Chapter 3: Like a Virgin
Madeline had no idea why her sister was so irritated during the remainder of their visit to the mall. When she tried to ask Amelia about it, no explanation could be pried from those tersely shut lips. And while they did manage to get some shopping done, Amelia barely said a word throughout the whole ordeal. It was puzzling, to say the least.
The moment they got back home around three in the afternoon, Amelia apologised to her sister.
"Sorry Mads, I know you wanted to spend the whole day shopping, but I got a headache. I'm going up to my room now, take a nap. I promise to make it up to you some other time, okay?"
"Why didn't you say so?" Madeline berated her twin. "We could have gone home much earlier if I'd known…"
Amelia shook her head. "Doesn't matter. Tell dad I don't wanna be disturbed when he gets home. Love you Maddie."
Madeline nodded, eyes filled with concern, which Amelia hated to see. Especially since she didn't have a headache at all. No, Amelia had much different plans in her mind than simply sleeping away her bad mood. Plans put there by a certain Russian succubus, or whichever other vile creature she could possibly be.
The girl sprinted up the stairs and made a B-line for her bedroom. As soon as she was inside, she randomly discarded the bags filled with clothes and Kiku's video game, and locked the door behind her. Pulling her shirt over her head, Amelia grumbled to herself under her breath.
"I'm not prude at all, miss I-know-everything-about-sex. As if every woman likes going to the gynaecologist." She stood still in front of the mirror, angry expression reflected back at her. The girl cast her gaze aside as her hand hesitantly crept down over her slightly pudgy stomach, halting at the zipper of her favourite pair of jeans.
Was she really going to masturbate just because some better-than-thou doctor had called her a prude?
Her hand pressed down between her legs, palm first.
Well, apparently she was.
Ignoring the mirror, Amelia went back to the bed. It had been a long time since she'd used this bed for anything other than sleeping, seeing as she was away for college during the year nowadays. She wouldn't be doing this if her father were at home, or if Maddie's room was right next to hers (it wasn't; Amelia had gotten the spacious attic room while her sister opted for the more cramped but snug bedroom they had shared as kids).
Amelia put on some music to help herself relax; what fun was there to masturbating when all you could think about was an annoying woman mocking you for your sexual activities (or lack thereof)? That would be angry masturbating. Like hate-sex, but with your hand.
"Ngh…" Amelia had begun palming herself through her pants, giving languid strokes from the front all the way to the back. She could feel herself slowly heating up at the stimulation; apparently the thought of hate-masturbation wasn't a turnoff.
Taking off the soon too tightly fitting jeans, Amelia lay down on the bed, listening to the soothing lyrics pouring from her CD player. It was a hand-me-down from her mother. One of Amelia's most cherished treasures.
"Hah…" The stroking alone was getting her wet; Amelia could feel her panties becoming moist as she pressed her fingers along the fabric. She hooked her thumb under the rim of the small piece of cloth, pulling it down to her ankles, letting it dangle from one slim foot. A whiff of her own arousal caressed her nose and she felt an urgent thump down there in response.
Amelia used one hand to draw small circles over and around her clitoris, the other playing absentmindedly with blond pubic hairs. When she closed her eyes, she could see Anya's face flashing before them.
See? Who is the prude now, huh?
Taking it one step beyond, Amelia moved her hand a little bit further south, tip of her index finger now pressing against her entrance. She had never actually tried fingering herself, somehow always apprehensive of doing something that intimate. But what was the harm in giving yourself pleasure? Surely other women did it too. Surely no prude girl would ever finger herself.
On that note, she pressed in. A loud gasp, eyes flying open. She could feel…she could feel…
~o~
Amelia hated her entire existence. She felt stupid. Not that she was stupid, of course she wasn't. Even her teachers often told her she was brilliant. It was just that, sometimes even the most brilliant of minds are subjected to, err, bodily urges. And while under the influence of said urges, the brilliant-minded can be persuaded into performing less than brilliant acts.
Which is why Amelia Jones had had to make up an excuse for leaving the house so suddenly, grab a bus, and come back to this dreaded place of torturous terror she had so cowardly fled not even a week ago. Stupid, stupid hormones! If there had been any other hospital closer by she would have gone there instead, but nooooo, this gynaecologist had to be the only one in their region.
Amelia tried to find a more comfortable position to sit in as she waited for her turn, wincing at every little movement. There were tears trying to break through as waves of humiliation wracked her quivering form. She did not want to do this, not in the slightest. Amelia did not want to go in there and face her shame—not only because of what she'd done last time, but what she had managed to somehow do today. Amelia was never going to live this through, she just knew it. Today would forever be etched into her memory as the worst day of her life. And all because she got the stupidest ideas when she was horny.
"Miss Jones? Your turn," the nurse called, barely looking up from her computer.
Amelia gulped. Stood up, slowly walked to the door. Swallowed again, before in one movement taking hold of the doorknob and swinging aside the one barrier separating her from doctor Braginskaya's office.
The moment their eyes locked, Amelia once more confirmed for herself that this had been a Bad Idea. She knew it from the flash of surprise in that light purple gaze, the quirking of rosy lips. Had their previous meeting been amusing to the woman, this one had to be the pinnacle of entertainment.
The fair doctor immediately put aside the documents she had been looking over, beaming up at her young visitor from over the gold-edged rim of her reading glasses. "Well, well, if it isn't Amelia Jones!" she said, parroting her earlier greeting. "I certainly did not expect seeing you back again, and definitely not so soon. Have you changed your mind about the check-up?"
While the woman kept her tone as light-hearted as possible, Amelia could feel the little hairs on her arms and neck rise at the almost condescendingly gentle crooning coming from the source of all her problems.
Argh, this woman was so infuriating! Why couldn't she be like the other gynaecologists? At least they let the nurses take care of questionnaires and long-lived preparations. No, not doctor Anya Braginskaya. She preferred to do all the work herself, not only due to a lack of staff operating the small machinery of her office, but to keep up an air of amicable familiarity and homeliness, to "put her clients at ease". Amelia had been informed by the nurse making up her appointment that the pale woman wanted to treat her patients like real people, individuals, herself functioning as a person with a face and a personality, someone you could talk to and whom you could trust to keep your most intimate secrets.
Right now, Amelia would have preferred getting treatment from a faceless robot, with Amelia being just another anonymous number. At least then she wouldn't have to deal with burning cheeks and being subjected to a smile so sickeningly sweet and above all, outrageously condescending, it made Amelia want to throw up in her own mouth. Just a little, to make a statement, but the urge was present nonetheless.
This is all your fault, Amelia thought, bitterly.
A perfectly depilated eyebrow was raised, Anya gesturing to a chair. "Why don't you come in? It must be chilly over there, standing in the doorway." Was the woman concerned about her patient's health, or the possibility of a draft threatening her own? Amelia didn't know, couldn't even begin to know. It was frustrating, she was frustrating to deal with, and yet…she somehow evoked a sense of curiosity within Amelia's ever-inquisitive mind.
The girl begrudgingly let go of the doorknob, saying goodbye to a good friend, her safety belt. Had this been a superhero flick, a handprint left behind in the metal would have been proof of Amelia's current distress. Hands balled to nervously twitching fists, legs itching to repeat the previous flight. But this time she wasn't here for just a regular check-up, this time she really needed help.
"No," Amelia spoke, carefully nudging the door shut behind her trembling figure, lest anyone overhear their conversation. "I didn't come for a check-up, I…I think something's wrong."
In the blink of an eye, Doctor Braginskaya's entire demeanour changed. All teasing banter was over and done with as she switched to Professional Mode. Her gaze hardened, body sitting up straighter, hands folded on top of the desk. Any lingering animosity Amelia could have possibly still felt was pushed to the back of her mind as anxiousness took over. She had come here for a reason, a clear and important goal. Her health was at stake here. This could be the real deal.
"Please, have a seat," Anya requested once more, gesturing at the empty chair before her.
Amelia took one look at the piece of furniture and instantly felt her gut contract. The young American shook her head. "I think I'd rather stand."
Anya quirked an eyebrow. "If that is what you prefer. Now, what seems to be the problem?"
Amelia balanced on one foot, then the other, before coming to a complete halt. All this jittering was causing unpleasantness to occur downstairs.
"I'm bleeding."
A second eyebrow joined the first, no words leaving the doctor's mouth.
Amelia noticed, and impatiently clacked her tongue. "Not that kind of bleeding! I'm…I'm pretty sure I'm hurt. Down there." Her cheeks heated up, gaze wandering off. Why oh why could she never back down from a challenge once presented to her? She wouldn't be in this mess were it not for her competitive nature.
Anya adjusted her glasses, looking pensive. "Do you have any idea what might have caused the problem?"
Cheeks flushed a darker red. Yes. "No. One moment, everything was fine, the next, I'm bleeding. Can you please tell me I'm not losing my uterus or anything?"
Anya finally smiled, a real, reassuring one. "I can assure you, if it was something really serious, you would probably not be standing here and you definitely would not have the strength to calmly convey to me your troubles." She rose, opened a drawer and began shuffling things around in it. "Now then. Let us take a look, da?"
Amelia's legs instinctively clenched together. "Can we do this without an examination?"
Anya gave her a look that managed to be both empathic and stern.
"Miss Jones." Amelia shivered under that gaze, the way her name was pronounced. "It is the fastest, easiest, and above all, most precise way to check what is wrong with your body. Sure, we can just talk about where it hurts and speculate, but I cannot give you adequate treatment that way."
Amelia felt her resolve waver, one fear fighting for dominance with another. She either had to spread her legs, or maybe die of…of uterus cancer, or whatever may be the reason of her current problems.
Anya stepped around the desk, espadrilles once again exchanged for the more professional-career-woman high heels. "I promise you this: I will only look for the cause of your bleeding, nothing more, nothing less. Think of it as…oh! Going to the dentist! Only, I am a dentist who deals with female organs. Or are you afraid of the dentist as well?" She tilted her head, eyes wide as she waited for a response.
Amelia shook her head, still trembling. She balled her hands to fists. "Okayfine," she barked out. "Let's just get this over with." She gulped. I am not a coward. If other people can do it, so can I.
Anya flashed her most brilliant smile yet, one that lit up the almost unnatural colourisation of her eyes. "Splendid. I am proud of you, Amelia Jones."
After the doctor handed her a paper gown, Amelia noticed she had been gaping a little longer than social standards allowed, and quickly averted her eyes. Her heart was beating in her throat as she disappeared into the small changing room. No turning back now.
Amelia's hands were shaking when she slowly put down her handbag (Captain America themed; it was old and the colours were faded, but Amelia refused to replace it). She swallowed as her hands took hold of her shirt, easily lifting it over her head. Oh, how she wished Anya could just have given her a paper skirt, let her keep on the rest of her clothes. How she wished this could be done without needing to change at all.
After that, Amelia changed at the speed of light, not wanting her hesitation to be mistaken for any more anxiety (even though she was still nervous as all hell). The blonde realised she hadn't done her hair today; it must still be messy from before. There wasn't a mirror for her to check. Still, so far, Anya didn't seem to have noticed, or maybe she had and just didn't care. The woman wasn't a hairdresser, after all.
Amelia closed her eyes, steeling her nerves. You can do this. You can do this! Just think of it as something like getting an eye exam. Because that was a little less unnerving than imagining going to the dentist; not that she ever had much trouble with her teeth.
Amelia stepped out again, lips clenched shut, knees wobbly. Still, she didn't back down. Even if this had to be the most nerve-wracking moment in her entire existence, showing fear was always a bad move. She simply had to grit her teeth and persevere.
Anya was already standing over by the bed Amelia had noticed on her first visit, hands covered by disposable gloves, sleeves rolled up so that they couldn't get in the way. She smiled again when Amelia caught her eye, before gesturing at the bed. "Please, lie down."
Amelia wobbled over, and did as told. She couldn't keep her eyes from traveling down, locking miserably with her toes. Not that it was a reassuring sight, seeing as her legs were propped up and open. Who ever invented this torture device? Probably a guy.
"Are you comfortable? I can always adjust your position."
Amelia licked her dry lips. "N-no, I'm fine." I think.
Anya nodded, before grabbing one of the strange objects lying on the table next to her. "I can explain what these do for you, so you know what to expect," she told Amelia, who nodded in relief. Anya pointed at the thing currently in her hand. "This is a speculum. I use it to open up the vagina, to give me a better look inside. It is lubricated, so it should not hurt upon entrance." She demonstrated how it opened and closed, and Amelia locked onto it with big eyes.
"That's going. Inside me."
Anya nodded again. "It will be hard to see anything without using instruments like these. The most important thing is for you to relax. I repeat: I will not hurt you. I will first check your outer organs, all right?"
Amelia gave a jerk of the head, which Anya interpreted as a "go ahead". Amelia watched on as Anya positioned herself in between the girl's spread knees. It was one of the weirdest experiences she'd ever had. Shutting her eyes wasn't going to help; she'd rather know at all times exactly what the other was doing.
Although, it was hard to keep looking when Anya began her exam, inspecting the exterior of Amelia's reproductive organs first. "There seems to be nothing wrong on the outside," she was mumbling to herself, Amelia letting a little sigh of relief escape. Anya frowned, looked closer. Amelia's already quickened heartbeat accelerated alongside these movements.
"I will have to check inside now, okay?"
That was the only warning the girl got before Anya picked up her beloved device, and began gently inserting it. Amelia's cheeks heated up as the sensation prickled every nerve in her body. This was very different from inserting a tampon. This was VERY WEIRD. And it did hurt, a little, a sort of straining, stretching sensation. Although that could partially just be her nerves working against her. She'd never had anyone insert anything in there. Amelia was about ready to start screaming in indignation, but caught herself last-minute, lips squeezed shut once more. This was all normal, right? All women had to go through this sooner or later. What was it Anya had said again? Right, relax. Don't think about the weird thing currently oh god it's spreading shit what's happening right now please stop—
Anya gave a noncommittal hum that caused Amelia's spiralling thought processes to slip to a full stop. "You are still a virgin, right?" she asked, and Amelia didn't dare look down to see if the woman was looking at her.
"Y-yeah? What about it?" the girl asked, voice shaky and high.
Another pause. "I see what the problem is." Anya looked up, the movement catching Amelia's gaze and instantly trapping it. She couldn't have looked away had she wanted to.
"Miss Jones, do not worry. There is nothing wrong with you."
"Nothing…nothing wrong?" Amelia felt both relieved and confused, and she was certain her expression translated those exact sentiments. "Then why was I—"
"Let me give you a little tip," Anya said, voice dropping to conspiring lows. "Next time you masturbate, try to clip your nails. It can be very unpleasant, having them scratch your body."
Amelia stared at the doctor for a long and pregnant moment. Her entire body was glowing. She was pretty sure her cheeks had to be a deep wine red by now. "H-how, how did you—"
Anya shrugged. "Since you are a virgin, there is no one else who could have caused this. And little wounds like these do not 'happen naturally'. It is just a little wound," she reassured upon seeing Amelia's eyes widen, "it will heal naturally." The doctor looked back down, giving Amelia's gaze a chance to escape, lock on something else. She had to, seeing how embarrassed, humiliated she felt right then and there. She had panicked for no good reason at all. This whole ordeal was her own stupid fault. Amelia's legs started to tremble, but she couldn't shut them in their current position, and with the doctor still finishing up her exam. Amelia was pretty sure that not every woman had to go through this. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"I am sorry."
Amelia blinked. Well, that came as a surprise. "What for?" she asked, voice quivering in shame.
"If this is because of what I said. At the mall."
Amelia's body jolted, instantly giving her away.
Anya offered a strained smile. "Right. I really do apologise. I had no idea you would react so strongly. I really did mean it, that there is nothing wrong with being prude. But it was not my place to tell you." Anya slowly shook her head. "I admit, I was a little…peeved, at having you run from my office, the other day. Maybe I was letting my emotions get the better of me. I should not have worked that out on you. That was very unprofessional of me."
Amelia finally looked down, eyes a frightening blue, eyebrows nearly disappearing behind her bangs. "Um, that's all very nice of you to say and stuff, but can you like, say that when you don't have your head between my legs?" Scratch the previous statement, THIS had to be the weirdest moment of her life.
Anya's eyes shot down, and she gave a hum. "Oh, right. Sorry. I did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable. Again." The doctor carefully pulled free the speculum, or whatever it was called. Amelia's body relaxed in relief, but tensed up again when Anya suddenly leant over her.
"I am sorry again. I know I said I would only look for the source of your bleeding earlier, but we are doing this now anyway; do I have permission to finish my examination? It will be over in a minute. I already looked at your pelvic area, I only need to check your breasts and you are free to go. No exams needed for months to come."
At the suggestion, Amelia's nipples automatically hardened, as if commanded to do so by Anya's words. But in the movies, whenever the actors were shirtless, their nipples were hard as well, so Amelia was pretty sure that this was a normal response and would in no way be any more embarrassing than getting an exam just because you'd accidentally scratched yourself while masturbating.
"Okay, sure, why not," the girl allowed weakly, giving a shrug. It's not like today can get any worse anyway.
Anya carefully lifted back the paper gown, and then gave Amelia what could only be described as a massage. The girl was pretty sure that Anya was checking for lumps or anything of the kind, but it definitely felt like she was giving tender strokes and caresses, moving in circular motions. Amelia let out a little squeak of surprise, to which Anya made gentle shushing noises, promising this wouldn't take long, she was doing amazing. Amelia started counting to ten in her head; ten, and if this wasn't done by then, she would freak out. She felt really uncomfortable, but not just because a strange woman was touching her breasts. It was because, despite herself, her body seemed to react positively to the unfamiliar attention. How much more mortifying could this visit get?!
Luckily for the both of them, Anya was done before Amelia's counting could be finished. She quickly covered her breasts up again, giving another reassuring smile. "You are a perfectly healthy young girl, Amelia. Except for the little scratch wound, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. You may go change."
Amelia wanted to sprint to the changing room as fast as possible, but the moment she slung her legs over the side of the bed, she felt like fainting. The blonde closed her eyes and took deep, deliberate breaths to steady herself, before carefully touching the cold tiles with her bare feet. Anya took care of cleaning up as Amelia staggered over to where she'd abandoned her belongings, heartbeat still quaking through her veins.
Be still, she told herself, her shivering form, both from the cold and something else, the pleasant touches of Anya's fingers still pulsating through her breasts. She walked with spread legs to accommodate the strange loose sensation in her nether regions. She was going to have to give her aunt a stern talking-to later, for ever suggesting she'd visit the gynaecologist. Crazy woman.
Amelia changed as fast as possible, feeling a little more at ease once her body was fully clothed and covered up. At least this was one thing she'd never-ever had to do again. Thus it was with slightly less red cheeks but much more quiet that she reappeared by Anya's desk, the doctor already seated once more.
"Are you feeling better now?" Anya asked sweetly, to which Amelia gave a begrudged nod. However, because Anya Braginskaya was Anya Braginskaya, of course she couldn't help herself.
"Oh, and by the way," she said in a chipper tone, rummaging through a different drawer and pulling out a small leaflet. "You really should clip your nails. I also have other advice—"
"No thanks," Amelia quickly tried cutting her off.
Anya smiled up at her. "But it will only improve your pleasure, and make for a much more comfortable experience! Cutting your nails is one thing, but you should also know to take it easy and not go to fast; a relaxed body gives the best response—"
"I really don't need your help," Amelia said with a laugh, head spinning when Anya pushed several papers with "tips" into her hands, for her to look through at home.
"—and it also helps to set the mood, oh, and wash your hands before and after, I can give you some soap that does not irritate the vagina, and make sure to stimulate different erogenous zones, and—"
"THANK YOU GOODBYE!"
Amelia sped off, away from that unstoppable waterfall of words. Anya may mean well…scratch that, she could just have well have told her all that because she was an evil witch who loved seeing her patients suffer. Either way, Amelia felt like she'd already blushed enough to cover a lifetime, and she really didn't need to sit through all of this. The examination was done, she was a-okay, and she never had to see this woman again, no thank you.
Back in the office, Anya was smiling to herself, finally settling down. She really hadn't meant to embarrass Amelia any further, but these tips really did help, and what was the point in making sure women stayed healthy and happy when they couldn't give themselves a full taste of happiness? Plus, for whatever reason, it was fun to tease Amelia Jones. Intriguing, even. Anya found herself interested by the girl's reactions, this prude little virgin, who had ran away on her first visit, and then came back because of an accident in the bedroom that was caused by her listening to Anya's own words…
Anya folded her hands beneath her chin, staring into her now empty office. Strange. She somehow felt almost sad about seeing the girl go. Her visits certainly brought a bit of life to the woman's monotone existence. Oh well.
"Next patient, please."
~o~
Arthur had just been catching up on the latest episode of Doctor Who when his daughter came home. He craned his neck to peer over the headrest of his favourite armchair (the girls usually preferred the couch, while steering clear of the recliner). After a bit of noise, Amelia came wobbling in, jerking to a halt when she noticed her father, before sending him a quick smile and continuing her way towards the kitchen. She was walking like she'd been riding horseback for too long.
Arthur scraped his throat. "How was your walk?" he asked. Earlier that afternoon, when Arthur had come home from work, he'd only found Madeline present. When asked about Amelia's whereabouts, the girl had shrugged, saying her sister had perhaps forgotten something at the store. Arthur didn't miss the soft frown accentuating those gentle features.
"Yeah, it was nice. I needed some fresh air," Amelia called back. Arthur could hear her popping open the fridge.
"We'll be eating in half an hour," Arthur reminded her sternly, "your sister put in an oven dish."
"Just getting drinks," Amelia reassured him. She came back, legs still awkwardly spread apart, can of Pepsi in one hand. Her smile was a bit strained.
"Amy, you know I don't like it when you bring drinks upstairs," Arthur said with a clack of the tongue, eyes still clinging to the girl's strange stance. He knew he should be asking if anything were wrong. He knew Amelia would deny all accusations on the spot. His girls did that sometimes. Anything to keep his mind at ease.
Amelia waved his concerns off with an off-handed gesture. "I promise to be careful. And if I do spill something, I'll clean it up myself. Don't worry dad, I'm a responsible girl." She turned towards the hallway again, paused, then walked over to Arthur to press a welcome-home kiss to his forehead. Despite him being the parent, she had this ability to make him feel twelve years old. "See you in half an hour, then."
Arthur watched her leave, before slowly refocusing his gaze on the television screen, although he wasn't actually watching the episode anymore. Arthur leant forward, looking at the palms of his half-folded hands. There were a lot more lines on them than there ever used to be. Lately, he couldn't help feeling so old. As if his only job now was to watch as his daughters took flight, completely ready to leave the nest. Hell, the only reason they probably came home for summer was that this was cheaper than staying in their dorm room while no classes were going on.
Arthur followed the wrinkled skin on his right hand with his index finger, it trembling at the ticklish sensation. Nothing in any of the parenting books could have prepared him for this feeling of loss. He was both proud at the prowess of his girls—no, not girls. Young women. Nevertheless, whenever he thought too hard about it, he couldn't help but grieve the years that could never come back. Little Amelia with her huge grins, several teeth missing. Maddie's first pair of glasses. So many band-aides and bedtime stories and muddy clothes and complaints about the homework assignments of the week. And training bras and prom pictures and "no dad, girls only". They were slipping through his fingers, more and more every day. But as a parent, he could only watch them, wave goodbye at the send-of. Trust that if they fell, they would get right back up again.
Arthur sighed. "Oh, Kate. If only you could see them now."
He turned off the episode; he was no longer watching anyway, and would have to rewind a lot just to catch it all. A quick look at his watch told him he still had twenty minutes. Plenty of time for a quick walk to the corner shop. He'd promised to send his sister-in-law a card while she was on holiday. He'd reminded her that it was usually done the other way around, but she would have none of that.
Arthur threw a jacket over his shoulder, picked up the keys, and walked out the door. Even with the evening settling in, it was still hot outside. Arthur shielded his eyes against the punishing sunlight, looking down the street. It appeared he wasn't the only one outside at this hour; one of the neighbours was walking the dog. She waved when spotting him, and Arthur waved back with his free hand. Then he began walking.
They weren't officially in a drought, but the grass was still turning brown in most front yards. There were only two, three families that had pulled out the sprinklers, their grass shining a deep summer green. There were a couple of daisies peeping in between, a lazy bumblebee buzzing from yellow heart to white petals. The mere sight slowed Arthur's step, made him feel sluggish and overheated. There was no need for the jacket after all.
A jingle announced his entrance to the corner shop. A handful of others were present, most of them picking up a quick meal, one mother giving in to her daughter's demands for ice cream. The cashier looked bored, and his gaze kept flicking back to the clock hanging from the wall above the door. Almost closing time. Then he could get changed, and get cool somewhere.
Arthur walked over to the rack of cards, browsing at his own leisure. Birthdays, births, weddings, get-well-soon and your standard CONGRATULATIONS in rainbow colours and glitters. Some of the bigger ones played Happy Birthday when you opened them. Arthur picked a blank card with lavender flowers on the front, and turned towards the cash register. His sister-in-law hadn't specified what kind of card she'd preferred anyway.
Before the blond could walk over, he noticed a movement from the corner of his eyes. An elegant figure turning their head almost in slow motion, long wavy hair framing his leathery skin and prickly stubbles. Arthur looked over fully, recognising those blue eyes. It was the man from the supermarket!
The other seemed to have recognised him as well, for he smiled, gave a single wave, and began walking over. Arthur straightened up a little more, not wanting to be caught slouching (especially not by his doctor; he already had a bad back according to the woman).
"Hello! Arthur, wasn't it?"
Arthur nodded, grabbing the hand that was held out to him. "And you were…Francis? What a coincidence meeting you twice in one week, after never seeing you anywhere."
Francis chuckled, a musical sound that perfectly fit this lazy summer day. "Some would call it fate. I don't usually come here, but my favourite store downtown is closed. Owners are on holiday."
Arthur made a noise of understanding. They began walking towards the register together, Arthur with his card, Francis with a bouquet of flowers. Arthur didn't ask whom they were for. None of his business.
"You live in the neighbourhood? I honestly don't recall ever seeing you," Arthur said, making small talk. Francis was easy to talk to, definitely not as loud or chatty as some of his colleagues at work.
"Two blocks away. I live in the apartment complex at the edge of town. I don't usually come this way, which is why we must have missed each other. I take it you live around here, then?"
Arthur nodded, watching as the employee scanned his card. He reached into his pocket. His eyes widened. "I seem to have forgotten my wallet…" he mumbled, cursing himself for making such a silly mistake. He offered an apologetic laugh. "Sorry, I guess I won't be buying anything then. I'd lose my head if it weren't attached to my neck!" The cashier was unimpressed.
Francis pulled out some loose dollars, placing them on the counter. "On me, then."
Arthur's gaze snapped over to him. "Oh, really, you don't have to…I'll just come buy one tomorrow."
Francis shook his head. Some locks came loose from his ponytail, curling over his shoulders. "Not a problem at all. It's just one card, right?" His smile became brighter, reaching up to his eyes. There were little spots in the irises that seemed almost pink. "You can pay me back by buying me a drink next time we meet."
Arthur's mouth opened and closed, his bushy eyebrows hiding behind messy bangs. "Honestly, I…"
"I insist," Francis said warmly, grabbing his shoulder, giving a small squeeze.
Arthur closed his mouth, managed a smile of his own. "All right then. It's a deal. Next one is on me."
The cashier was chewing on invisible gum, watching the display with as much interest as someone witnessing a fly crawling up a window. His shift was done in a couple of minutes anyway; he'd leave the cleaning to someone else.
~o~
AUTHOR'S NOTE
My apologies for the delay, and I immediately apologise for future delays; I started my summer job this Monday, so I won't have as much time to write the following couple of weeks. And after that university starts up again, which still holds priority, but I'll try to write and upload whenever I can. Be patient with me dears, and have a nice day!
