Hypothetically, this takes place after Underneath it All part 1. For clarification, the 'prank' did not take place for the purpose of this one-shot. The party stayed at Fiona's, and Imogen was made fun of the entire night. I know, those assholes deserve to be lynched, right? Enjoy…or tolerate—it depends on who you are, I suppose. :P
My life, once a train wreck of uncontrolled emotion, was finally back on the right track and there was one girl that I held particularly responsible for my renewed sanity: Imogen Moreno.
Sure, Cece and Bullfrog were sympathetic and supportive in every way possible, but they tended to hover. I felt like a misfiring time-bomb the way they constantly watched over me—liable to short-circuit if left alone for even a second. And, though I understood their intentions and motivation to pay stricter attention to me, it was really annoying. Under their watchful, probing eyes, it became more and more difficult to not let the anxiety grab hold of my rationale and shake the sense out of my brain when I felt so unstable.
Fiona, too, had proved over the summer what a great friend she really was. Though she was a busy girl, whenever I called she was sure to make time to talk to me. Still, since her family was in New York, after she checked out of rehab she was headed into the concrete jungle—not to return again until a week before school started. So, while it was comforting to know that Fiona was always just a phone call away, it was hard to not have her physically around to turn to.
So, ironically enough, I found stability in a girl who I had once taken all of my instability out on. Imogen was the only girl who really seemed to understand what I needed, when I needed it and how to help me obtain what it was that I needed. She seemed to know exactly when I needed to escape the house, showing up on my doorstep at any given time in the day or night. We had spent so much time together over the summer that I had nearly forgotten Clare Edwards had ever existed, let alone that she had once been the center of my entire world.
No, how could I think of someone who had inadvertently driven me to the darkest place in my mind when there was never a dull moment to be had with Imogen as my tour guide to Toronto. It wasn't like I was unfamiliar with the city, but Imo seemed to know of places that defied the mundane, challenged routine. It was like I was new in town, seeing it for the first time as I explored with Imo. It was like I was seeing her for the first time. Even the simplest of trips with Imogen turned into an adventure; when I was around Imogen the world seemed a simpler, more forgiving, naive and beautiful place.
And I realized that the world felt that way because everything was brighter with Imogen around—she was the beauty, forgiveness and naivety that I saw.
I thanked her every day for giving me the second chance to treat her with the respect she deserved because without Imogen in my life I had no clue where I would be, mentally speaking, and that scared the shit out of me.
Imogen was my best friend.
So when she didn't come to school the second day back, my anxiety spiked. Though I was more apt at controlling most of my emotions, I was still extremely sensitive, over-protective of my friends. And Imo was an extremely studious girl—not outwardly obsessive, but she cared deeply about her grades. Though she deemed it healthy to skip every once in a while, I hardly thought she would blow off the second day of grade 12 unless she had a reason. Or maybe my instinct was just trying to tell me something was wrong; either way, it was strange that Imo was not in school. A million wild scenarios of what transpired at Fi's party ran through my thoughts as I endured the second day of Physics, the first class Imogen and I had for the day, alone.
By the time lunch arrived I had nearly driven myself over a cliff with worry. Lunch was the first period that Fiona and I had in common, though, so I hadn't had an opportunity to inquire about Imogen's mysterious absence sooner. After all, she had been with Imo last night; I had not.
As I scanned the cafeteria, my eyes fell upon an oddity that made my stomach twitch in discomfort. Since when was Fiona friends with Katie and Marisol? From what I heard, neither girl was especially worthy of company. Of course, Fiona and I had very different tastes, so maybe she actually enjoyed the mindless chatter that I had grown to associate with the best friends after my brief involvement in Jake's cabin party.
I really had no interest in mingling with them again, but Imogen's friendly, carefree smile flashed before my eyes and I was reminded that I was on a mission. Brown bag lunch gripped tightly in my hand, I gingerly approached the obnoxious laughter emanating from the crowded table.
"Hey, Fiona," I cleared my throat loudly from behind her to call her attention. She turned around and I thought I saw an expression of sheepish embarrassment at the sound of my voice before she rearranged her face into a forcedly relaxed smile.
"Eli, what are you doing over here?"
My brow wrinkled in confusion and I opened my mouth to answer with a snappy comeback, but Marisol's scathing voice beat me to the punch. "A friend of yours, Fi?" she asked with a hint of loathing in her voice. She gave me a once over and sneered. Instantly, I bristled, ready to fight back.
"I—um, no, not really; I mean, um, excuse me for a sec?" Fiona floundered before hopping out of her seat and dragging me out into the hallway.
When she stopped safely out of Marisol and Katie's line of vision, I raised my eyebrows at her, offended. Since when weren't we friends? I had missed that memo…though it did line up with her peculiar hesitancy to invite Imogen to her 'get together of close friends' last night.
"It's really not what you think," she finally sighed, deflating.
"I wouldn't be too sure, Coyne. You're suddenly too good to own up to our friendship in public? Seems to me you're desperate to fit in, all of a sudden."
"It's not all of a sudden," she defended, but a small frown was pulling her delicate features into an unnatural grimace. "I mean, who doesn't want to fit in? It's a natural, human desire to want to be accepted."
I rolled my eyes at her. "Fiona, you have people who accept you without this charade you seem intent to put up—speaking of which, did you and Imogen have fun last night?" I asked pointedly.
Fiona shifted uncomfortably in front of me. I narrowed my eyes, immediately suspicious.
"I don't know—Imogen left the part early."
"I don't like the sound of that," I growled. "Did something happen that I should know about?" Was this why Imogen hadn't answered any of my texts or calls last night; or any of the texts I had sent earlier for that matter?
"Nothing too important," Fi shrugged with strained nonchalance. "Imogen just didn't really…get along with the rest of the guest list."
"What the hell happened last night, Fiona?"
She flushed and jumped a little, taken aback by my sudden anger. "There may have been a lot of teasing…and Imogen might have been on the receiving end…"
That was all I needed to hear—lunch forgotten I stormed away from Fiona. I could hear her feeble protests, barely carried over the sea of students as I put more distance between us, but I would deal with her later. She clearly needed an intervention, but Imogen needed my immediate attention. She was hurt, alone in her large house. Just the thought of people making fun of Imo for being different made my blood boil uncomfortably.
Not caring that I would probably miss all of my afternoon classes, I let my anger carry me out the front doors, to my bike and then, furiously peddling, all the way to Imogen's house on the outskirts of town. Her mom was a defense attorney and her dad was a bank teller who dabbled in photography on the side—they were pretty well off as far as families in Toronto went. But that also meant that they were busy, so Imo spent a lot of time in her house as the solidary occupant. On the weekends, though, the entire house was lively and action-packed. I had the pleasure of being invited to a couple family board game Saturdays, and every nook of every room just seems to give off the happy vibes the Moreno's spread in spades.
Still, as animated and fun the house was when her parents were home, the house was equally dismal and lonely when it was just Imogen. I still found the effect daunting every time I picked her up to hang out. The sheer contrast was impressive and slightly depressing.
I let my bike fall into the grass and knocked firmly on the large, wooden door. When no one answered I tried calling out Imogen's name a few times, but my yells were only met by a stifling silence. Pushed to the last resort, I tried twisting the doorknob. It wasn't very surprising that the door easily swung open under my touch and I groaned. "Imogen, how many times have I told you to lock the door when you're home alone?! I could be a murder right now," I called as I stepped over the threshold, taking the liberty of locking the deadbolt behind me. Still, silence met my noisy entrance and I started to really worry. What if someone had broken in?
After a brief search of the lower level, it was clear that Imogen was upstairs…there was, however, strong evidence that she had recently been in the kitchen. Some of the worry loosened its grip on my chest, but I would not be pacified until I was completely sure that Imogen was okay.
I took the stairs two at a time and headed straight for Imogen's bedroom door, which was closed. I listened at the door and thought that I heard muffled sniffling. "Imogen, is that you?" I asked the thin wooden barrier in front of me softly. "Come on, open up."
"Go away," replied her unnaturally glum voice, obviously thick with tears. I heard the springs of her bed creak.
I tried to turn the doorknob, but she had actually locked this door. Frustrated, I ran a hand through my hair. "Please, Imogen, if you don't let me in I'll have skipped school for nothing," I tried.
"I don't want you to see me like this…go away, Eli."
But her voice was closer to the door; there was no way I was giving up. "You're my best friend—if you're hurt, I want to make it better," I plead desperately, sincerely.
"How do you even know I'm hurt?" she hiccupped, her voice seemed to be right up against the door.
"I…talked to Fiona. I don't know the whole story, but Imo, whatever they said about you last night, I guarantee it isn't true."
Finally, the door burst open and Imogen stood before me, her face tearstained and bright red. Her hair was down, framing her face, pin straight. She had on a pair of jeans and a plain black t-shirt.
Seeing Imogen look so—plain—was just as strange as it would have been watching Fiona parade around Toronto in nothing but a burlap sack. Despite myself, my jaw dropped.
"No, it is true, Eli. I'll never fit in—not when I work so hard to be so blatantly different. No one likes me because I am a freak, an outcast. I am scum, don't you see?"
Without thinking I stepped forward and pulled Imogen in for a tight hug. As one of my hands wrapped around her waist, my other rubbed soothing circles across her back. I felt her head fall into my chest, it tucked perfectly under my chin, and a quiet sob escaped from her lips.
"That is complete and utter bullshit, Imogen. The fact that you're so different is what makes you beautiful, unique—not a freak! Those people, their opinions don't matter, not really; because if they can't see how truly amazing you are, it is their loss. You have saved me from myself countless times; I owe my sanity to you several times over. Forgive me for being so crude, but fuck anybody who tried to tell you that you're not important. They clearly haven't an ounce of taste in their miniscule brains."
A small chuckle escaped Imogen, and her body shook a little. Softly, I placed a light kiss to the top of her head. "Thank you, Eli Goldsworthy," a small smile adorned her lips as she pulled away from me. Unwillingly, I let her escape the circle of my arms.
I reached out to tuck the silky curtain of her hair behind her ear, letting my hand linger at the side of her neck. She shivered lightly under my touch. "Why are you dressed like this Imogen? I mean, you look absolutely stunning in anything, but you shouldn't compromise yourself just to please the unoriginal people that attend our school. I admire the way you're bold enough to stick out with your own personal flair."
The smile grew pronounced and it lit up her face so magnificently it literally stole the breath from my lungs. "I stick out like a sore thumb," she giggled, raising her eyebrows at me as if daring me to contradict.
"No, you stick out like…a rose among clovers," I amended, subconsciously leaning in closer.
"Oh, but don't demean the clovers!" Imogen protested flirtatiously. "After all, it's not easy being green." She winked and I laughed.
"There's the Imogen I know and love."
The comment slipped from my tongue without a thought about what the word meant. I flushed, wondering how Imogen would react…as it was she had become very still and, my hand still on her neck, I felt her heart rate accelerate.
"You love me?" An endearing blush spread across her cheeks.
"Well, what's not to love? You are my best friend…you sweet, caring, you see the beauty in everything and you astound me…I…yeah, I love you."
"Even though I'm so…strange?"
The confusion in her voice was befuddling. "And here I always thought you had such a clear picture of yourself," I shook my head fondly, leaning in closer and closer. Every muscle and nerve in my body was yearning for the proximity of her skin, of her lips, of her. "Imogen…you're the single, most loveable person I have ever met. Here—let me show you," I whispered, finally giving into my desire and leaning in fully.
My lips met hers softly at first, my only goal to show Imogen how much I cared, how sincerely I needed her. I let my adoration do the talking as I moved my lips against hers slowly, sensually. It wasn't the first time I had kissed Imogen, but it felt like this was the first time I was really experiencing it. The way her lips melded perfectly to mind made fireworks explode in the pit of my stomach. I felt like every aspect of her had surrounded me in a warm blanket of security and friendship and the promise of something special—something I had been too blind to notice before.
When I pulled away, gasping for air, the smile on Imogen's face was brilliant. I thought I was catch fire by simply looking at her. "Remind me to get upset more often," Imogen joked, her breathing labored.
"Please don't," I shook my head at her, pulling her in for another hug. "I much prefer to see you happy—you're smile means the world to me."
"I always thought befriending a writer as talented as you would boost my self-esteem. If you continue giving me such eloquent compliments I might swell up and burst."
"You are so ridiculous," I accused before leaning down to capture her lips in another firework-worthy kiss.