disclaimor: no ownage of anything
pairing: roxette (yayz)
warning: über short D:
MUNNY
- - (Hero of my Soda; Thief of my Heart)
Sigh.
Dear You.
To start of with, I'd just like to mention that I can look after myself and you don't need to help me anything. I don't need help with anything. Nothing. I really don't. So don't feel compelled to walk over to me when it looks like that big kid is trying to take my lunch munny, or when it looks like I can't do this maths problem. I candeal with it.
But one thing I can't deal with is you. You. You come up and your all kind and nice and amicable. And I just smile and let you work your friendly magic – like a real pal. Because you are. A friend, I mean. But that's just it.
Isn't it?
You're a friend. I say to myself, over and over: Olette, he's a friend. Olette, he's a friend. Olette, he's a friend. It never works.
Does it?
I ask you because I know you notice it. I won't lie: sometimes I look at you like I want you and, darling, I do. I want you so much – for much more than she wants you. She looked at you and she knew you were popular, she knew you were relatively sporty, she knew you'd make it big. I know you'll make it big. You'll make it so big that you could fly to the stars as a star with your own star soaring beside you.
I only wish I could be that star with you.
But not because you are a star. But because I like you. I really do. I like you this, this, this much.
And just so you know, I don't usually go round giving letters like this to random boys.
And I still don't need your help. She might do. But leave that with her, she can have you help. I don'tdon'tdon't need it. I've already said it but I think I should say it again and again and again. Because all other times I've told you this, you didn't listen, you said, "Alright, Olette. I won't help you." But you always do.
And Pence just laughs and says, "Looks like you'll never get rid of him, Ollie." And Hayner says, "Tough luck, Orette, this one isn't going down easy."
Urgh. I bet you know where this is going. I bet you know why I don't want your help.
It's because of the soda machine. That stupid, stupid, stupid soda machine who wouldn't give me that drink I wanted. In fact, I didn't even want it. I was bored and the drinks looked colourful and enticing. Well, as enticing as a soda can look anyway.
It's sad really, the way I just stood and waited, tapping my foot impatiently – as though it would help the machine give me my drink. I had just watched the brightly coloured (almost as bright as the drinks) ball roll into the slot. I haven't seen it again since. At least, I don't think I have. Maybe the dinner ladies use the munny from the machine as spare change. Maybe some kid broke into it and stole some munny which he then used to pay for dinner. Actually, I think I have seen it.
It was a few days ago and when the ratty woman who handled the cashier gave me my change and told me to "have a nice day -coughhackwheeze-" I think she may have given me back the very same munny. But I can't check now because I gave it away to buy an ice cream for Pence.
But I had just put the munny in the slot and it rolled down and clanked like it usually does when the munny hits the kink (that Hayner punched in himself – I told him he should probably go to anger management lessons) in the tube. It was scary and embarrassing waiting for a soda which deep down I knew would never come to me (like you). I felt like there were people behind me, laughing and sniggering (like they do). I didn't even try doing anything like hitting the machine (or kissing you) or telling someone (or telling you) or even press the big red REJECT button (or giving up and starting again).
But I stayed there, tapping my foot. Waiting. Waiting for what? I don't know.
I still don't know what I was waiting for.
I think I was waiting for the soda to come. But it never did.
You came.
You said, "What happened?"
I said, "Stupid soda machine ate my munny."
You laughed and wrapped an arm round my shoulders. "Olette, you're funny. Here, take this munny." I looked at the orb in your hand before gingerly taking it and slotting it in the machine, shrugging your arm off (how I wish I hadn't). I think you scoffed when I did. Then I pressed in the code and with a rumble-tumble, down came Uncle Scrooge's Soda. Taking it from the dip in the bottom of the machine, I mumbled a thank you.
You scoffed again, I think.
I stood up and your face was inches from mine. But inches are still pretty far away. Your face, it was about ten centimetres away from mine. But I could still feel your warm breath and see the shine in your eyes. You smiled and said, "There you go. Now I can be the Hero of your soda!"
I laughed and said, "Would his Worship like some of the soda he rescued?"
Smirking, you whispered, "Of course. What would be the point in rescuing it if not?" Then you leaned in closer. And we were five centimetres apart. My breath hitched and you could probably tell. I passed you the soda, you popped the can and sipped it. When you passed it back, you got even closer, halving the distance again.
You're evil.
"Roxie baby!" Her voice cut through the air like a freshly sharpened knife through my one or more of my organs. You pulled away so fast I didn't breathe. I thought we were going to kiss, I really did. But then she came along and she became your girlfriend and now it's all a big mess. And I think you heard me.
When you shouted, "I'll always be the Hero of your soda, Olette!" to me as you walked away hand in hand with her, I muttered, "Thief of my heart."
Then I threw the drink in the bin. Its colours were making me uneasy.
So.
The teacher's always tell us to PEE (they think some witty mnemonic which will help us in our exams). Point – Evidence – Explain. My point is: Don't help me ever. My evidence: The soda machine. Explanation...
My explanation: I love you.
Love Me.
PS. You'll always be Hero of my Soda; Thief of my Heart.
Gasp.
"Olette..."
- - -
aHA i'm alive, my darlings. i've just been very busy. sats are next week - & even though they pretty much mean NOTHING to me 'cause it doesn't affect me whatsoever in later life, it decides which sets your in next year & to be truthful, i'd really like to stay in set 1 for english & maths. & i'd love to get triple science. so... sats ahoy. also, skitts got an appendicitis. & she's been in ho'pital for a bloody long time 'cause the doctors didn't diagnose her until AFTER the thing burst. but apparently she's a lot better now (yayz). oh yeah, that excuse was: i've been going to the hospital every night.
well, there are three versions of this story - each very, very different. this was the one i felt i could continue writing without ending up getting stuck in a circle. a circle of DOOM. i really hope you like it. i'm almost sorry i wrote it, i'm not proud of it. but oh ze well, here y'are, muffin, dear. :D