AN: Hey guys! I know the last couple of drabbles have been kind of sad. This one is a little better, but there's still angst. Sorry! I just couldn't get this idea out of my head. You know how determined a muse can be, right? Anyway, I hope you like it. Please R&R! :)
The Notebook
He watched her longingly from across the room as she brushed her thick raven hair. He sighed, taking a seat on her ice cream sandwich bench to wait for her. He figured he would be waiting a while. She was still wearing her pajamas. He didn't mind, though. He would wait forever for her. After all, he had done nothing but wait for her—figuratively speaking—all his life.
He noticed a thin spiral-bound notebook lying open on the coffee table. Colored pencils lay scattered around it. He figured she must be in the middle of a sketch. He wondered if the notebook had been placed face down to keep her place or to hide the pages. Either way, he would respect her privacy.
He turned his attention back to her when he heard her rise from her seat. He studied her back as she sorted through the clothes in her closet, searching for the perfect ensemble. He knew she wanted to look her best tonight. He wished that it was for him.
She finally pulled a few items from the closet and crossed to the bathroom. He caught her sweet scent as she passed him, and his head swam. It nearly broke him each time he got this close to her, knowing he couldn't have her.
He had always held on to hope that one day she would be his. He kept that tiny flame burning, fueled by each little moment they had ever shared. That time she kissed his nose. Their slow dance in the Groovy Smoothie. All those sweet kisses and caresses when he saved her. But that tiny little flame was fading fast, starving for fuel.
No one had ever told him how much it hurts when hope starts to die. When the fire fights for its life, desperately lapping at anything that might sustain it. He didn't know if the pain would subside when the flame finally flickered out, but he prayed it wouldn't get any worse. He knew he wouldn't be able to stand it.
She closed the bathroom door behind her, leaving him alone in her room. His eyes returned to the bright yellow cover of the notebook, and his curiosity ate at him. He fought the urge to reach for it, but then he caught a hint of a reflection in the water inside the table. He thought his eyes must be playing tricks on him. He finally gave in, gingerly picking up the notebook and turning it over. What he saw on the page shocked him.
He quickly returned the notebook to its prior position when he heard the bathroom door opening, but he mentally tossed it onto his flickering hope. The tiny spark exploded inside him. Carly stepped out, looking beautiful as always, and smiled at him. He beamed back at her as the hope blazed in his heart.
Later that night, Freddie and Carly stood in the hallway between their front doors. Freddie leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Carly's cheek, bidding her goodnight. Carly returned to her room, still feeling the tingle of his lips. Her tiny spark was burning stronger now.
She picked up her notebook, taking a seat on the ice cream bench. She smiled as she studied her drawing, deciding it needed a few more touches. She reached for the pink pencil and began coloring in another heart around the doodle—a series of multi-colored hearts surrounding a name. A name that represented the hope of two burning hearts that night.
"Mrs. Carly Benson."