The Story of a Dying Girl
Hi! I wasn't gonna update until Thursday or Friday, but I decided that I wanted to update today. The next update will be Saturday at the very latest. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed, and favorited, and also just took the time to read this story.
One guest asked me a question about the dialogue, and also wrote a nice comment, (thank you for that), so I just wanted to address that. I'm American, so even if I'm not trying, a lot of it just sounds very American. When I first wrote the story, I used a lot of British slang because it was originally going to take place in England. As time went on, I just decided to change it so it takes place in America. Sorry for the confusing dialogue, if it becomes too hard to understand, just let me know and I really don't mind changing the British slang to American slang.
Also, one last thing. All of the chapters are at least 5,000 words, so I was thinking about maybe dividing each chapter in half if it becomes too much at once. If it is too much, let me know, I honestly don't mind splitting it in half.
I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Chapter 3:
Cook and I sat on the bus going over a game plan to acquire the unobtainable movies.
"Uncle Keith could get it I reckon. The man's a fucking legend. Can get any fucking thing," Cook said with confidence.
Uncle Keith was Cook's uncle, who ran a shitty pub. It was the shitty pub where we spent a lot of time getting pints and getting trashed.
He could get anything. A mix of drugs that were most definitely not safe. Video games that hadn't been released yet. Knock off brands.
I'm not saying my mum's gold earrings I got her for her birthday aren't real, but let's just say that $2.34 isn't the amount that they usually cost.
Get it?
They're fake. I got them from Uncle Keith.
"What movies do you need?"
I go through my army jacket until I find the neatly folded piece of notebook paper and opening it up.
An August Rain
The Incredible Adventures of Charles the Dog
Guilty of the Following
Vast Blue Ocean
Sea of Thoughts
A Quarrel in Paradise
Peering Off the Edge
Eying the Stranger
Lighting the Sky
Passion in Paradise
A New King
Heart of Silver
Sinking Ship
Orange Delusional
And finally, Emily's favorite. The one about the man and woman deeply in love…
Night of Love
I handed Cook the list and he instantly squinted.
"What the fuck are these? I've never heard one of these. Are you fucking with me Blondie?"
"No, she just likes all these unknown movies. You think I've heard of them before?"
"Jesus."
"Yeah, I know. It's gonna be impossible."
Cook shook his head and elbowed me.
"Nah. Keith can get anything. Hooked me up with a sweet speaker system, this should be a piece of cake."
"I don't know," I said unsurely.
"He got this dickhead a documentary about llamas that isn't available here or anywhere for at least 100,000 miles. Why he wanted a documentary about llamas, I don't know. All I know is that Keith supplied."
What kind of assclown wants to see a documentary on llamas? What kind of asshat goes through great lengths to get said documentary on llamas?
Anyway.
Cook looked again at the list, and with a shaky sigh that turned into a smile, he turned back to me.
"We got this. I'll call Keith once we get to mine."
"Okay."
That's all I said because there wasn't really much else to say other than okay.
Because it was exactly that.
It wasn't great and it wasn't bad, it was just okay. It wouldn't be great until I had gotten all those movies.
If I had all those movies than Emily would be happy. And I would be happy.
The bus deposited us and we walked to Cook's.
Paddy was on the couch with no shirt on eating cereal, while Cook's mum was passed out below him, the red wine bottle in her hand long empty, half probably consumed and the other half staining the once white carpet.
Paddy wasn't fazed, simply lifting the spoon into his mouth, as he sat slouched watching a man on a game show try to guess letters to make up a word he wouldn't ever get.
There were two A's, one L, one T, and a whole lot of blank spaces.
"Hey Cook, hey Naomi," Paddy said, looking over at us. "Mum's been tired a lot lately. I think it's because she was wrestling last night with that guy who painted our house."
She was not wrestling, but Paddy did not need to know that.
Cook looked down at his mother and sighed.
Sometimes I wondered why we didn't just hang out at my house, but it was easier not to question it and I couldn't bear leaving Paddy alone with his mum.
"Grab her feet will ya?" Cook said, grabbing his mum's legs as I threw my jacket onto the couch and grabbed his mum's legs, sighing at how surprisingly heavy she is.
We carried her into her bedroom, and tossed her on the bed.
And when I say tossed, I mean tossed. We probably could have set her down more gently, but then again, the librarian could have looked at us nicer and Jeremy Hanson could have higher aspirations.
Sometimes things just were the way they were.
I flopped down on the couch next to Paddy as he passed me a bowl of cereal he had prepared for me.
Too much milk, but good intentions, so I ate it with no complaints.
Cook sat down on the other side of Paddy, grabbing crisps and a beer, passing me one too.
"Alan isn't very good at this game," Paddy said, pointing to the man on TV who was frowning at the letters, willing them to reveal the answer to him so he could win a cruise for two to the Bahamas.
Milk and beer is not a good combination, but I wanted them both, so I found myself in a bit of a dilemma. Just like the man on the TV who couldn't guess the word, I couldn't figure out what to do.
I decided to just suck it up and have both.
I continued eating cereal and taking sips of my beer.
Paddy was right. Alan sucked at this.
Needless to say, he did not go home with a cruise for two to the Bahamas.
"Anything cool happen today?" I asked after a commercial about house insurance came on the TV and Alan disappeared.
"Holly Deranter has striped underwear," Paddy said innocently, just a mere observation.
My eyes are blue.
Cook has short hair.
Holly has striped underwear.
I chocked on my sip of bear and started to cough.
"What?" I asked as Cook laughed.
"I dropped my crayon and I had to go under the table to get it. And when I looked up, I saw her underwear," he said again, and then looked nervous, unsure if he had done anything wrong.
"Maybe don't look at girls' underwear, mate," I say after I recover.
"Okay," he says easily.
"Oh and Matty McHuberman has a new Lego set," he says and Holly Deranter is forgotten.
I see Cook fiddling with his phone. He puts it in his back pocket and smiles at me.
"Just texting Keith. He'll see what he can do. I reckon he'll get everything on your list."
"Cool. Thanks."
I took another sip of my bear and placed my now finished bowl of cereal onto the table in front of us.
And that's how we stay. We talk about boring shit and everything and nothing, and I wonder how doing absolutely nothing can be so fun.
I guess it's because I'm with people I care about immensely.
Or something like that.
We stayed like that for a bit, and then Paddy's eyelids started to droop a bit, and I remembered the pile of homework waiting for me on my desk at home, so I got up and walked back to my house, as the sky got darker and the sky got colder and I became more bitter.
Homework wasn't the only thing waiting for me at home.
Mum sat at the table, dinner on the table.
"Hello love!" She smiled.
"Hi."
I pulled out one of the old wooden brown chairs and sat down, grimacing when I looked down.
The plate had vegan noodles, a weird gray color that looked slimy.
Mum always served odd food, ranging from flowers she had heard had healing effects to I don't even know what.
Sometimes we ate meat, but it was always strange, never chicken nuggets or cheeseburgers. It was always some slimy kind of part of an animal that I had never heard of.
I was used to it, or at least that's what I liked to tell myself.
I smiled though at my mum, because telling her these things would make her sad, and I would rather eat the gross food than see her eyes harden.
It goes down like how I imagine a can of worms would.
And when it's over and mum is done telling me about the latest protest where she held the megaphone, which was like an honor of sorts, I washed my plate and retired to my room.
The homework sat on my desk like a pile of zombies, brain eating and killing and monstrous.
I was kinda biased though.
I stumbled out of my bed in the morning, not even remembering how I got there, or how I managed to finish my homework, but I did.
I looked at the clock and scrambled into the shower, washing quickly and practically jumping into my clothes.
I grabbed my messenger bag and jumped down the stairs, taking them three at a time.
The bus was waiting and I ran into it, almost running into the bus driver, who, in return, gave me a glare and told me to get my ass in the back or else I'll be kicked out.
He really is a charming man.
P.S. That was sarcasm.
I don't mean it.
Cook sat next in the usual spot, an apologetic expression on his face and I didn't want to know why.
"Keith told me it's pointless. The movies. Everyone he asked, nothing."
"What? Are you fucking kidding me? He got the llama documentary, but no, he couldn't get these?"
"Keith ain't too keen with movies. He got lucky with the llama movie."
"What happened to Keith, the legend, the guy who could get anything?"
Cook shrugged, looking sheepish.
"Sorry mate."
"Fuck."
I guess I'll have to get the movies some other way.
We got to school and Cook said went off to nick some spliff off another poor stoner.
"You wanna steal some spliff?" He asked already walking to the field where they could be found on the bleachers.
"Nah. Have fun though."
"Alright."
He walked off, rubbing his hands together, already preparing his plan, not that he would really need one.
It was like a nature show.
And here we see the wild Cook, getting ready to pounce on the unsuspecting stoners. He will use the distraction tactic, tapping their shoulders and running off with their hard work's pay off.
And they will not follow, as the Cook has proven his dominance in many a fight.
I walked into the school and into the theater, where I found Reed Dewrig and Geoffrey Vevrec, or otherwise known as Darkness and Soul Sucker, sitting in the back, playing with magic cards, while Amy Skyler, or, Night Vixen, was reading poetry.
"Darkness in my soul,
Oh the pain,
Death,
Death,
Smash their skulls,
With my leather boots,
And hear their screams,
Echoing-
Hey Naomi."
She looked up from her notebook where her shit poetry was written.
"Hey Naomi."
"Hello."
They all looked up as me as I awkwardly squatted down, my lanky frame protesting.
"Hey guys."
They dressed in black, with odd clothing, as they were the dorky gothic kids, who played magic cards and talked about pain.
So fun things like that.
"You so need another name. I'm thinking Ashes," Reed, or Darkness, said.
"Nah, I don't think I can pull it off like you guys," I lied.
The real reason was because if I became too attached to them then I would lose my ins with the other groups.
"Okay. You want to here some poetry?" Night Vixen asked, eagerly flipping to a new page in her notebook, where a skull was carved into the front.
"Sure."
"Life hurts,
Like a knife,
Cutting into my soul,
Darkness seeps out,
Pain,
Pain,
Death,
Death,
Ouch"
I wanted to laugh at the ouch part, but instead I pulled up my jacket and nodded, trying to look deeply moved.
"Woah Night Vixen, it's really good," I said, and I think she might have smiled, but I can't really tell because of all the white make up caked onto her face.
"Oh shit, I have to go talk to one of my teachers about this one essay. I'll see you guys around." Lies.
"Okay. I should probably go soon too. I have a sub in calculus today and I want to get in early."
"Bye Naomi, or should I say Ashes."
You shouldn't.
In fact, please don't.
I'm begging you.
I walked into room 456, where the math nerds sat, stereotypical suspenders and glasses and headgear in full force.
"What's up guys?" I said as they looked towards me and smiled, or tried to, as it was buried under all the metal train tracks.
"Heyths Naomeeth," Dolly Frite lisped awkwardly through her headgear.
"Hey Dolly. Hey did you hear that there's a math sub today in calculus?"
They looked at me curiously.
"Really?" They said surprised, all ears waiting to hear anything else I had to say.
"Yeah, Mr. Grewer is sick today."
Thank you Soul Sucker and your inside scoop, however the fuck you managed to get it, and before the math nerds too, who always seemed to know everything about their teachers. Their families, their pets' names, how their vacation to Hawaii was.
But anyway.
I continued to do this, going around to a few more groups, and then going into English, where Mr. Dirken already looked disgusted with us, and it wasn't even eight yet.
"Oxford commas are important. If you don't know them-"
Let me guess, you will never succeed, be terribly miserable, and die a painful and awful death.
"-you will never succeed."
Close enough.
The class continued, despite the fact that I had stopped listening long ago, only managing to write down:
Oxford commas = all success and happiness in life
No Oxford commas = sadness and sharks eating your legs
Which was true apparently. Or close enough anyways.
Classes passed and I continued to pretend like I cared, only half listening as I learned about history.
And finally, fucking finally, the bell rung and school was over.
The weekend was here.
I walked into the hall and almost instantly Cook ran into me, jumping and pushing himself up by using my shoulders.
"What the fuck Cook? Are you a bloody gymnast now?"
"Chillax Blondie, just fucking excited. We're going clubbing tonight. Just you, me, alcohol, spliff, pills, and getting laid."
"Cook," I said rolling my eyes and giving him a look at that last part.
"Pop your cherry for fuck's sake Naomio," he said, elbowing me playfully.
I was a virgin.
"How is that possible?" You may ask.
"How can a senior who has James Cook, who will shag anything with a pulse, as their best mate, be a virgin?" You may wonder.
It's very possible actually.
It's just a very hard feat to accomplish.
One of my proudest accomplishments, really.
Not actually.
Not at all.
You have to be awkward.
Like very awkward.
And even then, it's still not easy to accomplish.
But I managed to.
Me and my awkwardness.
Ungainly and and gawky, that's me.
"Let's go fucking mental Naomikins!"
He has managed to use all three of his nicknames for me in one, single conversation.
Congrats Cook.
I continued walking as he continued to discuss our plans, which included the following:
Step 1: Smoke some spliff at Cook's house
Step 2: Go to Keith's Bar
Step 3: Drink some shitty, free alcohol
Step 4: Go to a club
Step 5: Take some pills
Step 6: Drink more, slightly better alcohol
Step 7: Dance like a wanker
Step 8: Convince some girls to shag us before they realize that we are not charming, good looking, or even slightly tolerable
Number eight was a bit of a stretch, I realize that.
Well, for me it was a stretch.
For Cook, it was protocol.
We climbed into the bus and sat in out usual seat towards the back.
"You coming over to mine today? Or are you going to red's?"
Red = Emily Fitch
"I think I'm going to see Emily. Are you coming?"
"Nah. But come over to mine later if you want so we can do the usual."
The usual consisted of all eight steps for Cook and the first seven for me.
I got off the bus and walked up to the red door and knocked, waiting for Mrs. Fitch to answer.
"Naomi!"
And with that I got a bone-crushing hug, like always.
For such a polite and proper woman, I would never expect this from Jenna Fitch. She seemed like more of the handshake and insincere smile type.
But what did I know?
Other than Oxford commas are equivalent to life, not much.
I entered the house after a bit and climbed up the stairs, knocking on Emily's door and waiting for an answer.
Mr. Fitch wasn't there to give me the warning look.
"Come in."
So I did.
I turned the brass knob and walked in, watching as Emily stared at the door intently to see who was intruding.
She saw me and a small unsure smile played on her lips, like a violinist's first few nervous notes at the start of a beautiful symphony.
But here was the difference:
Emily Fitch's smile was more beautiful than any symphony that I had ever heard, or would probably ever hear.
It is difficult to truly describe the magnitude of Emily's beauty.
But I will try, because I feel like I owe that to you.
She had this long, vibrant red hair that always looked freshly dyed. It swept passed her shoulders and her skin was pale, but not like an ugly vampire. It was beautiful, so beautiful, her skin. Her neck. I liked her neck. It was gorgeous. I didn't even think that necks could be anything other than necks, but hers was gorgeous. I liked her face a lot.
I'm not very good with words.
But back to her face.
Her face was slim, and she had these warm, chocolate eyes, that always looked so kind. And her smile, oh her smile. It was beautiful. I don't know how else to describe it.
In all my life, I wonder if I will ever see anything as beautiful as Emily Fitch's smile.
And this is me, describing her as an acquaintance, so I cannot even fathom how someone deeply in love with her would describe her.
Probably as a goddess of sorts.
But that sounds cliché and kinda over doing it.
But back to me standing in her doorway, as she looked at me and broke into her beautiful smile.
"Hey Blondie," she said in an awful Cook imitation.
I laughed and walked over to where she sat on her bed, sitting on ground next to it.
"Hey."
Do you ever have these thoughts, where something you never thought of just occurs to you?
Well I had one of these thoughts now.
"Where's Katie?"
It was a good question, because surely the twin sister who cried loudly in math would want to be with her sister.
But apparently not.
Emily scoffed.
"Probably shagging her newest, brainless, footballer boyfriend."
So I figured this equation:
New, no brain, football boyfriend Twin sister with cancer
"You should see her, she practically shoves her tongue down his throat."
"Why the fuck would I want to see that?" I fake shuddered as she laughed.
"If I have to suffer, than you have to suffer too."
"Well that doesn't seem like a whole lot of fun."
"It's not. And to make matters worse, she used to try and push boys onto me, said that her sister couldn't be a lezzer."
It was a known fact that Emily was gay. Not because she was some sort of Casanova who picked up several girls at school. It was just a known fact.
Katie Fitch shags a lot of guys.
Mr. Dirken teaches English.
Soul Sucker is a goth dork who was once caught having an erection in health class.
Jeremy Hanson was a wannabe stoner.
Emily Fitch is gay.
I also figured this out, but I had figured this out a while ago:
Katie Fitch ≠ Emily Fitch
It was not a difficult thing to figure out.
"It was awful. Sweaty, gross guys, stumbling trying to convince me to let them into my pants. You wouldn't have survived one day of it."
"I don't doubt that," I said and she giggled.
She got up off the bed, and I started to wonder about Katie.
What kind of sister pushes her sister to do things that make them uncomfortable?
What kind of sister will cry loudly while I try to learn formulas, but can't be bothered to spend time with whom she cried about?
Emily walked over to her bookshelf, the same one I had looked through, and moved a few books aside.
"Where is it? If that stupid cow took it I swear I'll- Oh there it is!" She muttered to herself.
Turning around, she pulled out a bottle of alcohol, the label scratched off and peeling.
She sat down next to me, leaning against the bed, and I suddenly realized how close in proximity we were.
She laughed, but I didn't know why. I think it is just something people do when they do something mischievous. God knows how many times I've done it.
I think that it was a lot like how mothers tell their children they are beautiful, even if they are not.
She took a sip and I saw her instantly cringe, and she passed me the bottle, trying to smile, but obviously not meaning it after taking a sip of such hard alcohol.
"Drink!" She said and I smiled because it sounded cute when she said it.
I brought it up to my lips and took a tentative sip.
Vodka.
The alcohol of choice, of her choice, or at least that she could get her hands on, was fucking vodka.
I did not like vodka a whole lot.
But I drank it anyways, because Emily smiled when she saw me do it, and I liked it when she smiled.
I passed the bottle and Emily took another small sip, putting the bottle to her side. It was quiet for a minute before she began to talk.
"Yeah, I hated it. And then I told her I was gay and she was convinced that I just needed to find the right guy."
I nodded, but I still didn't really understand, because no one had told me that I couldn't be gay.
"And it was kinda… well, shit for a bit."
"That rhymes!" I said and she looked over at me and smiled.
It was one of those smiles you give a five year old who says they learned to tie their shoes and just ties a bunch of random knots.
She gave me a playful shove and continued.
"But then she accepted it, and things were good again."
"That didn't rhyme."
She rolled her eyes, but didn't look angered.
"I wish she had accepted me before she had made me kiss a few of them. Yuck." She shuddered, but I don't think it was fake like mine.
"That sucks."
Apparently those were my only words of condolences.
Your car died? That sucks.
You can't find your cat? That sucks.
Your sister is a bitch? That sucks.
You bombed your math test? That sucks.
But it did suck. It sucked quite a bit actually.
"Yeah. My first kiss was with… Jessie Gibbiff," she said and immediately cringed, looking like she wanted to throw up.
Jessie Gibbiff used to go to middle school with us. He was not a good guy. I mean this in the sense that he used to pick on a punch of kids.
No one was safe, but he wasn't considered a bully. He was more like the annoying kid who made terrible jokes. What he didn't realize was that they were awful, and that he his comebacks and teasings were just pure shit.
He was good looking I guess, or at least Katie seemed to think so.
He had greasy black hair and a crooked smile.
I did not think he was good looking.
I bet his mum probably did though.
"I'm so sorry to hear that. Are you okay?" I asked and watched as Emily played along with my over the top concern, fanning her eyes and trying to look as though she was crying.
"I don't think so."
Emily looked over to me and had a curious expression on her face, like a thought just occurred to her.
"Who was your first kiss?"
Who was my first kiss?
Throughout my life, girls have always been an interest of mine.
That sounds creepy. I swear it's not.
The first crush I ever had on a girl was when I was in the second grade. Her name was Brittany, and she had blonde hair and brown eyes, but not like Emily's. She sat next to me in class, and I remember looking over at her. And I remember one day I was doing this, and it hit me. I liked her. So, what did I do? I asked Cook what to do. He said to ask her is she liked me, because according to him, I was ace and she probably had a massive crush on me.
So, because Cook knew these things, I walked up to her on the playground and said this:
"I think you have a crush on me."
She did not.
Instead of agreeing with me, she looked at me sideways, tilting her head and furrowing her eyebrows.
"I don't. I have a crush on Julien."
I remember my distinct dislike for Julien.
I continued to have little crushes and then came the fifth grade, and with the fifth grade came Lola Patters. She had glasses, kind of frizzy hair and always wore this pin of a cartoon bear cuddling another cartoon bear.
I thought she was a little strange.
Her best friend though, Rachel Fritz, was not strange. Rachel had dirty blonde hair up to her shoulders and wore clothes that were considered a little scandalous. This was the fifth grade, so when I say scandalous, I mean it showed a little bit of her shoulder.
Cook and I had always talked about girls. Compared crushes and all of that.
I remember seeing Rachel, and instantly thinking:
"This girl is hot."
And Cook agreed, but at the moment he was trying to convince Chelsea Ulhera to kiss him, so Rachel was not on his mind.
I decided to go with the whole, make her jealous tactic.
So instead, I hung around Lola, and in doing so, I also got to hang around Rachel.
And somehow, the plan got fucked up.
You see, I just wanted to make Lola think I was cool, and start hanging around me. That way Rachel would think I was cool and fun and then want to hang around me. She would get jealous, and boom! I would be dating Rachel Fritz.
Instead of that, Lola developed a crush on me, and I learned that Rachel was not the jealous type.
But Lola was.
So hanging around any other girl always resulted in her scowling.
I went through the entire fifth grade with Lola practically stalking me, even though I had given up on any hopes to carry through with my plan.
It ended when she moved away in the fifth grade and Rachel changed schools.
Seventh grade resulted in my first kiss. Annie Wilders. She had long brown hair and pale green eyes. And she was pretty.
Like, really pretty.
And like really single.
So what did I do?
Well, by then mum had already known I was gay. So I asked her.
"Mum? What do girls want?"
Despite being a girl, I hadn't the slightest clue what they wanted.
"You should woo her! Bring her to a protest, or better yet, I'll cook some really good food and you can serve her dinner!"
Safe to say Mum was overly excited.
And at the time, I was too. Word got around that Annie was gay, and that meant this:
A single, pretty, gay girl was pretty much just waiting for me to take her on some kind of date.
Cook said she was gagging for it.
I didn't know what "it" was, but I assumed that "it" was me, so one day, after the final bell had rung and school had let out and she was at her locker, I walked up and said this:
"You, me. Date… me. You should do that. Go on a… social adventure, which some call a date… with me. On Friday. My house. If you want…"
She stared at me for a long time, or at least it felt like a long time.
"Sure."
And I ran all the way back to Cook's locker, high fiving him and jumping on him.
"I've got a date with Annie Wilders, I've got a date with Annie Wilders! Who's got a date with Annie Wilders?" I chanted as we walked down the almost empty hall.
"You've got a date with Annie Wilders!" He chanted back.
By then Cook had managed to kiss Chelsea Ulhera and quite a few others. He was currently trying to convince Wendy Waterson to give him a handjob or a blowjob behind the bike shack. He told me this:
"I'd let her choose which one she wanted to give me, because I'm like proper fucking gentlemanly or some shit like that."
How sweet.
Friday rolled around, and I was sitting on my couch waiting anxiously for the sound of knocking.
And finally it came.
Mum was out at a protest, saying that I wouldn't want my old embarrassing mum there.
She wasn't wrong.
That sounds mean, but she would have just gotten overly excited.
I opened the door, and I instantly felt underdressed.
I have the mind of a teenage boy. Always. Back then, and now.
It's not because I'm always thinking about sex, I mean, I'm a virgin.
It's because I'm oblivious to things.
For example, I'm oblivious to the fact that wearing an old, sweatshirt with holes was not appropriate on a first date.
You see, she wore a cute dress.
And it also did not occur to me to change.
But we went into the house and she sat down at the dining table, as I went into the kitchen to grab the bangers and mash mum had made.
Sounds good, right?
Well they weren't because they were vegan and looked like someone took a dump on our plates.
So we awkwardly ate them in silence.
"I should probably go," she said after dinner was eaten and we sat awkwardly on the couch.
Why didn't I just take her to a fucking movie?
"I'm sorry. This was shit, I know. I just couldn't take you to the fucking cinema like a normal person, I had to serve you some dog shit looking… shit. And then I just sat and stared at you like some massive tosser. Why the fuck did I think that this would be good? Why didn't I just do something normal? Why the fuck did I make you endure this fucking shit show? Everything was just-"
I didn't finish my rant because she leaned forward and kissed me.
And I shut up immediately, because when a girl's lips are on yours, you kiss back.
And when she pulled back I sat there speechless.
"Can we do that again? The kissing thing?" I said awkwardly.
And so we did.
I learned how to French Kiss that day.
Needless to say, the relationship ended quickly because the only thing we had in common was that we liked kissing each other.
There were many other crushes and even a couple of awkward short-lived relationships.
And when I say short-lived, I mean brief. Very brief.
But, it was something.
I'm getting off topic, kinda.
Emily looked at me expectantly.
I reached over her and grabbed the bottle of vodka, taking a small sip.
"Annie Wilders. Seventh Grade."
"Oh I remember her! Oh, shit you did have a bit of a thing, didn't you?"
I laughed and gave her a crooked smile.
"Yeah, if you can call a few awkward dates a thing."
We sat and the silence engulfed us.
I looked around, even though by now I knew her bedroom pretty well.
I always found something new, something I had never seen before.
Last time it was this little plastic monkey figurine on her dresser.
This time it was a "Don't Get Fit, Get Fitch!" T-shirt discarded on her floor.
She grabbed the bottle from my hand and our pinkies brushed and I wanted to laugh because it reminded me of the first time I tried to hold someone's hand, awkwardly brushing fingers until our hands were squished together uncomfortably.
Needless to say, that relationship did not last long.
She took another sip.
"So, what are you gonna do tonight? Hang with Cook?"
Icebreaker.
"Yeah, I guess so. I'm kinda tired though, so I might just go home and sleep and do something with him tomorrow. Tell him to fly solo."
She nodded, but she looked a little confused.
I think that is just something people do.
Nod, even if they don't completely get it. It's easier than saying, "Actually, could you please explain this. I do not understand this social situation."
There was silence, but it wasn't really uncomfortable. It was just kinda there. Not enjoyable, but I wasn't squirming like I would have a couple weeks ago.
She turned her head to the side and I looked at her, like really looked at her, like a stalker would.
Her red hair was kept need in a ponytail, except for a few messy strands and my reflex was to brush some rebels behind her ear.
Just a reflex.
She wasn't wearing makeup, and I was kinda surprised.
She looked really pretty.
Prettier than all my crushes and past "relationships" combined, not to compare like some sort of douchebag.
She looked better without makeup.
She looked gorgeous, better than all those girls you see on those magazines and on runways, or the ones we saw in the Playboy Cook stole from his creepy neighbor when he was little, (don't ask me how, because I still don't have a fucking clue).
Her eyes were closed and she took a breath, or chest rising gently and then falling.
I watched her intently, but I don't really know why.
She began to laugh, and once again I wasn't entirely sure why, but I closed my eyes too, and I just heard this beautiful sound.
I opened my eyes again.
And this is all from an acquaintance's point of view.
I liked the way she talked. Is that odd?
She just talked about things I liked and made me laugh, and her voice was husky, but soft at the same time, and I'm trying to figure out how that can possibly be, but I'm learning very quickly that Emily Fitch is a graceful open book and a beautiful mystery all at once.
I'm not really sure how that works, but it just does.
She was the girl who would tell you all these things about herself and she is the same girl who didn't cry when everyone around her did.
She turned to me and opened her eyes.
And we talked. She kept flickering her eyes down to my lips, but I don't know why.
We always talk about little things. Stupid little things.
But I was becoming an Emily Fitch expert.
Her favorite flowers were lilies.
Her favorite color was blue (she said this while looking me intently in the eyes. I don't know why though).
She loved old movies.
She hated tequila.
She tolerated vodka.
Her favorite book was Dear Mr. Henshaw.
She clicked her pen when she was nervous.
Her middle name was Diane.
She could eat a large amount of food easily.
She loved Ferris Bueller's Day Off and The Princess Bride.
Just little things like that.
But just like her room, I always discovered something new.
I felt a buzz in my pocket and pulled out my phone, looking at the time.
5:42.
Cook had texted me.
"U coming? Or will we go mental 2morrow?"
I gave Emily an apologetic look as she was right in the middle of explaining the time when she was seven and her dog ran away because Katie wanted to give it a bath and how she tried to blame it on Emily.
"2morrow. Emily's."
I got a response seconds later.
"Oh… I c. ;)"
I rolled my eyes and typed out a response.
"It's not like that."
I put my phone back in my pocket and continued to listen to the story of Fluffy, the badass dog who had ran away immediately after being given the chance, and was still rumored to be roaming the streets today.
Laughter filled the room and I was trying to catch my breath at hearing that Katie tried to run after Fluffy, shouting:
"No, no, no! You were supposed to stay! I love you, and you're supposed to stay, stupid!"
I pulled out my phone again and checked the time.
6:03.
I stood up and pulled my jacket tighter around myself.
"I should probably get going, but I'll see you later, yeah?"
"When's later?" She asked.
Later is later.
"Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow it is."
"Okay."
She stood up and reached up on her tippy toes.
She pressed a kiss to my cheek and I did everything I could to not touch the spot when she pulled away.
I felt this kinda… tingle there.
Tingle?
That sounds gross.
That sounds like I just came in my pants.
I didn't.
I promise.
"I'm holding you to that."
"Okay."
Okay and that sucks.
I guess those are all I can say in life.
I love you.
Okay.
I broke all the bones in my body.
That sucks.
I walked down the stairs.
Mr. Fitch was home, he looked at me curiously.
"Naomi! How are you?"
Here's the thing about Mr. Fitch. He was a nice guy, very nice. He had this large smile and it was almost always genuine.
Here's the other thing. He was a big strong guy. He did, own a gym after all. He was also very protective over his daughters.
I'm going to tell you a quick story about a boy named Scotty Renold.
Basically, Scotty Renold was a very popular boy. Many thought he was good looking. The girls threw practically themselves at him.
He was captain of some sports team at school. I never cared enough to learn which one.
Katie Fitch was one of the previously mentioned girls.
And what did Katie Fitch do?
Well she did what Katie Fitch usually does.
To put it bluntly, she fucked him.
She was not a virgin when she did it, hell, I can't even imagine her as a virgin.
But what happened when Mr. Fitch caught them in the act one day after school when he came home early from work?
Well, let's just say that Scotty Renold came back to school with two black eyes and crutches.
He did not play sports for quite a while.
He changed schools two weeks later.
Rumor says that Mr. Fitch beat the shit out of him.
Actually, basic reasoning says that Mr. Fitch beat the shit out of him.
"Good sir. How are you?"
"I'm fine. And call me Rob, kiddo."
I smiled at him and walked out the door.
Walking back to my house so I could retire for the night.
My cheek still burned.
This AN consists of thank you's and it probably sounds like a lot of ass kissing, but I really just wanted to say thank you.
Thank you for reading! I read every single review like three times and they always put a smile on my face, so thank you for that!
I just want to thank NegroAmigo, LilyCanBeMyPyjamas, Irma the Lunch lady, a guest named anon, and four other guests for reviewing and writing kind words, really means a lot. Thank you so much!
Thank you to yllod, nyuh, chloelove, cfonseca4, Fitcherella, and mynameislizzie as well.
It was probably odd of me to write all of these thank you's, but I really just wanted to say thanks for everything.
Next chapter will posted soon!