Merry Christmas, lotoflamp! I'm your secret santa!
She couldn't take it anymore. She'd been staring at the same four walls for the past three years and she felt about ready to snap. After spending the latter part of her teenage years traversing the globe – albeit in a plane that certainly was not up to code – her twenties were nothing short of a disappointment. Her teen years had been full of grand adventures. Life endangering adventures, but grand adventures all the same.
But the ratings had gone the way of the Island, and the network had cancelled Total Drama. And as much as they'd all been relieved to finally be free of Chris McLean, she'd all fallen out of the public eye and straight into the rut that was her twenties.
Art school had left her with a mountain of debt and no job prospects.
She was twenty-four years old with an art degree, living in her aunt's basement and between her mediocre job at the museum gift shop and her student loan repayments, she was still struggling to make ends meet.
So, with a sigh of frustration, she grabbed the midnight blue duffel bag from the back of her closet and began stuffing it full of her things.
His guitar case strung over his shoulder, he stared down at the ticket in his hand. Just picking up his entire life and moving halfway across Ontario was starting to feel like a bit of a knee-jerk reaction, but he needed a change of scenery.
After his reality show days, he'd tried the boyband thing with Harold, Justin and Cody, but they'd fizzled out and now only the diehards had remained. They'd been a one-hit wonder of sorts. And creative differences between the four of them had been the final nail in the coffin.
He'd been in several other bands since then, but none of them ever seemed to stick. His career in music seemed to have peaked during his teen years, which left him feeling hollow and overwhelmingly disappointed. Music had been his first love, and he was sure it'd be his last love too. But for the last few years had left his music feeling empty and isolated – he liked sharing his music with people, but none of his songs seemed to resonate with anyone anymore.
Sounding the horn, the train pulled into the station, brakes squealing as the massive aluminum shuttle screamed to a stop.
Flashing his ticket at the attendant as he climbed the stairs, he stuffed his suitcase and guitar case onto the luggage shelf.
With a deep breath, he regarded the aisle with a look of hope, before making his way to his assigned seat, next to a sleeping figure in an oversized black hoodie.
He had a strange feeling in his chest when he woke up. It was like excitement, but also hollow too. A hunger, almost. A craving that just felt too big to ever completely fill. Something like finding the missing piece to the puzzle that was his life, but having it edged entirely in fear. It made his throat tight and seemed to weigh down particularly heavily on his left shoulder.
Stifling a yawn, he found himself wondering if this was really the answer. When did running from one's problems ever solve them?
Closing his eyes and rolling his head over his shoulders to loosen his neck, which was stiff from having slept sitting up, he found his left cheek brushing against black fabric. And it was then that he realized that the pressure and tension he felt in his left shoulder was his hooded seat partner – still fast asleep.
With a deep yawn, the hooded figure lifted their head, the black fabric slipping off their teal and black hair – forcing Trent to do a double-take.
"Gwen?"
"Trent?"
The shock on her face seemed to reflect the shock he felt. "Well, what – what are you doing here?"
She shrugged, running a hand through her unkempt hair. "Needed a change of scenery."
"Yeah, I know know you mean! Well, it's great to see you! How have you been?" Trent asked, his green eyes taking in everything. "You – you look great, by the way."
"I, uh – thanks." Gwen said. "You headed to Toronto too?"
He grinned. "Yeah. Are you going to be in the city long?"
"Not really sure. Kind of just winging it, if I'm completely honest."
"I hear that. Well, I'm hoping to make a fresh start in the city, so with any luck, I might be here awhile." He shrugged. "We should get coffee or something, sometime."
"Yeah, that would definitely be cool!" Gwen said, giving him a strange look for a moment.
"You don't have to – you know, if you don't want to." He asked, raising an eyebrow. "I can handle rejection, you know."
"No, it's not that. It's just – I'm sorry, this is really rude of me, but I need to grab my sketchbook."
"That's all?" He asked, giving a little laugh. As she slipped past him and out into the aisle to grab her sketchbook from the bag she'd thrown into the overhead compartment, he couldn't help noticing the dark marks under her eyes.
There was something about the way her dark eyes were shining with what seemed like renewed fire told him that she'd been in as much of a rut as he had.
And as she sat back in her seat and began dragging a piece of charcoal over a blank page in her sketchbook, he couldn't help notice the look of relief that seemed to take over her face. And if the warm, honey-like feeling that was spreading through his own chest was any indication – they'd both just cured their artist's block.
I hope you enjoyed this!