Chapter 2:
He took a drag from his cigarette, letting smoke fill his lungs before letting a deep breath out. Letting his arm hang over the back of his worn couch, Garry glanced at the piece of paper between his fingers. There it was. Eleven seemingly innocent numbers staring back at him, daring him to pick up his phone and dial. He narrowed his eyes at the little instigators.
It had been two days since meeting Ib again in the cafe. Two days of annoying, inner inquirers bouncing around on the inside of his skull, banging on his brain and yelling for answers he did not posses.
What was horrible was that Garry shouldn't have to be stressing about this. He was twenty-nine-years-old. He should be able to handle something as inconsequential as a phone number. From a girl so much younger than him, no less. He wondered if that were the issue, then shook it off. No, her age shouldn't make him so weary. They'd gotten along just fine when she was nine, and they'd get along alright now that she was sixteen. Seven years shouldn't make a difference.
Well, that was a silly assumption. Of course seven years would make a difference. There was no way they couldn't.
Garry shifted, putting out his cigarette and then moving forward to let his head hang between his knees. Closing violet eyes, he let his thoughts drift, as per usual. So say he called her. Then... what?
They'd certainly see each other again. And maybe regularly. But what could they possibly talk about? What could they have in common? He was an adult, she still a child. She wouldn't understand if he tried speaking about work, and if she tried gossiping, he'd be hopelessly lost.
So why—
Garry shook his head fast, getting himself a bit dizzy in the process as he jumped to his feet. No more pondering, he decided. He'd always been a curious, thoughtful individual, but sometimes, action was better.
Without further ado, he grabbed his old-fashioned flip-phone from the table next to his couch that also held his ashtray, holding up the slip of paper with surprisingly steady hands and dialing.
The line rung three times, and Garry debated hanging up, but then there was a faint click and an even fainter "Hello?" from the other line.
"Hi," the man answered back.
There was silence for a moment, then, "Who's this?"
Garry frowned. Did Ib regularly give her number out, then, to not know who it was when an unfamiliar number called? That made him feel a bit upset. Shaking it off, he said, "Garry."
"Oh!" There was shuffling from Ib's end, and if he listened closely, he could have sworn he heard something heavy drop to the ground, creating a dull thud. "Funny, I almost thought you wouldn't call."
I almost didn't. Dismissing the thought, he laughed. "Really, now? You used to have so much faith in me!"
"You used to be the only one I could have faith in."
She had a point.
Garry flopped onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he tried to start over. "So, uh, how have you been? I mean, how was your day?"
"It was okay."
"...Learn anything new in school?"
"You sound like my mom."
He winced. He felt like her mom. Or, at the very least, a distant adult. Which, he supposed was what he really was.
"This is weird," she finally said after a moment of quiet.
He nodded, then, realizing she couldn't see, added, "Yes, it is."
"What are you doing right now?" she asked.
Garry looked around his small living room. "Not much," he admitted. "Why?"
"Do you want to meet me somewhere?"
–
An hour later, and he was in the park thirty minutes away from his home. It had been a bit of a drive, but he supposed it was worth it. Ib certainly seemed happy about it.
Well, sort of. She had smiled, at the very least, but that was the extent of it. He wondered why she was so... blank all the time. Was it trauma? From the incident? He wouldn't doubt it. She'd only been a little girl...
"What are you thinking about?" Ib inquired, staring straight at him. He felt his cheeks heat up. She certainly had no quandary with eye contact. Garry had to admit, it made him feel a little uncomfortable. Like she was scrutinizing him, judging. It made him feel less like an adult and more like a child. Which he couldn't say he liked.
He shrugged. "Nothing."
She pursed her lips, obviously not believing him, but he grinned at her, reaching out and patting her on the head. "Don't worry about it, kid," he told her.
Was that a pout? "I'm not a kid."
"Of course you are," he argued. "You're what—sixteen?"
"I'm a young adult!"
Garry couldn't help the teasing smirk that settled on his face, just above his chin and right below his nose. "You've always been a little adult," he told her. "Like a mini-grown-up." That was true. She'd been mature, knowing just what she wanted. She hadn't whined, hadn't given up, like most children tended to do.
He hated those kinds of kids, but Ib had never been a child, since he'd known her.
She crossed her arms, however, finally turning her gaze from him, towards a swing set. They had a clear view of the playground from their spot on a bench. "Sure," she mumbled.
Smiling, he patted her head, to which she swatted his hand away. "That's so condescending," she said, irritable.
"Whoa, that's a big word, Ib," he teased. "I remember when you hardly knew any words exceeding two syllables."
"Oh, shush. I was nine."
"I know, I know."
They sat in silence for a moment, but for once, it wasn't uncomfortable. They were simply enjoying each others company, and it was almost nice. No, it was nice. It felt right. Why? Quiet moments were usually awkward, tense.
Then again, Ib had been quiet when she was younger, and he never had an issue with it.
"What have you been doing the last few years?" she finally asked, though she wasn't looking at him. Instead, her gaze was fixed on the ground.
"Just regular life things, I suppose. I rented an apartment, got a job at the local college." He chuckled at his next thought. "Art History."
That gained him a laugh. "Really?" She glanced at him through heavy lashes, lips formed into a grin.
Garry nodded, and Ib laughed again.
He liked her laugh. Quite a lot, if he were being honest with himself.
"What else?" she asked. Sudden color flooded her cheeks. "Are you married?"
He shook his head, purple locks flying about his ears. "No."
"Oh."
"How about you?" she gave him a strange look, and he corrected himself, "I'm not asking if you're married, of course. That's silly. Um, what has your life been like?"
Ib shrugged, looking at her feet which swung above the ground. "Normal, for a teenager, I suppose. I go to school, hang out with my friends, do my homework, and go to bed. Nothing especially exciting or adventurous." Unexpectedly, she stood. "Speaking of, I have to get going now, though. I have classes tomorrow." She bit her lip, looking a bit worried. "You'll call again, right?"
He smiled softly at her, rising to his feet. He ruffled her hair once more. "Of course."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Stop that," she demanded. Then, she raised a hand, crooking her finger at him in a gesture to come closer. He slouched down a bit, and she rose onto her toes.
And then she kissed him.
Millions of questions ran through his mind. Why was Ib doing this? To him? She was just a little girl. Young woman. Teenager. Whatever she was, she was young. Thirteen years his junior. She shouldn't kiss him.
Yet, he found himself unable to pull away.
It was simple and sweet, just the pressing of lips together. Her hands on his shoulders, his hanging loosely by his sides. Her eyes was closed, and he almost wanted his to be, too. He almost wanted to enjoy this.
Alas, she pulled away, cheeks flushed a flattering shade of pink. He was sure he matched.
"Bye," she said.
Then she walked away.
–
A/n: Sorry this took so long OTL. Life gets in the way, y'know?
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