Modern Alternative Universe
This story is intended to be a one-shot, but I am considering continuing it based on feedback. Any ideas for additional chapters are welcome.
Please review! All comments and criticism are welcome. I'd like to know how to make my stories better!
As Sybil's eyes scanned the roof's surface, an increasing feeling of despair grew in her stomach. Last year at this time, I would be sitting by the fire, watching a movie, and not having a care in the world. She reflected bitterly. I could press a button on my phone and Carson would come up with a tray of cookies and hot cocoa, no effort needed from me. I-
Sybil shook her head, reminding herself of her own choices. I'm not looking back. She decided firmly. She did not regret her decision. Determined not to let one hard task get the better of her, she guided her shovel into clearing off her dilapidated cottage with renewed invigoration.
As her spurt of energy was gradually fading, she heard a faint whistling sound. She pushed loose strands of hair out of her face and looked down her street. A figure, bundled with a red scarf around their neck was the source. Despite the freezing weather and the spontaneous gusts of wind, they seemed to be out for a pleasure walk. Sybil chuckled and gave a sharp whistle back.
As the figure grew closer, Sybil could see that he was male. A dark blond tuft of hair peeked out from under his gray cap, and though she couldn't see his eyes, she knew they were smiling. He whistled a familiar tune as he neared her driveway. Sybil recognized the song as "Beautiful Dreamer".
"Working hard or hardly working?" he called. Sybil thought she detected a slight Irish accent.
She smirked at him, and brought her shovel down on a large pile of snow. The pile was icier than she expected, and her shovel ricocheted off, making her lose her footing. Sybil landed flat on her bottom and buried her face in her hands, thoroughly embarrassed at having made a fool of herself.
"What's wrong?" she heard him ask.
She got to her feet and balanced herself on her roof. He had come up the driveway and was looking up at her, a mixture of concern and amusement written on his features.
"Nothing!" Sybil said hastily.
He gave her a quizzical look. "Sure doesn't look like nothing."
Hesitating, she replied, "It's just, well…, this dumb snow is impossible to get off my roof."
He smiled, and assumed a stoic position. "Well miss, I, the gallant knight, would be delighted to assist a lovely young lady in cleaning off her roof."
This is extremely corny. Sybil thought. But she couldn't help but feel a wave of relief course through her. "Am I entitled to know the name of my dear rescuer?" she sighed dramatically.
"Tom Branson, at your service. Specialization in helping damsels in distress." He gave a mock bow.
She curtseyed back. "Sybil Crawley, specialization in being distressed."
They shared a laugh, and Sybil gave him directions to the shed where her roof rake was. She had opted earlier not to use it herself, (It was too heavy) but she thought he'd be perfectly capable. He returned and immediately began scraping away. The job went much quicker with an extra person on the ground.
They continued with their charade for a bit, but eventually fell into normal conversation. Sybil came to learn that Tom was indeed Irish, and he was spending the holiday visiting a cousin of his who lived a few streets over. He worked as a journalist in Dublin and wanted to go into politics. Upon further examination from Sybil, Tom admitted that he always stopped to help "damsels in distress". The habit had ensued when he was a taxi driver; "There were many helpless women on the side of the road who needed a tire changed."
"What about you?" he asked.
Sybil thought for a minute. "I'm a nurse here at the Berkshire hospital. I rent this place with my good friend, Gwen."
"And where is she today? Taking a nap inside?"
"No, she's visiting her sister in London. She didn't purposely abandon me!"
Tom chuckled. "No one in your family wanted to help you?"
The question caught her by surprise, and she stopped working for a moment. Tom, oblivious to what had come over her, hoisted the extended shovel once more, only to catch the edge of her shovel. The two tools became entangled. Sybil and Tom both tugged in opposite directions, getting nowhere. Tom swiftly lifted up on his end, which disconnected the shovels, but the hard plastic edge smacked Sybil on the chin, knocking her over and sending her sliding down the precipitous roof.
Sybil let out a swift shriek before falling into a snow-pile. He rushed over and hoisted her out.
"Are you alright? That was so stupid of me!" Tom went on ranting as he set her on her feet and started brushing her off.
She nodded, still stunned from her fall. Tom noticed blood dripping from her chin and assumed she was in shock. He scooped her up before she could assure him of her stability, and he trudged through the snow bank to her front door. Once inside, he deposited her on a kitchen chair.
Sybil was unaware of her bleeding chin and was rather confused (though not unwelcoming) at his sudden gestures to her. She was about to ask Tom why he had carried her inside when she felt a warm liquid dripping onto her hands. She looked down, saw it was blood, and promptly fainted.
As a nurse in general, Sybil had a strong stomach when it came to blood and injuries. She had volunteered in an army hospital and had seen her fair share of gore from injured soldiers.
When it came to her own injuries, however, she had a wave of nausea when dealing with the slightest issue. This, combined with her previous disorientation and the meager breakfast she had skipped, was sufficient enough to render her unconscious for a brief period of time.
Tom, meanwhile, was close to panic. He tried to remember tips from a First Aid class he'd taken in high school. Searching the modest kitchen, he found a rag and soaked in water. He tried his best to wipe up the blood from her chin. Examining it closer he saw that it wasn't deep, it was just bleeding a lot. He held the rag under her chin and waited for her to revive, taking deep breaths to stay calm.
This was not how Tom envisioned the day would go. He had been looking for an opportunity to talk to Sybil since his cousin had picked him up from the airport. As they had driven by the quaint cottage, Tom had seen two beautiful women outside, acting like children in the snow. He immediately felt a connection to the slender, dark-haired one. For the past 5 days, he had gone on strolls by her house in hopes of having a chance meeting. Today he felt extremely lucky, until he completely dashed his hopes with Sybil by knocking her off a roof.
"Please let her be alright," he prayed.
Tom saw that her face was flushed, and he gently eased her thick coat off. He grabbed another cool rag and put it on her forehead. She suddenly opened her eyes, surprising him.
"What is it? What's wrong?" she asked, visibly agitated.
"It's alright," he said, relieved that she was fine. "You just fainted, that's all. Are you feeling okay? Your chin is bleeding a lot, but it's not deep." Tom marveled at the calmness with which he was able to navigate the situation.
Her brow furrowed. "How long was I out?"
"About 5 minutes."
Sybil groaned. This is so embarrassing! She thought. Here I am, an army nurse and a little bit of blood knocks me out cold! She returned her attention to Tom, aware of their close proximity.
"I'm so sorry!" Her mouth continued on without her permission. "I was so distracted by your question, and I just couldn't handle the blood, it's really not very professional of me, and I'm sorry for putting you in this situation, it's not your fault at all, but thank you for staying with me and treating me, you can leave now if you want-"
Tom put up his hand to stop her. Sybil thought he looked a bit hurt.
"Of course I'm not going to leave you alone by yourself! You're injured, and alone, and still bleeding! What kind of person do you think I am?"
Sybil was relieved. "Thank you so much." She whispered.
Smiling, Tom replied. "You're welcome. Now where is your med kit?"
She verbally guided him to the bathroom closet, and he was back in a minute with basic equipment.
"Okay," he said. "You're the doctor. Tell me what to do."
Tom stubbornly insisted that he take care of her wound. Since she couldn't see the injury, she obliged. Sybil carefully directed Tom on how to clean the wound, rub the antibacterial cream on it, and bandage it. The whole time, she was issuing orders with her neck at an odd angle, looking down at Tom, who was kneeling down as to get the best vantage point. She was painfully aware of how awkward the situation was. With his thick winter gear slung over a neighboring chair, she was now conscious of how attractive he truly was. His eyes were a bright blue, and his hair was a dark blond, that assumedly got lighter with sun exposure. He finished bandaging her chin and stood up, heading over to the sink to wash his hands.
"Are you feeling stronger now?" Tom called from across the room. "Try walking a bit."
Sybil stood up slowly. She immediately felt light-headed. Walking was probably within her realm of capability, but she deliberately stumbled and acted weaker than she felt. What am I doing? She thought, incredulous at herself. This is so shallow!
However shallow it was, it was successful in capturing his attention. Tom immediately came over and ensured that she was stable.
"I'll make you some tea." he reassured her. Sybil felt guilty at having taken advantage of his kind nature.
He strode over to the stove and put on the kettle. "So tell me," he said, rummaging through cupboards and the fridge. "What was it about my question that made you so distracted?"
His tone was light-hearted, but his expression was serious.
Sybil stared at the ground.
"It's alright, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
"No," she cut him off. "I want to."
Tom looked a little surprised, but motioned for her to continue. He procured a cutting board and knife and began chopping something.
Sybil began. She told him about the wealth of her family, and the extravagant, yet sheltered lifestyle they were used to. She quickly outlined the past three years; her admittance to nursing school, the initial shock of living on her own, and the simple lifestyle she came to love.
"When I came back, I was shocked to see how much money we wasted on truly trivial things. No one in my family had any idea that most people were struggling to make a living." Sybil said, pausing to draw a breath. The teakettle was starting to whistle. Still focused on her, Tom turned off the stove and fetched mugs. He poured hot water into both, and brought the mugs and a jar of honey over.
"What kind did you want?" He asked, returning back to the kitchen.
"It doesn't matter."
He plopped a tea bag into each mug and handed Sybil a spoon. "Mango and Strawberry. It smelled the best out of the herbal teas. Where did you get such unique flavors?"
"A man we used to know retired, and opened a tea shop." Sybil grinned as she stirred in a spoonful of honey.
Tom snorted. "I'd rather drop dead."
She stared at him wide-eyed. "That's exactly what our butler said!"
"I think many people would share the sentiment."
The two sat in amiable silence for a minute, sipping their beverage.
"Well," Tom gently probed. "Go on with your story."
Sybil felt much more comfortable telling him the story as he sat right across from her. She told him about all the spats she had caused with her outspoken opinions. She described how she felt herself drawing further away from the family as they fought. Finally, she told him about the one argument last year that had sent her father boiling over.
"I was a bit bold that night, I'll admit it. I wanted to donate money to the army hospitals in Afghanistan, and when he didn't budge, I asked for my inheritance. The sum of it is far too much, and anyway, I had no use for all of it. When he refused, I grew cross and said a few harsh things to him. He is easily offended, and this was the last straw. He told me if I cared about the hospitals so much, I should go and donate myself. I was so furious at his indifference that I went to London the next day and signed up to work as an army nurse."
Sybil stopped. Tom was still listening. He's going to despise me for this. She continued, hesitantly.
"Newspapers in England are always trying to interview my father, about his wealth and old fashioned way of thinking. I gave a particularly bad interview before I left for Afghanistan. I said…. I said that he couldn't care less about the soldiers in the war. There was a huge outburst about him, and he got a lot of heat for it. Immediately after the interview, he called me up, and said I was never welcome in his home again, and I wouldn't receive any money from him for the rest of my life. He also said he didn't think I could make it one week on my own. I told him I never wanted to come back, and I could manage fine on my own. After the phone call, I burst into tears. One of the secretaries at the war office came over and comforted me. Her name was Gwen."
Noting the astonishment on Tom's face, she hurried to summarize her six months in the army hospital and her correspondence with Gwen. She came back from Afghanistan and the two agreed to be roommates. Gwen commuted to London to continue working at the war office, and Sybil found a job at the Berkshire hospital.
"I haven't talked to my father since. I've been emailing my mother and sisters occasionally, but nothing more than that. I've been completely happy working hard to earn everything by myself."
She ended, and sipped her tea, which was now lukewarm.
"Wow," said Tom, after a long period of silence. "I'm sorry. No wonder it distracted you."
Sybil nodded. "You wouldn't believe how many dates I've ruined because we started talking about our families." She joked, trying to lighten the mood.
He perked up. "So this is a date?"
"Well," Sybil paused. "Is this what you normally do on a first date?"
Tom counted on his fingers. "Well, if we don't go to a movie, mini-golfing, or out for fro-yo, my backup plan is usually knocking the girl off her own roof with a shovel and bandaging her up. Followed by tea and light refreshments."
She laughed. "You forgot the refreshments."
He slapped his forehead. "I did! Stay right there!" He sprinted back to the counter and hurriedly arranged a plate.
"Madame Crawley, vould you kerr to enjoy zis fine meal?" He imitated an atrocious French accent. With a dishtowel slung over his arm, he bowed, and held the plate out to her. The plate was piled high with cheese and crackers, pears, sliced sausage, strawberries, and pretzels.
"Where did you get all of this?" Sybil exclaimed. She took the plate from him and set it on the table. "There is no way this all came from our fridge."
Tom joined her. "A magician never reveals his secrets."
The two ate and talked for a good hour and a half. They were easy together. Neither noticed how dark it was getting out.
They both jumped when the phone rang. Sybil walked over and picked it up.
"Hello? Oh, hi Gwen. Yeah, we're fine. Huh? What? No! No no no, nothing like that! No, he was helping me with the roof, and I got hurt. Yeah, I'm fine now. Tom. He just helped clean me up. No! We've just been talking. Guess I lost track of time."
Sybil nodded a few times. "Okay, see you soon." She hung up the phone.
Looking back at Tom, she frowned. "I've got to go pick up Gwen from the train station. Her train will arrive in about twenty minutes."
Tom stood up and brought the mugs and plate over to the sink. "Sorry for intruding on your hospitality. This has been really fun."
"How much longer are you in Berkshire?" Sybil asked, trying to come across as casual but failing.
"Four days," he smiled. "I leave Saturday morning."
"Is there any way, that is, will we have a chance to meet again?"
Tom grinned. "When are you available?"
Sybil mentally ran through her schedule. "I'm pretty flexible. We should see each other again."
"Right. For our second date."
"Maybe next time we can shovel your cousin's roof."
Tom donned his snow gear and wrapped the red scarf around his neck. "Wait, before I forget…."
He grabbed a pen and searched frantically for a scrap of paper. Seeing none, he grabbed Sybil's hand and inked a number on her palm.
"This is my cousin's home phone. Ask for me. Goodbye, Sybil." Tom hesitated, and then gave her a quick hug. She was surprised, and before she could react, he broke away and strode out the front door.
Sybil stood in silence for a moment, dazed. She folded her arms across her chest and squeezed, trying to recreate the feeling. While her mind was whirring, her subconscious was questioning her heightened emotions because of just one hug. It was definitely not the most intimate thing she had ever experienced, but she already felt such a connection to the giver that the hug had rendered her giddy as a schoolgirl.
Humming, Sybil grabbed her coat and shoes, started her car, and drove to the train station. She replayed the whole experience over and over in her head, reliving each moment.
The world was full of opportunities.