A/N; So this one is on the longer side.
Chapter 1 - Saturday & Sunshine
She awoke in the morning, still tired due to the too few hours of sleep,the sun peeking through the cracks in the half-broken blinds and relentlessly teasing her face, a natural alarm clock that she had been treated to daily over the past few months and quickly gotten used to.
She was rubbing her eyes, until she realized that her hands were turning black. Right, she still had make-up on. Awesome. One of many things that seemed like a good idea late at night, but causing regret, never-failingly, in the non-forgiving, morning light.
She dragged herself out of bed, her head pounding as if she had had a few drinks too many. Had it not been for the fact that she was hungry, starving, she probably would have stayed in bed. It wasn't as if she had a whole lot of other things to do.
She pulled up the blinds. She was on the second floor, her dorm room window facing the nearby ocean and providing her with one of the prettiest scenes she had ever been fortunate enough to experience. On a good, clear day, she had the view of the blue ocean stretching into eternity. It made her feel insignificant, her problems seem insignificant, and she loved it.
She would be lying if she said that she didn't enjoy the freedom of walking around in her teeny tiny sleep shorts and slightly see through tank top in the abandoned hallway. Other girls did it all the time, not caring the least who could see, but she was too self-conscious.
The dorm was co-Ed, genders alternating by story, and there we often overnight guests walking around on the floor. Male overnight guests.
Today, not so much. She wondered if her voice would echo in the emptiness if she was to sing out loud, but her throat was hurting from crying and she was in no mood to sing. One of these days, she was going to try it, though.
The cafeteria would be closed for the whole break, and she wasn't overly upset about it. She could use a break from the diet of untasty burgers and soggy French fries.
She had loaded up on groceries, keeping them in the joint pantry in the small floor kitchen area to reduce the clutter of her room, and since nobody else was there, she wasn't worried about anyone stealing her food.
...
He awoke in the morning, still tired despite the too many hours of sleep. He dragged himself out of bed. Had it not been for the fact that he was hungry, starving, he probably would have stayed in bed. It wasn't as if he had a whole lot of other things to do.
His stomach was growling. Shit, the cafeteria was closed. He hadn't really done much grocery shopping and he was too hungry to make the drive now.
He was munching on some left over...in all honesty, he wasn't sure what it was. Not a great sign.
He smiled as he quickly came up with a plan B. The girls' floor downstairs. Genius. No one would be there. He had had a few friends during freshman year at that floor. There were always left overs in the pantry there, in difference from the counterpart on his. Guys were pigs, hungry pigs.
His wing had never been this quiet before. There were usually someone yelling loudly while playing video games, or singing along to the too loud music, or arguing with their girlfriends. Had it been a regular Saturday morning, he would have probably run into people just coming home from their late night adventures. Heck, he might have just been getting home. Instead, he had spent his first night of spring break going to sleep early. Oh, how things could change in a year.
He kind of liked the quietness. It allowed him to think. And thinking was all this week was about.
...
He saw her before she noticed him, her back towards him, her tiny arms resting on the small kitchen counter. Her long brown hair was covering her shoulder blades, the waves almost grazing her petite waist and the elastic of the teeny tiny sleep shorts her ass was covered by.
He was surprised to see her. To see anyone. He had thought he was the only one who had made the by many questionable decision to stay in the dorms over the break. He was kind of happy he had thought wrong.
She seemed preoccupied as she was writing something, scribbling away in some old notebook, swaying her body a little back and forth while doing so, engrossed in what he could only assume to be some sort of creative masterpiece.
He hadn't even seen her face to face and he was already intrigued.
She was munching on something, absentmindedly, her back still to him. What the fuck was she eating? Something from a jar. A glass jar. Pickles? How was that even possible? Who ate those green disgusting things for breakfast? Or for any other meal, for that matter? He, and every other sane person in the universe, viewed them as a nuisance, something one was forced to remove from the otherwise delicious burger from the nearby fast-food restaurant. He guessed she was the exception to that rule. That, or she simply wasn't sane.
He prayed that she had something else to eat stashed away in the cabinets. Anything else would do.
How long could he spy on her before it was to be considered inappropriate? He decided that he was probably already a few minutes passed that point, but he didn't care. He liked the view.
He suddenly recalled that he wasn't wearing a shirt, for absolutely no other reason than being overdue for laundry and he was too uninspired to complete such a hauntingly excruciating task during the first day of the long-awaited break. In all fairness, he had thought the building was empty.
She literally jumped when he cleared his throat a few minutes later, voluntarily ending his peeping session as he was scared that his growling stomach would give him away otherwise.
She turned around with a terrified expression on her face, as if, despite the bright sunshine lighting up the entire building, he had attacked her in a dark alley. She looked as if she had expected a ghost. And the expression on her face told him that he might as well could have been one.
"Hello".
She didn't answer, still in shock.
He tried to place her, quickly assessing if he had seen her somewhere before, but couldn't place her face.
"I don't think I know you, are you new or something?"
The fearfulness on her face gradually transformed into barely concealed disgust.
"I met you during freshman orientation, we have had several classes together and you kissed me, scratch that, we made out at that big party last year. Can't believe you don't even remember me..."
He blanked, not knowing what to say, second-guessing his gut feeling that he had never interacted with her before. Weird, because he knew, just knew, that if he had, he would recognize her. She had a face to remember. And making out with her would definitely be something worthy to memorize. He was pretty sure it would have been one of his favorite memories. Of all time.
So strange.
She laughed at his face of confusion, deciding to put him out of his misery even though she enjoyed it a little too much. Her laughter sounded rusty, almost as if she hadn't done it for a long time, or maybe wasn't used to doing it, and he realized that she was joking.
He wasn't entirely pleased that she thought she knew enough about him already to assume that he would be the type of guy to hook up with girls and forget them. He was even more bothered that he had hesitated, and thereby proven her right.
But she was wrong. He wasn't really like that. At least not anymore.
"I just transferred here a few months ago."
He nodded. That made much more sense. He didn't know everyone at the school, but someone like her, he would remember. No doubt about it. He had been so busy over the last few months that any newcomers had remained just an anonymous face in the crowd.
He decided to ignore his embarrassment. "So, I know we just met and this is kind of straightforward, but I'm hungry, actually starving, and was hoping that you may have something to throw my way."
She shrugged. "There's pickles." He made a face, as if he had just entered the men's bathroom upstairs and someone had yet again failed to flush the toilet.
"That's all you have to offer?" He wasn't entirely sure that he was still talking about food. "What would you like?" She was clearly not picking up on his innuendo, as her voice was completely void of any double meaning. He wasn't sure if she didn't hear it or simply choose to ignore it. He was leaning towards the latter, though.
"Don't know. Definitely not pickles, though."
She shrugged, as if saying 'your loss'.
"I have some eggs, don't know if you can work some magic with those."
"I don't know, I mean, maybe pancakes, but I would need a better kitchen to make something edible...". He scanned the small cooking area. Nope. Wouldn't work.
"I thought a good cook can cook anywhere".
He made a second take, at first mistaking her saying 'cock', strangely excited by the obscenity coming from her, but quickly realizing that he had misheard her.
They had met less than 5 minutes ago and she was already mocking him.
He decided that he liked it.
He would bet that she was immune to the good looks he was well aware that he had, given that he was shirtless, his shorts slung low on his hips, and she didn't seem to register it. Or care.
That was unusual.
Unheard of, even.
He decided that he liked that too.
"That only leaves cereal."
He shrugged. "Beggars can't be choosers."
"Clearly". She was apparently a fan of sarcasm. He was apparently a fan of her.
She handed him a bowl and turned back to her book.
"Serve yourself".
The conversation was clearly over.
He had just met her, but she was unquestionably the thinking type, introverted, believing that she should and could keep things inside. Yet, it was as if he was able to read her like the open book that was on the counter, the book she had been writing in before he interrupted her from her thoughts.
She had some type of figurative wall put up, and it was funny to him, because the wall was so blatantly obvious that it inadvertently served the complete opposite of its intended purpose, as, rather than keeping him out, it made him more intrigued to see what was hidden behind it. He was willing to climb it. Walk around it. Or maybe even break it down.
It also seemed like she was the crying type, as a smudged line of what could only be presumed to be dried up mascara was clearly visible on her face. It instantly bothered him to no end.
She was so pretty.
He had always claimed that he preferred blondes, but he was more than willing to change that position on the spot.
Done.
She walked away from him without saying bye, as she became acutely aware of her semi-visible nipples peeking through the thin material of her light tank top, logging her beat up notebook and the half-eaten bowl of cereal.
"Don't steal the rest of my food", and he shook his head in promise.
It wasn't as if she had anything he wanted anyways.
Any food that is.
She had plenty of other things he wanted.
He watched her leave, as he was still munching contently on her sugary cereal. Delicious. And he was thinking about the breakfast, not her ass.
...
She flinched when she entered the bathroom, her mirror reflection a mess of unbrushed hair and black mascara smudges.
The silhouettes of her nipples were clearly visible through her shirt.
So much for the freedom of the hallways.
And way to make a good impression. Maybe he didn't notice.
Not that she cared either way.
...
He was in his room, thinking and finally writing. He felt more inspired than for months. Maybe it was the relief of knowing that he had a week of complete freedom in front of him. Freedom from everything, from everyone.
He couldn't focus entirely, though. Why couldn't he get the thought of her in her teeny tiny shorts out of his head? Or those nipples, God, he wanted to...focus.
Why the fuck was it bothering him so much that she had been crying? He knew, that in this case, in difference from the many other crying girls on campus over the past few years, it had absolutely nothing to do with him.
It wasn't as if she would allow him to make it better even if he did know how. Oh, he could think of quite a few ways of comforting her.
Yeah.
Focus.
...
She may have hated the beach, but she did enjoy spending time outside, the vacuumed air of the dorm room already almost suffocating her.
She decided to go for a run. Or maybe a walk. She settled on a combination of the two, walking along the beach and then jogging slowly around campus.
She was on her way back when a voice broke the serene silence. She knew who it was without turning around. There weren't that many options, after all.
He was catching up to her.
"Hey, you, Pickle."
She cringed. She loved them, hated nicknames. Especially food nicknames. Ewww.
"Don't call me that, it makes me feel like I'm in trouble. Like I'm in a pickle."
He enjoyed the way her nose scrounged up when she was in disagreement. Which, for some reason, he could predict to be pretty often.
If she was the pickle, he definitely wanted to be in one.
His intoxicating laughter made another appearance.
She was a little offended that he didn't remember her actual name, until she recalled that she hadn't given it to him. And she, coincidentally, didn't know his, either.
"It's Ally", not bothering extending her sweaty hand.
"Austin", still panting hard as he had been running fast to catch up to her.
Of course he was named after a city in Texas. Why not. Why the fuck not.
God. There was laughter, panting, sweat, cut off shirt and the smell of cologne and man, all in a mix, bottled up into the visually pleasing package that was him. She didn't know why it if effected her, why he effected her, but he did. She was lucky she had a strong, very strong, mind as her body was responding to him in all sorts of ways. Lucky, indeed. Otherwise, he could get a pickle into her, as her mind and body were not always in agreement with the whole celibacy thing.
But that was the absolutely last thing that she needed.
At least according to her head.
"Why are you running so fast? It's a beautiful day, you should enjoy it." She was. The day more so than the exercise. And even a little bit more so since he had uninvitedly joined her.
"I.. have...to...stay...in...shape", he was still catching his breath, "I'm on the basketball team".
"I know."
He couldn't stop himself from smiling as he realized that just because he didn't recognize her, didn't mean she didn't know who he was. He just hoped she had heard something positive.
She was clearly not an athlete, but he admired her effort. A for effort, F for efficacy. She looked like she was in physical pain although he knew she was just bored.
He had slowed down substantially, now keeping her slow, steady pace. He was glancing at her, sideways. She noticed but ignored him. She was running, not to be distracted.
By anything.
By anyone.
"You look prettier without that black stuff on your face." He meant it. She was even prettier without the dried trails of tears gracing her fair skin.
She laughed, cynically. "The guy that thinks girls are prettier without make-up is dating the real-life version of Barbie. A little ironic, don't you think?"
He laughed out loud again, this time at the uncanny accuracy of her nickname for his currently-on-a-break-from girlfriend.
"I didn't know you knew so much about me". He liked it. Really liked it.
"I don't. I saw you guys outside of the dorms yesterday, that's all."
He smiled again, as he recalled the strange feeling he had had of being observed the day before. Now, knowing that it had been her, he genuinely didn't mind.
She could do nothing but stare at him all day and it would still be the best day ever.
"First of all, I don't mind make-up, but I don't believe it's intended use is to be smeared in black spots all over your face. Please correct me if I'm wrong."
Damn. So he had noticed.
"And Barbie and I..." he was smirking, "it's...complicated", he concluded, realizing that he didn't owe her an explanation. And frankly, it didn't seem like she would care for one.
She hated herself with a passion for being intrigued.
They jogged in silence for a few minutes, the pace way too slow for him, but he enjoyed the company too much to speed up and leave her behind. Something told him, though, that he would be better off if he kept quiet.
They were a few hundred yards away from the dorm when he spoke again.
"Come on, I'll race you back".
"Yeah, whatever", as she continued in the same slow pace. He ran with her, still not wanting to leave her side, when suddenly, about 100 yards away from the entrance, she started sprinting. Fast. As fast as she could.
It caught him completely off-guard, and he stalled for a few seconds in surprise, inadvertently given her an unintended head start. They reached the door at the same time, both reaching for the handle, her reaching it first and his hand landing on top of hers, completely covering it.
She pulled back, surprised by the skin to skin contact. She didn't do that.
They entered the lobby, and she was laughing, uncontrollably, the rustiness of it decreasing further with each breath. It almost sounded like a real laugh. Almost.
"I won."
"You tricked me". He tried to sound upset but failed miserably.
"Maybe". He loved her laughter. Shit, he wanted to bottle it up, sell it for profit, but more than anything, he wanted to be the reason behind it. It was weird. He didn't even know her.
She started to walk towards the stairway.
"I have to take a shower. See ya!"
"Yeah, see you around". He decided to be frank as his concealed attempts of flirting with her earlier in the day had been coldly ignored. "Unless you want some company in that shower."
Her laughter got stuck in her throat, and she didn't know what to say as pictures of them showering together quickly entered her head and was equally quickly blocked out. Not going to happen. She couldn't think of a witty response, so she settled on ignoring him again. It had worked earlier in the morning.
She was climbing the stairs, her heart beating fast, and not just because of the fast-paced race.
...
It had been his idea. A week to himself. Away from partying, away from her, away from the team, clear his head and pursue his actual dream. He never had the time, between school and basketball and Cassidy claiming all his time in between.
She hadn't taken it well, but he knew that she was going to take any opportunity to hook-up with random guys, and most likely rub it in his face when coming back.
That didn't bother him. What bothered him was the fact that that didn't bother him.
As he let the hot water run down his body, he realized he wasn't missing Cassidy at all.
...
She was in the girls' lounge, lazily draped on the too old couch, not wanting to spend another night in the contained space that quickly started to remind her of a prison cell.
The light from the nearby window was gradually decreasing as the day was approaching it's unavoidable death.
It was Saturday night. During Spring Break. And she was by herself, reading a book while intermittently scratching down some lyrics.
Oh, how things had changed in a year.
She had just started to get into the intricate plot when she heard the door to the wing open.
"What's up, Pickle?"
"Ally"
"I think I'm going to stick with Pickle".
It would only be fair, then, if she came up with a nickname for him. For some strange reason, she had a feeling she would be seeing him around a lot.
"Fine...dimples."
"Wow, what an insult", the fantastic laughter that she had gotten a sneak preview of both the previous day and earlier in the morning filling the room like much-needed air freshener.
"Maybe I don't like dimples?" She did. Like a lot.
He laughed again. "Care for some company?" as he sat down next to her without waiting for her hesitant answer.
She really wasn't sure. Her mind said no. Her body said yes yes yes.
"What are you reading anyways?" She held up the book, showing him the cover, not tearing her eyes away from the text as she pretended that she was still reading. As if she could focus on the book with him so close by. The hair on his arm was tickling hers. He didn't move and she figured the sexual energy almost pulsating through the room was a product of her own, and only her own, imagination.
Besides, he had a complicated girlfriend.
"Oh, I read that already".
That did it. Her focus was completely gone, and she could no longer pretend to keep her eyes on the pages. She felt bad as she realized that surprise was written all over her face.
"What, you assumed I was illiterate because I'm an athlete?" He sounded offended.
"No". Ashamed.
"Because I'm good looking?". Now, he was smirking. She kind of wanted to punch him.
"Maybe because you're conceded."
Quick wit. He loved it. It was nice to have a conversation with a girl, for a change.
"What is that old saying again? Damn. I can't remember it. No, wait. Don't judge a book by it's cover. You seem to be a reader, maybe you should memorize that one."
Her face was burning, as she had done just that. He decided to put her out of her misery, even if he did enjoy it a little too much.
He changed the topic.
"Do you always eat and write at the same time?" He nodded to the bowl and notebook on the table next to her, recalling that she had done the same in the morning before his interruption.
God, had he only just met her today?
"Food gives me inspiration".
Interesting, he would remember that.
He was curious as to what she was writing, but knew better than to ask.
"So who goes first?"
"Huh?" She had no clue what he was taking about.
"Who is going to tell their story first?"
She shook her head. "I don't have a story".
"Everyone does. Especially those staying in the dorms for spring break".
She shrugged. "I had absolutely no better place to be." It sounded exactly as sad as it was.
He hesitated.
"So it's pretty clear someone hurt you." It wasn't a question.
"Yep" Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.
"Like...physically?" He hesitated again.
"No...unless a shattered heart constitutes a physical injury."
Oh. He was weirdly relieved, as the thought of someone laying hands on her almost made him see black. Not that a broken heart made him feel that much better, but that was to be expected. They were in college. Some guys were assholes. Sad story, but nothing new.
"Well, you know what they say, when life gives you lemons, say fuck it, get some salt and tequila and throw one hell of a party."
She actually laughed. "Good thing you didn't stick with the traditional one. Because I have drunk so much lemonade that I think I'm chronically allergic."
She was trying to joke, but he could tell she was starting to shut him out.
"Maybe set up a side business and sell some?"
"I could pay me college tuition with that profit." Her laugh was fake.
It was completely dark outside. Bed time.
She rose, gathering her things.
"Good night, Pickle."
"Good night, Dimples."
It made him smile, inadvertently treating her to a full display of the reasons behind the nickname.
She walked towards her room, well aware that he was still observing her.
He was checking out her ass. Yes. Yes, he was. So sue him. It was a nice one.
...
She was in bed,brazing herself for hours of insomnia.
Strangely, it had been the best Saturday night that she could remember.
She fell asleep, without any major emotional struggle.
It must be due to all that exercise.