Yet another one-shot. If you've been keeping up with my other stories that aren't one-shots, I'm really sorry, I know I've been neglecting them. I'm just trying to get more out there, try different things, see how they work. Hopefully I'll get back to some of them soon. So, hopefully you'll enjoy this, and please review, they actually mean a lot to me... kind of an ego-boots, per say, haha.
Disclaimer: Isn't it obvious by now that I don't own Degrassi?
That summer after my sophomore year of high school, I had my summer job at the library. It was mundane, quiet and still other than the occasional toned ring of the phone or the mechanical noise of the printer.
Sometimes, the silence was just what I needed. It was what I craved for, after being awoken by both my alarm clock and the loud bickering coming from the kitchen downstairs. Other times, I loathed it. It made me so consumed with boredom that I skimmed through the magazines on the shelf, holding it by it's dingy plastic cover and wondering why I agreed to only being paid minimum wage. When I was done with day five, it felt like I'd been working there for a month.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. It felt like the days blurred together.
I worked from 7 o'clock in the morning to 3 o'clock in the afternoon, and during those eight hours, about twelve people came in there, tops. Then, when I came back on Monday, you were there.
That summer after my sophomore year of high school, was the first time I met you.
.
.
.
And I just wanted to tell them, "Birds. Birds ate my face."
A small smile crept it's way and formed onto my lips as I read that, as sick and morbid as it was. But, what do you expect when it's Chuck Palahniuk? That's why he's the best of the best. I heard the door open from my tall chair behind the desk, but I paid it no attention. My eyes kept reading, scanning quickly down the page from one side to the next. Probably three or so pages were read until footsteps walked up to the counter.
"Ahem." They cleared their throat subtly and quietly, and I sighed as I set Invisible Monsters down on the counter next to the computer keyboard.
"Yes?" I asked before I finally looked in front of me to see a dark-haired boy wearing a dark grey v-neck.
"I'm looking for a book." He stated bluntly, and I waited for him to give me more information, but he only leaned his forearms on the counter and smirked at me.
"In a library? How strange of you." I replied sarcastically, and his smirk twitched while he chuckled.
"I know, I know, it's crazy." He said.
"Which book?" I questioned with a challenging smile, and he shrugged.
"Either Fight Club or Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk." He answered.
"Chuck Palahniuk?" I questioned again, cocking a brow, and he nodded while pursing his lips. I broke my gaze from his and turned to the keyboard, surprised that this boy with green eyes could love the same cynical thoughts on pages as I do. I scrolled down the monitor and noticed that all the books by Chuck Palahniuk were checked out. "I'm sorry, they're all checked out right now." I gave him a somber glance, and his expression sank. To my complete confusion, it suddenly brightened.
"What about that one?" He asked, pointing. My eyes followed the direction of his finger, until they landed on my copy of Invisible Monsters. I hesitated, my thoughts conflicted.
"Sorry, that's a personal copy." I told him, and his eyes filled with a glimmer of hope.
"Would he mind if I borrowed it?" He wondered aloud, giving me a glance that had doubt all over it. I laughed.
"Oh, I think she would." I told him, and he quirked an eyebrow.
"She?" I nodded with a smirk of my own.
"It's mine." I smiled smugly, and his eyes widened for a split second before his smirk returned.
"Well, that's… surprising."
.
.
.
You came every single day that week. And I would look forward to it, every single day that week. You'd walk up to the counter, with selective confidence in your stride, and you'd ask me if I'd finished it yet. My answer was the same for most of the week, and every single time you'd smirk before saying "See you tomorrow", in that entrancing voice and walk out the library doors. But on Friday, my answer was different.
"Did you finish it yet?" You asked.
"Yeah, actually." I told you. Your expression brightened.
"Could I borrow it and then give it back to you?" You begged, and I smiled slightly.
"I don't even really know you." I stated.
"I can change that."
.
.
.
After the weekend, you came strolling into the library with my book under your arm, settling into a wooden chair at a small round table. I worked, you read. Every once and awhile, I would hear you chuckle or make a comment towards the book, making me smile inwardly. After a few hours, you set the book down and hopped onto the counter, your smirk already in place, challenging me.
"Who do you think you are?" I asked in playful bewilderment, and he shrugged.
"Me." He answered simply, and I rolled my eyes. But in my head, all I could do was agree with him.
.
.
.
That was the summer I met you. Our days consisted of talking about anything and everything, from the topics of gun control to issues in our lives. You knew me more than anyone, and sometimes I found myself questioning why that was the case.
On Saturday, we'd sneak the mike's hard lemonade out of your garage and climb up to your rooftop, talking about our dreams and our future as if we had a clue. You talked about how you'd either like to be a mechanic or an English teacher, and we'd both laugh at how they were both at opposite ends of the spectrum. I would tell you with a slightly buzzed mind that after high school, I wanted to publish a book. You knew about my parents, about how sick and tired I was of being sick and tired. You understood, you listened, you cared.
I still remember the first time you kissed me. It was unexpected, completely out of nowhere, and I loved every single second of it. It was on your roof, the shingles scraping my elbows as our lips moved together for what felt like hours.
Sure, it might not have been the most perfect setting. But it was perfect for us.
.
.
.
That was two years ago. I miss those times, they were full of adventure and fun, exactly what I had needed at the time. We fought over something small, we got over our stubbornness, we made up, we kissed. It was an ongoing cycle. I look back on those times and I wonder if I would change anything. The accidental rip in my book that you made, my scraped elbows, my tears when I told you anything that was difficult; Would I really change any of that? Not for the world.
Because today is our second anniversary.
And while you're driving down from the University of Toronto, I'm sitting here on my laptop, typing words that flow like clockwork.
"Ari and I sat propped up on our elbows, the shingles from his roof digging into the skin of my elbows, but all I cared about were the words I was spitting out uncontrollably. I was surely rambling, I wasn't denying it. Suddenly, my voice was cut off by his lips closing over mine, and I only thought for a second before responding. I didn't care about the scrapes I'd probably have after this, I didn't care that I'd only met him a few weeks ago. My only thought was: Is it possible to fall in love this fast?"
I hear my door open and soon your arms are wrapped me, bringing back so many more memories of that summer.
"Hey, beautiful. I missed you." You said softly against my hair, and I smiled.
"I missed you, too." I told you, turning my head to nuzzle into your neck, and your hair still has that minty, woodsy scent that I've grown to adore.
"I love you." You stated near my ear, inhaling slowly.
"I love you, too, Eli. So much more than I thought I could." I felt you smile against my auburn curls.
That summer after my sophomore year of high school, was when I fell completely and irrevocably in love with you.
What a perfect summer romance.
End of One-Shot.
Yeahp, I totally just pulled that out of my ass. I don't know where it came from. I WOULD LOVE IT IF YOU REVIEWED, IT WOULD ACTUALLY MAKE MY DAY!
H A P P Y H A L L O W E E N !
-Emmy.