leading to another universe. She is only allowed to have a glimpse of this distant reality and it always makes her crave more. It feeds her curiosity, her dreams and her imagination. It keeps her prisoner in this endless maze full of literary treasures. She loves this experience more than focusing solely on a few books and making her final decision within minutes.
By the time she finally tears her eyes away from the endless choices to concentrate on one, the sun is no longer in the sky and Raven is locking the door behind her last official customer. Clarke has earned the privilege of staying until her friend is done cleaning the place for the next day.
The book she buys is one she finds at the very end of a row, in a corner she rarely reaches when she starts from the other side. It portrays a futuristic world in which a nuclear war annihilates the planet and people are forced to move to space for a chance of survival. She finds the subject fascinating, even if it is not something she would pick at first glance. Maybe this will give her a new perspective on the way she currently lives her days.
She hopes so.
"Are you okay, Clarke?" Raven asks as she closes the lights and heads to the back door to leave.
"Have you ever seen me not being okay with a new book in my hands?" Clarke playfully answers with a light tone.
"You've been here for five hours. It's long, even for you."
The blonde hears the silent question brought by the statement. She shrugs. Her day is long and her only wish is to get lost in her story and forget about the extra hours at work. She acknowledges Raven's quiet concern.
"I'm okay. Thanks again for the discount. I'll tell you if it's any good."
They nod at each other, listening to the unspoken truth between the words pronounced a few seconds ago. They've always respected each other on what they want to share, on the timing of their confessions, on the freedom of choosing their moment. Today will not change.
The door protecting the City of Light library closes behind Clarke and the real world is back to haunt her.
Lexa sighs when she arrives at the door. It's locked and she should've known that leaving the office at such a late hour would only bring her a date with a closed library. She's slightly annoyed because she truly wanted to buy a new documentary about international human rights. She notes the City of Light hours for the next few day and makes her way to the metro station.
Her thoughts are contaminated with plans concerning her future cases.
Jasper is no longer on her mind as she reflects on how to take down a human trafficking organization named Mount Weather, one of the worse situation she has seen since she started doing this job. Its leader claims to have created an utopian community where immortality is no longer an illusion, but Lexa is not foolish enough to believe those empty promises.
The number of people involved in the situation disgusts her, but she refuses to let those feelings ruin her statement in court. She takes a deep breath and manages not to think about the next few days. It's always the same. It doesn't matter if the case breaks her heart or if children will have their entire life shattered in a second. It doesn't matter if she finds a certain way of living cruel or if she pities it. It doesn't matter if they thought they were doing right despite the laws disagreeing with them. It doesn't matter what their perception of the situation is because it won't matter in court. It will be a battle of facts.
As much as Lexa wishes she could let her heart speak, she can't. She's not allowed to.
It's her routine. She wakes up, she goes to work, she reads the files and she identifies the best ways to prove the culpability of the defendant. It's always the same, and yet, it never is. Lexa knows way too well that there is never a winner.
She tries not to dwell too much on the fact that this job isn't what she thought it would be.
Whether she wants it or not, she holds future lives in her hands. If she can't prove the defendant is guilty, if another crime happens, if someone else dies, she will blame herself. She must weight every decision, every sentence, every single detail she will introduce to the jury. She has the power to build a criminal persona for the person standing in front of the judge, whether they acted in the name of money, of love, of friendship, of loyalty or of what they thought was the right thing to do. She has concluded that everyone, when pushed to their limits, can make the worse decision.
It tears her apart, but no one will ever know.
She waits for the metro to arrive and opens the book she's been carrying in her bag for a few weeks. She finished it a week ago, but it doesn't matter.
Something pushes her to read it again.
The wind slaps her cheeks. Her eyes are lost in the lights and shadows projected everywhere around her. Her brain is completely immune to the sounds around her. She is swimming in an ocean of white noise and suddenly, it feels like she doesn't belong, like she never has. She knows she is not alone, but it feels like she is.
People move around her, almost touching her, but always avoiding her in this dense crowd. The wind is powerful, raging in synchrony with the rest of the world, but she is standing, immobile on the platform, the way a lone warrior faces the enemy.
She wonders if being invisible would make her feel different. Maybe it would give her a valid reason to feel like a stranger in this place. The way people avoid tripping on her confirms that she is seen by all, but it isn't enough. She's a ghost walking on the highway and everyone else is alive and sprinting to their destination.
They all have a goal in sight, a place to be, a moment to live and a clock to beat. They are all fighting the same enemy, time, but claim to be part of different battles. They curse when the train is late and blame the weather as much as they can. They find excuses to hide the fact that they didn't want to be adults today, or ever, and they keep playing pretend until they head home and wait for another day of role-playing. They run to make their connection between two trains as if it holds the key to win a million dollars. They get angry when they miss it and the four minutes wait until the next arrival transforms to a year of torments.
And Clarke?
Clarke waits for the metro to arrive, the book secured in her hand while her thoughts fly to the past. She tries too hard to forget about Gustus and the only thing that is left on her mind is the deathly routine she has been trapped into for the past years. Work, sleep, convince herself that she loves this life, repeat. A tornado of questions without answers spins around her.
She used to think that being a doctor was her ultimate dream. She used to think that walking to her favorite restaurant would cheer her up every time. She used to think that she could travel in this city's arteries forever and never get enough of it. She used to think that she was going somewhere, but now, she isn't sure of anything
Is it really the kind of life she wants? To play with life and death and pray for the best outcome? To heal and kill at the same time? Is it truly what drives her to wake up every morning and not stay in bed?
She shakes her head when she hears both trains arriving to the station at the same time. She can't think anymore. It's too hard to admit that, maybe, the only way for her to be happy is to realize that she has been wrong all this time.
She opens the book as she sits on an empty seat near the window facing the other side of the rails. A tiny smile appears on her face when she remembers the plot. She flips through the pages absently, not really processing what it says yet, and something catches her attention as the train starts moving. She stretches her neck as much as she can.
A book. On the opposite side. The same one she has.
Her grin widens. She wonders if its owner has the same whirlpool of interrogations in their head or if they simply enjoy reading about people having the hardest time of their life.
The realization that she might not be the only one second guessing her choices reassures her.
She might not be alone.
She barely has time to see long light brown hair before the stranger disappears from her field of vision.
Lexa feels the earth move and glances up.
She sees the book going in the opposite direction at the very last minute. It's fast and the windows are dirty, but the few milliseconds are enough for her to know that the document has the same cover, the same title and the same colors as the one she has in her hands. The peculiar title cannot belong to any other story.
A flash of interest lights up her eyes. The exhaustion has taken over her body. She finds solace in the used pages of her novel waiting to reveal their secrets, and the idea that someone does the same gives her the fuel she needs to stay awake.
Someone is reading the same thing.
Someone's mind is lost into the same world as hers.
Someone who has blond hair.
Lexa doesn't know anything else and her green eyes focus on her copy. She is only a few pages in, but she remembers every detail. The exploration of human nature and its vision of good and bad are out of this world. She is taken hostage by the beauty of the descriptions, the mystery surrounding the fate of the group and the tragedy of lost childhoods in the hands of destiny.
She dives in the philosophical debates that decorate the pages and challenges her own behavior. What would she do in this situation? Would she fight? Give up? Sacrifice her friends to reach safety or a greater form of peace? She likes to think her experience as a lawyer would help, but she isn't convinced.
This kind of story is not for everyone, Lexa thinks, and the fact that someone so close was reading it makes her interested in this stranger. Who is she?
Just for a second, she thinks that somewhere on this planet, there is someone else like her, doing the same things, visiting the same universe.
There is someone else falling in love with the same characters.
There is someone else enjoying the same type of subjects, social issues and moral conflicts.
There is someone else trying to understand why humanity is so hard to preserve.
There is someone else, and she marvels at that thought.
Just for a second, she doesn't feel so alone anymore.
Clarke's train moves in Arkadia's direction while Lexa's heads towards Polis.
Clarke has no trouble shutting the world out and reading the first few pages of the book. The first lines are enough to convince her that she made a good choice and it takes her less than a minute to feel the urging need to know what will happen next. She empathizes with the young woman who became a leader too fast in such terrible conditions. She finds her heart aching for the double-edged sword that is freedom, but also for the excruciating loneliness that the group experiments. She almost completely disappears into the story.
Her brain keeps going back to the unknown woman reading the same book.
Lexa can't read. She watches the lights flashing before her eyes as the train takes her farther away from her departure point. She can't concentrate. She tries to, but her thoughts keep going back to the one person that set her free from her fortress of solitude, even just for a second. She knows it's probably the only meeting, if she can even call this a meeting, they will have, but she can't help it. She sighs loudly and closes her eyes for a minute. When she opens them, she focuses on the work of fiction and drowns everything else. She manages to read an entire chapter without being distracted.
She figures she shouldn't think about someone she won't see again.
Clarke somehow wishes she needed to go to Polis.
Lexa somehow wishes she needed to go to Arkadia.
She's finished the book.
She's finished it three times now, but she keeps it in her bag. She only gets it out at the end of the day, when she's done working. She displays it subtly when she walks in the metro station, as if it represents a language of its own, one that she shares only with another person. The extra hours and unexpected emergencies have been piling on her and she hasn't left at the same time in the evening for the past month. She's exhausted, but at the end of every day, she looks for a familiar figure in the metro station.
She scans the crowd. She hasn't found her yet and it is soon going to be ten o'clock.
Raven thinks Clarke is being ridiculous.
"If you want to find her that much, just go on her side of the rails," she tells Clarke on the phone.
The blonde shakes her head, her eyes still trying to find the stranger. She needs to go home soon, but she still has a little bit of time to spare. It's been a month and for a reason she ignores, she can't get over it.
"And what would I do once I find her? No, Rae, I'm staying here as late as I can."
"Well, what will you do if you see her from your side?"
Clarke takes a second to think.
"Look at her?"
"Lame."
"I'm not!"
"You're stalking her," Raven groans. "Clarke, you can't go around stalking people, no matter how cute they are. And you don't even know if she's cute!"
The doctor shrugs. This isn't stalking. She doesn't even know the name of the other woman. This is simply looking around and letting metro trains leave without her aboard. There's no law that tells her she must take the first one she sees. She has time. She can afford to seek someone that may or may not have occupied her mind recently.
She can deny her actions as much as she wants.
She can afford to look for the one person that intrigues her more than anyone else now. It's foolish and stupid, but she can't let it go. She can't forget the feeling that went through her body when she simply had a glimpse of that stranger. It is as if a switch has been pushed. Something in her guts just begs her not to forget this encounter. What are the chances of someone reading this exact same book that she found in the smallest corner of an independent library? She's the one person that might change her routine, Clarke has a strong feeling about this.
"Clarke. Are you even listening to me?"
The blonde isn't listening anymore. Raven's voice comes from a far distance and the words don't connect anymore. She quickly whispers a "see you later" and hangs up. She can apologize later. For the first time in so many days, a silhouette has caught her eyes. Despite the late hour, the station is full of people.
Clarke almost misses her, but the moment she looks up, she knows.
It's her.
She knows it's her. Even though she's never seen her face, even though she's never seen her walk, even though she doesn't anything real about this woman, Clarke knows.
She knows because of the way her heartbeat drastically increases as her hands get sweaty and gross.
She knows because of the way she is suddenly very aware that she has been standing there for over an hour, just waiting for this moment to happen.
She knows because she notices the same book being waved around as the woman moves.
She knows because her entire soul wants to go to the other side, stops the stranger and asks for her name.
She can feel her instinct yelling at her to move her ass, and all she can do is stare.
She's exhausted, so much that she can almost feel her legs shaking. Her mouth is dry and she's only realizing now that she hasn't had dinner yet. She feels dirty and stinky. Her long hours are responsible for the ache in her body and she even shivers when she feels a current of air blowing in her face. She feels like she could sleep for a week without waking up. She wants to sit and not move for the whole night. She wants to call a cab and go home rather than just sit in the middle of other people.
Still, she doesn't move. She memorizes the face of the stranger, every line, every frown or hint of a smile or movement of the eyes. She feels a bit awkward, but she's mesmerized by how beautiful this person is. Adrenaline is flowing through her veins and she loves the way it shocks her to life.
She is still dead tired, but it doesn't matter. This is the most she has felt in months. The soreness, the impatience, the relief, the pain, the way her lips curve to form a smile, the way her skin reacts to the cold wind, the way her head pounds with the rhythm of the ongoing trains and the way her stomach growls when it's empty. The sight of this woman changes her and makes her aware of all the sensations in her body.
In this moment, she is different.
She isn't a perfectly trained doctor, reviewing cases and going from one appointment to another. She isn't a robot trying to go faster every second of the day. She isn't trying to reach excellence with every action she makes. She isn't an emotionless healer, wandering around the dead as if she were one herself.
It's almost as if she could feel again.
A lightning strikes Clarke when green irises meet her blue ones.
Lexa is annoyed.
Her latest case took way longer than she expected and she will come back home in the middle of the night. She almost decided to stay at her office, but she misses the comfort of her bed. She hasn't gone to her house in three days and her job is slowly starting to crush her sanity. She walks in the station and, like an automatic response, pulls out her book from her bag. She's read it over and over, and knows it by heart.
She still carries it everyday.
It's been a month and she has few expectations of ever seeing the other woman again, but as she arrives to her familiar part of the platform, she feels someone looking at her. It's a small tingle on her skin, but she recognizes it. She's nervous as she looks around, but her features show only calmness. She can feel something. A pressure on the back of her neck. A caress on her cheek. A blanket over her shoulders.
It feels familiar and she can't help but turn her eyes to face the direction from where this all comes from.
She dives into the ocean blue and her breath catches in her throat.
Lexa is petrified, but the contact still feels comfortable.
She notices the blonde's hand waving to her, or at least, she thinks so. She can see the same book being shown clearly in her direction, as a call in a secret code.
She frowns. An invitation to her side of the station? Lexa knows confusion is visible in her eyes. They're also tainted with something else. The urge to go and ask her name. The urge to ask for her phone number or to simply have a conversation about the book. She wants to. She wants to run downstairs and upstairs again to reach the other side. She wants to and she hasn't felt such a yearning in forever, but she still doesn't move.
Why can't she move? She can't look away. She's like a magnet, irresistibly attracted to this person.
So why?
Is it because she's always been on this side and her brain refuses any other option? Is it because that's the way she must finish her day, heading straight home without any detour? Is it routine, tangled up around her limbs and preventing her from taking any step in another direction? It must be. It's probably the habits, chanting her name like a national anthem, and she's attracted to them.
Habits are safe. They're family. They're old promises she never broke. They're contracts she signed too long ago, so long that she has forgotten when they expire. Unfortunately, they're also the reasons why she's stuck in limbo, being this person she doesn't truly like or admire. They're houses but not the homes she needs.
She's scared of what would happen if she moved. She's terrified of any changes. It's all she has ever wanted, to break the chains from this usual boring routine, but at the same time, it's the only road she has ever known, and the thought of abandoning it frightens her.
But is it enough? Is this reason good enough to stop her from moving? The answer is loud and clear in her head. No. But why can't she move? How is it possible for her to want something so badly but remain paralyzed and unable to move?
She tentatively smiles in the stranger's direction. She receives one in exchange. She believes it to be the most beautiful one she's ever seen.
Suddenly, she isn't consumed with all her problems at work anymore. She isn't annoyed and beaten up by her schedule. She isn't trying to make sense of what's black and what's white anymore. She isn't attacked by nightmares of a pointless future anymore. She can hear her mind thanking her for this short break.
She feels good. She realizes how long it has been since the last time she felt her muscles relaxing, one after another. She takes a step forwards before realizing that she can't cross the rails simply by walking straight ahead.
She can't control those feelings of longing that are taking over her body. She almost can't recognize it for what it is because it has been so long since she's felt so attracted to someone else. She's hypnotized by the beating of her heart, as if it is the very first time she's hearing it.
She waits for something to happen.
They stare at each other for a few seconds that last forever.
She sighs. It doesn't matter. She can't move in any direction but hers.
She blinks when the metro on the other side arrives.
She opens her eyes and she is alone.
The stranger is nowhere to be seen.
She feels her heart shatter a little. The beating stumbles and momentarily stops, and she desperately tries to ignore it. A few seconds ago, she was overwhelmed by the need to meet someone new, someone who might be right for her, who she might be right for, but now she feels the devastating journey back to her own lonely island. Disappointment tastes bad and she has a whole plate in front of her.
She wishes she could go back to not feeling anything, but something has changed, and she can't do anything about it.
Lexa tries to shrug the disenchantment away. It's harder than chasing the twisted stories she hears after a day in the office. It's harder than anything she has done in the past months.
It's hard to admit that she has developed an attraction to a person she doesn't know.
She's about to enter her own ride when she hears a word.
A single word that gets her hopes up again despite all her resistance.
"Wait!"
They stand on their own side, going in their own direction. They stand and stare at each other for a few minutes that transform into hours. They can't look away from the color of the other's eyes. They are seeing for the first time after being born completely blind.
The distance between them is incredibly small compared to the scale of the universe, but just like the cosmos, it is impossible to cross.
The distance is safe.
It's comforting for the both of us, for people like them, who need time for themselves as much as the air they breathe to stay alive. It's a safety box in which they put their heart to be protected against adversity. It's an excuse to stay emotionally detached and give their behavior a reason to exist. But that same distance is poison, a venom that is preventing them from moving forward, killing them slowly until they are unable to do anything. It's a curse disguised as a stunning gift.
They are separated by only a few meters, but it seems like an aggressive sea sending giant waves and thunder bolts remains between them, making it impossible to see the safe land on the other end. They can hear the sirens calling their names and promising them the greatest treasures, but they refuse to be lured into this false paradise. They refuse to take a chance, to believe that maybe, just this time, if they allow themselves to feel, the clouds will go away and the sirens' chants will be replaced by a gentle orchestra.
They are tortured between the need to move and the urge to remain in place. They want to reach out for each other. They want to know how the other's skin feels against theirs. They are ready to travel a million miles away to get to one another, to beat the speed of light in a life-changing race, to fly lightyears away to join the other. They could rent a car or buy a plane ticket simply to reach the other side of the rails.
They are frozen in place.
Maybe it's because their jobs teach them that hope is a luxury and they must be careful on when they can afford it. Maybe it's because they have both saved and destroyed lives, and they don't know if they deserve happiness anymore. Maybe it's because they are both thinking of leaving this town soon and the thought of having a reason to stay scares them. Maybe it's because they both want a reason to stay, but they are afraid they won't find it here. Maybe they just don't want to have their heart broken.
It's a fight for what might become real.
Lexa loses.
Clarke wins.
She dashes to the other side.
"Wait!"
Clarke is trying to remind herself to breathe as they walk to the nearest coffee house.
She made the first move. Now what?
She can feel the tension in the air between them like an elastic ready to snap at any moment. She listens to the way Lexa's steps sound on the ground. She smells the subtle scent coming from Lexa's hair. She tries not to look at Lexa's features too much, but she still turns her head slightly to the side.
She has Lexa's agreement to go grab a drink memorized already.
She can feel the blood being pumped in her arteries and the rhythm is so strong that she thinks she is becoming deaf to the external sounds. She can feel the need to run boiling in her spine but she resists temptation. She feels gross and sweaty and she only realizes now that she is coming back from work, from a day spent with dying people and germs and body fluids. She's nervous and the thought of Lexa knowing that makes her even more anxious for their future conversation.
They sit at the table near the window and Clarke almost stops breathing when she sees Lexa facing her. This is it. This is the moment she has been waiting for since she first saw her. She notices the way Lexa slightly pulls her chair closer to hers, and it takes all of her will not to smile like there is no tomorrow.
The silence lasts an infinite minute during which they take a quiet sip of their drinks.
"What's your book?" Clarke pronounces casually, mentally kicking herself for asking.
The blonde nearly rolls her eyes at how lame she sounds. The reason they are in the same place right now is because they read the same book.
"What's yours?" Lexa fires back with a quiet confidence that sparks Clarke's interest even more.
The doctor smirks. She puts the book on the table and pushes it towards the other woman.
"I think you would enjoy it."
Lexa raises an eyebrow. She takes the book and flips the pages quickly, pretending to see it for the first time. Her eyes recognize every word and her nose dwells in the scent of the newly printed novel.
"I think you're right," Lexa agrees. "It sounds familiar, but I think mine might be better."
She pushes her version of the book on the table. It's older and the pages are wrinkled from the many times she's turned them, over and over while waiting for this fateful meeting. Clarke carefully goes through it, rediscovering a story from another angle.
"Do you mind if I keep it? So I can confirm it isn't better than mine?"
"No," Lexa shakes her head in amusement. "Do you mind?"
"It's all yours."
They smile. They aren't surprised of this outcome.
"I'm sorry if this is sudden," Clarke starts to ramble while staring at her cup. "I don't want to keep you here if you're busy. It's a bit late. I would understand if you had to leave or if you had to wake up early for work. I don't usually ask strangers for a drink, in case you were wondering. I don't want you to think I'm stalking you or anything. Tell me if I'm being creepy. Or don't. I mean, you must think I'm insane, but I just saw you on the other side and – "
"You can breathe, you know?"
"Can I?"
"It's your decision," Lexa shrugs, erasing the last bit of discomfort between the two of them.
Clarke takes a giant gulp of air and holds it, wiggling her eyebrows at the person sitting next to her. She looks around and acts like she is swimming. She moves her arms around and pretends like she is drowning. She makes a praying motion to plead Lexa to save her and tries to keeps her mouth shut despite the urge to laugh. She dances on her chair and opens her mouth without sucking any air in her lungs. She can feel her chest starting to burn from the lack of oxygen and releases carbon dioxide.
"It's your decision, but I strongly recommend you breathe," Lexa chuckles at the silliness of the other woman.
The blonde inhales loudly. She would have loved to keep going, just to hear that laugh again. It rings in her ears like a timeless melody.
"Thank you for the advice."
"You wouldn't survive very long in a post-apocalyptic world, would you?"
Clarke ponders about her answer for a few seconds before she decides to take the chance.
"Not without you," she winks.
Lexa almost stops moving at the flirtatious tone of voice that she receives. Mostly, she winces at the way her body reacts to the voice. She likes it, but a part of her denies it. Still, her heart flutters.
"Does that mean we'll meet again in a far future where everything is a wasteland?"
"Before that, I hope," Clarke murmurs.
Lexa nods. She hopes too. She can't stop looking at the way Clarke swallows her drink, slowly like she is savoring every drop of it. It leaves a trace of milk on her lips, and she licks them in a way that makes the lawyer wonders how they taste like. She wonders how soft the skin of her neck is, how it would react under her touch and how it would feel under her tongue.
She's suddenly aware that she's been staring in silence for the last minute and a pink shadow colors her cheeks.
Clarke is not better. She can sense the blood rushing to her brain and extremities. She can discern the effects of adrenaline going from one part of her body to another. She has a thousand reasons to regret saying that, to find some excuse and explain herself, pretend like she isn't flirting at all, but she ignores them all. She's thankful she hasn't made a fool of herself.
"I'm not in a hurry," Lexa announces to break the silence and points to the empty glasses. "You asked earlier. Do you have time to stay for another one?"
Please, she wants to say, stay. Just for a night, just in this place, in the middle of the lights of the city and the obscurity of the night. Stay in this place untouched by the laws of physics.
"Of course. My treat."
"I can't accept that."
"You can pay next time?"
Next time. Those words sound like a promise Lexa will never break. She beams at the look in Clarke's eyes.
"Only if next time is tomorrow?" Lexa offers.
Clarke almost breaks her face in half when she grins at the idea. She has never felt so good after a hard day at work, and she wants to know if this is temporary, or if this is the beginning of forever.
She thinks it is the beginning of forever.
"Wait for me at the metro station? I never know when I finish work," she mentions.
It doesn't bother Lexa. It feels like she has waited a lifetime already, so a couple more hours don't bother her. And she's not about to admit to Clarke that she would have waited even without another meeting planned. She knows she can see Clarke from a mile away. Her beauty always takes her breath away.
"What do you do?" She questions.
She wants to know everything there is to know.
She barely knows the woman and she already live in her words and her sense of humor. She already has a home in the azure of her eyes and the sunny taste of her hair.
Her insecurities come knocking on the door, but she dismisses them. She doesn't want to hear them tonight. Tomorrow during the day, she can worry about her future. Tomorrow night, she can rest her spirit in the charming company of her new friend.
"I'm a doctor."
As soon as she pronounces these words, Clarke sees herself standing in empty halls, hearing the patients' families crying and begging for mercy. She can perceive the way a weak man walks after surgery, the way a bed creaks when someone turns in it, the way a toilet flushes when there is nothing but bile and stomach acid in it. She imagines the walls stained with blood and the floor covered with guts. And she pictures herself, taking in everything, and yet, not feeling anything. She sees herself immune to human emotions.
She is stunned by how she feels right now, the complete opposite. Too many thoughts fight in her mind and too many feelings try to conquer her body.
"I'm a lawyer. A prosecutor" Lexa replies.
In a moment of mutual understanding, they stop talking. Clarke welcomes the information. A lawyer. A hard job as well. It doesn't take her long to decrypt the unspoken words. Lexa understands the reality of her role. The difficult choices they must make during their days, and the grim consequences that can follow.
The dilemma of which life to save and which to let go.
She wonders how much they can bring to one another.
She wonders how much they can free one another.
She wonders if they both live with the same cloud of numbness following them.
They're not the same, but their worlds are still similar. They still collide and fit perfectly together.
"I forgot to ask you. What's your name?" Clarke asks with a voice that conveys all her gratitude for this small moment of peace of mind.
"Lexa," the green-eyed woman answers like she is sharing classified information.
Clarke loves the way it resonates within her soul.
Lexa is freedom.
"What's yours?" The brunette murmurs as if this moment was too fragile to speak loudly.
"Clarke." The blonde whispers with the same tone.
Lexa loves the way it makes her world pause for a moment.
Clarke is liberty.
Time doesn't stop for anyone and too soon, the clocks rule again. The moon is high in the sky when they leave the café, both wishing they could spend the entire night exchanging so many words that they would have to create new ones just to express themselves.
The two women run towards their respective directions when they catch sight of their last trains waiting for the few late passengers to embark. They barely have time to wave a quick goodbye before they are engulfed in the underground darkness of the tunnels leading them home. The roaring growl echoing around them is not enough to mute the memory of the other's voice.
Lexa looks through the window.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.
It's a never-ending succession of white and blue lights shining on the walls. It's not enough to distract her from thinking about Clarke. She holds the book close to her chest. She feels energy coming from it to wake her up as if the simple fact that it belongs to the blonde is enough to give greater superpowers to the novel. She feels better, but it's not enough to keep the sour thoughts away.
She curses the night.
She blames the night for her nightmares about the criminals, the victims, the people, her own persona. She blames it for the insomnia that never seems to leave her alone and the dizziness that threatens her when she thinks too much about her past, or present, or future. She blames it for the constant agony that inhabit her when the sun isn't there to protect her anymore.
And now, she also blames the night for being on her way back to her place rather than staying with Clarke in the comfort of the low lights suspended from the ceiling.
She feels sad. She hasn't felt sadness for so long and it's back.
She doesn't want to go home.
Home is full of voices screeching that she made the wrong choices. Home is always chanting about her mistakes, her flaws and her abandoned dreams. Home is nothing but her past hating her present, her present imploring her future to save her, and her future telling her she will never be good enough. Home stops her from improving.
Home is lifeless and eternally colorless to her eyes. Home is cold, and quiet, and lonely. It's too lonely now that she knows how it feels like to be in perfect company. It's too quiet now that she has heard Clarke's voice singing to her ears. It's too cold without the proximity of the other woman to warm her skin.
Home isn't home, but she still unlocks the door and sits on the bed because she has nowhere else to go.
She only now realizes how hard it is for her to stay in this place.
She feels nothing good about it anymore.
Clarke's presence has activated a switch in her head.
She sighs to shatter the nearly indestructible silence and finds comfort in the book she's been given this evening. It smells like what she guesses is Clarke's house, and that thought immediately makes her feel better. She doesn't know how to process the feeling of missing someone, and she pushes it back to the depth of her conscience. She opens the first page and her heart skips a beat when she notices a curvy handwriting.
Clarke's phone number.
Part 2 soon.