AN: EDITED ON 05/10/2020

Usually I get tiny snippets of an idea of single scene and have to build out around that, but this for once is an entire story start to end that came to me all at the same time. Just need to put it to paper now. First person POV to experiment with.

"Excuse me," my first instinct when a voice interrupted my thoughts was to flinch and glance back at the figure towering over me as it reached for my shoulder. I nearly jumped out of my skin and immediate ripped my headphones off. His messy dark hair framed a gaunt face and beady blue eyes behind thick glasses. His clothes didn't quite fit right, hard to find ones that did when you're that tall, so I had heard.

"Sorry, I'll move out of your way." The apology rolled off my tongue as my hands quickly stacked up the range of books that had been spread out on the carpet in front of me. Should have known someone would come along and need to get to this sections before I could finish narrowing down which book I would go home with today. I'd made myself perhaps too comfortable on the ugly carpet floor, oblivious to the opinions of strangers.

"Oh, no, you misunderstand," I squinted up at him past my stack and he continued, "What I mean to say is, would you…Well," he paused, eyes flicked around, and I felt my pulse jump into my throat, who was he looking for? "Like to get coffee…I believe is the usual invitation." I stared up at him. Was this actually happening? I looked down the aisle for any spies. Back up at the face of a stranger. I was back on the bus after middle school, the smug face of a boy who's name I've now forgotten insisting he would grace me with going out. I hadn't even been able to turn him down before his friends were laughing in my face. I had known it wasn't real, even then. And it didn't matter. No one had ever given me compliments growing up. He had gotten off the bus with a bloody nose. His friends had ensured I got off with a lot more than just that. That had been years ago, and still my first reaction was to fight or to flee. And I usually pick fight instead.

"Is this a joke?" I spat, my eyes narrowed. I turned away from him to continue narrowing my selection. I didn't want to see his face.

"I don't appreciate it. Good day." I poured my focus into the five books in front of me. The size, the content, versus the prices and my budget. This one included some techniques I had yet to utilize. This one had delightfully detailed illustrations. But was a bit less substance in terms of the written portions for the price. I set one back on the shelf, and still felt him hovering behind me. The headphones around my neck offered the heavy speed metal that could drown him out if I let it. He spoke up again.

"I assure you, this is no joke." Stubborn, isn't he? Why doesn't he just walk away? My frustration bubbled out of me as a sigh. I glanced back up at him with a glare.

"Coffee?" I scanned behind him again, but still saw no one. Somewhere in the back of my head a voice told me this is the adult world. People don't bet each other to ask out the frumpy girl no one likes. Not out here. The jeers and insults had turned to compliments and comments about my body I never asked for as I grew into womanhood. But by the time anyone thought to tell me I was pretty, the belief to the contrary had already grown roots into my hearts and strangled it.

"I see the idea distresses you-" I interrupted him by holding up the book with the nice illustrations.

"If you get me this, I'll have coffee with you. It's not a date." He tilted his head at the offer. Examined me with an expression I couldn't read. And took the offered book with a slow steady reverence.

"Deal. My name is Matt."

"I'm Brianna."

The fierce buzz of the alarm jolted my eyes open, the dream faded away in seconds to a distant haze. My hands fumbled in the dark for my phone to shut it off and squint at the screen. It had been two months. Matt hadn't set me up for a laugh. Actually, he was a perfect gentleman. And incredibly intelligent. And patient. And a great listener, when I cared to talk. He also wasn't creeped out by my interests, and wasn't pushy about me taking my time. Just thinking about it made a smile sneak over my face, though I wouldn't admit that to him. This was new ground, and while the attention was nice, it was also…well. Unnerving in a way. I couldn't tell yet where the line between anxiety and excitement was drawn. My attention returned to the screen of my phone, checking my email alerts for anything from work, and my heart sank immediately.

"Why would they even bother?" I was asking my plentiful roommates, glancing up at the neatly organized cases lining the shelves of my loft apartment. The insects and arachnids never answered me. But I had developed a habit of speaking to them all the same. I threw off the weighted blankets and tossed the phone aside.

"Ten year anniversary, " I mocked, "come on back to that tiny town full of assholes!" One of the pillows had conveniently fallen to the floor and I took the opportunity to kick it across the landing my bed was on and watch it sail down below with a not so satisfying thump.

"Yeah. Right." My eyes scanned the cases again. The action didn't disturb them.

"Well, it doesn't matter. Spiders don't worry about the opinions of flies." I crossed to my arachnids and leaned down to admire my Cyriopagopus lividus, the blue popping with the tarantula's recent molt, "do they?" Already I felt better, swallowed down the anger and apprehension, and set about preparing for my day. I was meeting Matt after work this evening, which would more than make up for the annoying reminder of a past I had definitely left far behind me.

It only took me five minutes to wash my face and brush my teeth, another ten to throw on my simple and natural daily wear makeup and tie back my long brunette hair into a bun. As usual I had hung up my attire for work the night before, so that slipping into my a-line skirt and button up shirt would have been easy in a half asleep auto-pilot drive. Which I would have been in if not for the anger of that news. Anger, I've found, is a wonderful motivator towards progress. Stockings. Heels. Accessories. Sweater. By the end when I glanced in the mirror I could spare a smile. I looked like I belonged in the forties, and would have it no other way. I'd never been a big fan of my freckled face, my flat chest and lack of curves or my boring hair. But in college I had found styles that I could actually appreciate, put together a wardrobe I had genuine pride in. Skirts that lent me an illusion of a figure, aided still by high waisted belts, simple elegant necklaces to accent but not draw too much attention. I gave a twirl and considered my natural makeup look. Perhaps...I could bring a more fun shade of lipstick for after work? I considered it, I had a darker red that was bold without being ostentatious, but in the end I cowered away from the idea and set down the stairs to grab my packed lunch and work bag.

"Be good, darlings, I'll see you all tonight!" out the door I went, keys in hand.

"Hey, sorry I'm late!" My heart was racing as I found the table he had grabbed and set my back down. If I had let myself pause at the door, it would give my mind time to imagine all the horrible things that could happen. It would give me time to dwell on the thought of the inevitable day when I would show up, like an idiot, as promised, and he wouldn't. So instead of letting myself have time to think, I always wound up speed walking from the bus stop to the cafe. I usually sat down with flushed cheeks above a smile I hoped didn't look relieved.

"You often are." He chuckled and motioned to my cup, "I got you the usual."

"You know how work is. Thanks." I set down my laptop bag with a great exhale. It was easy to hide my actual concerns behind the stress of a high demand job. And for his part, he let me do it. I took my first sip and sighed into the cup. So much better. "Speaking of, how are your students?" He was, of all things, a high school chemistry teacher. I didn't have the heart to judge him for it, not when his eyes sparkled with so much pride every time he spoke about it.

"I think I'm finally making progress with the class clown." He informed and earned a bark of laughter.

"About time someone does. What got through to him finally?" Something behind his smirk under those steady eyes sent a shiver down my spine and caught my breath. A promise of something I don't have enough heart to hope for or act on. He leaned in conspiratorially,

"Now, it's hardly fair to ask for such detailed information, when you can't offer up the same." I faked offense to bury my racing pulse.

"Hey, one of us works in a confidential field! That's hardly a fair comparison, you know perfectly well I can't reveal any information about my clients." the counter earns a nod and he leans back. I don't want him to, but I don't stop him either. When his tone and stature return to the composed distance it's an ache that slows my breathing to match.

"And how are your roommates?" He returns the small talk easily enough, we hardly ever stray beyond it. Two months in but each time something substantial approaches, call me a coward if you want but I change the topic.

"Cecilia is as brilliant as ever. My Dermestid colony is about halfway through their current project and then I'll have a fresh deer skull for the mantle. I found a stray cat that got hit by a car and am prepping it for cleaning next. Already have a buyer when that skull is ready." He nods along with an appreciation that the table next to us don't share. I catch their uncomfortable glances out of the corner of my eyes and ignore them. They quickly decide to leave. I watched them go, and when his hand touched mine to pull my attention back it made me jump.

"You seem…a bit more nervous than usual." Oof. Obvious.

"Oh. I guess." I shrug it off. Take another sip.

"I hesitate to ask what's on your mind. Given how forthcoming you've been so far." I shake my head back,

"It's-"

"Nothing." He finishes. Leaves me glaring though he isn't intimidated.

"I could hit you, you know." I threaten, but he laughs.

"You won't." He challenges with a broad smile. I consider it, but he's right in the end. I consider more. Where is this going? What does he want? So far, it really seems like just my company. Which makes no sense at all. Part of me is still waiting for that punchline. Trying to spot it before it hits. And part of me wonders, what if there is no other shoe to drop? Should I open up? How much damage would it do? How much longer can I keep to the small talk before it makes him get bored? How much longer before he gives up, and stops meeting up with me at all? I have to give something. It's a risk, but without it the only outcome I can see is a return to my solitude. It's not that I mind being alone, or for my focus to remain on my collection and work, I've been perfectly fine that way all this time. It's not like I need someone else around. But for some reason I visualize sitting here alone. And it leaves a bitterness in my veins. So I speak up.

"I got an invite to my high school ten year anniversary." I blurt out at last, staring down into my cup stubbornly.

"Ah. And from what I've gathered so far, those weren't enjoyable years." I scoff.

"That's an understatement, yeah. I'm not going."

"You should." He counters, the way he always states anything. With that quiet confidence I envy. Everything is just a fact to him. There's no question, no hesitation, things just are.

"I'd rather not-"

"Show off how far you've come?" I stare at him, but he continues, "You're a successful paralegal. You have an intellectual hobby that doubles as a side business. You're beautiful-" I choke at that, but he holds fast, "and modest about it. You should go, if nothing else just to prove to everyone stuck in that small town who doubted you that you made it."

He can make all the points in the world. But just the thought of going back there makes my blood run cold. I can't breath. I buried it in anger when I first saw that email, but now with the thought of actually attending I can't breath. Can't think past the hole growing in my chest. He preaches my success and I can't see any of it beyond the fog in my head. My hands are already shaking when I turn to reach for my bag, dig out my inhaler, but before I can bring it to my lips his hand is wrapped around mine.

"I could go with you." He offers, blue eyes steady. I don't have words for the stab that sends through me. My lungs struggle to breath even though my trembling hands steady in his. I pull free to use the inhaler. To wait for it to work. To fight down the emotions enough to think.

"That's…a nice offer. But I'd hate to inconvenience-"

"It's no inconvenience at all. Every time the topic comes up, you change it. But it's obvious there's a block from your past still. And I am a firm believer in facing what you're afraid of. This can be a wonderful opportunity for you. And if you're too afraid to go by yourself, I'll go with you." I don't know what to say. My instinct is to run. To hold fast. To say no. I never want to go back there.

"You don't know what you're offering." I counter.

"Oh but I do." He sounds so sure. The way lawyers sound in front of a judge. Everyone asks me why I settle for paralegal work. Why I didn't even try to go for a full law degree. Honestly, it was a miracle to get where I have. Even that was a struggle. As much of a struggle as holding my own and staying firm in my choice right now. I want to run. I want to drop it. I want to stand my ground. Instead he places his hand over mine on the table. And I can't even bring myself to look him in the face when I agree.