Not expecting any help, Christine gasps when she sees the stranger’s knee out of the corner of her eye.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she stammers, “I’m so clumsy, you don’t have to help me, it was my own fault that I dropped my Joy, I-I’m such a silly girl, I was distracted by the flowers, you see, they’re very beautiful today. B-But you don’t have to help me, I appreciate the gesture but I-”
She doesn’t catch the look of utter heartbreak in his eyes. Her own eyes are so focused on the ground. Her hands shake and the pills she picks up keep falling out of her grasp again. Her heart won’t stop racing. It won’t stop hurting. She can barely breathe, struggling to make her sluggish lungs cooperate.
She loves someone. So, so much. Her heart is broken, the feeling being magnified by just how sudden it overtook her. She wants to reach out and find this person, hold them close and never let go ever again. The fact that she can’t is suffocating her; she doesn’t even know who they are…
Her eyes go glassy and her vision blurs as she fights the feeling of profound loss. She shakes her head and blinks, knowing that if this stranger saw her face completely, she could be in danger. She’s a good person, a good, compliant citizen, she’ll take her Joy once it’s all safe and tucked back into the bottle, this state is only temporary as long as this man doesn’t notice how she’s about to fall apart.
As he lifts his hat and holds out the gathered pills, Christine looks up at him. Her eyes dart from his hand, to the hat to his mask and back down to his hand again.
“Thank you,” she says, just barely managing to keep her voice steady, “You didn’t have to help me but you did. So thank you.” She takes the pile of pills out of his hand and pours them back in their bottle. She pops the lid back on and it doesn’t occur to her that she should just pop a pill between her lips before she puts them back in her pocket.
Because her eyes finally meet his.
They’re normal, the brightest blue she has ever seen. Then she blinks and they shift; she sees his eyes as they really are. Uneven and mismatched. Another blink, normal. One more and they’re different again. It’s as if her mind can’t figure out which option is unpleasant and which is beautiful.
And then she’s reliving a long forgotten memory.
The day turns to night. All the colors around her have faded to shades of black and white except for the intense glow of those eyes. The hat is different; a wide-brimmed fedora, the mask is different; white and made of silk. His clothes are from a different century, his gloves are black and made of leather… Yet his hand is stretched out to her, warm and inviting and comforting, if only she can be brave enough to take it. So she does. Christine reaches out and places her hand in his. The memory freezes, unable to move forward. The sunshine comes back, followed by the vibrant colors of the flowers and the town.
She looks down and sees that her hand is desperately clutched around this stranger’s. Christine swallows hard and bites her lip, embarrassed that she could get so caught up in a dream.
“Thank you for everything, ” she says again and shakes his hand to cover her own indiscretion. In her panic, she probably shakes a little too hard and somehow, she also forgets to let go.
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“Oh, I’m sorry,” she stammers, “I’m so clumsy, you don’t have to help me, it was my own fault that I dropped my Joy, I-I’m such a silly girl, I was distracted by the flowers, you see, they’re very beautiful today. B-But you don’t have to help me, I appreciate the gesture but I-”
She doesn’t catch the look of utter heartbreak in his eyes. Her own eyes are so focused on the ground. Her hands shake and the pills she picks up keep falling out of her grasp again. Her heart won’t stop racing. It won’t stop hurting. She can barely breathe, struggling to make her sluggish lungs cooperate.
She loves someone. So, so much. Her heart is broken, the feeling being magnified by just how sudden it overtook her. She wants to reach out and find this person, hold them close and never let go ever again. The fact that she can’t is suffocating her; she doesn’t even know who they are…
Her eyes go glassy and her vision blurs as she fights the feeling of profound loss. She shakes her head and blinks, knowing that if this stranger saw her face completely, she could be in danger. She’s a good person, a good, compliant citizen, she’ll take her Joy once it’s all safe and tucked back into the bottle, this state is only temporary as long as this man doesn’t notice how she’s about to fall apart.
As he lifts his hat and holds out the gathered pills, Christine looks up at him. Her eyes dart from his hand, to the hat to his mask and back down to his hand again.
“Thank you,” she says, just barely managing to keep her voice steady, “You didn’t have to help me but you did. So thank you.” She takes the pile of pills out of his hand and pours them back in their bottle. She pops the lid back on and it doesn’t occur to her that she should just pop a pill between her lips before she puts them back in her pocket.
Because her eyes finally meet his.
They’re normal, the brightest blue she has ever seen. Then she blinks and they shift; she sees his eyes as they really are. Uneven and mismatched. Another blink, normal. One more and they’re different again. It’s as if her mind can’t figure out which option is unpleasant and which is beautiful.
And then she’s reliving a long forgotten memory.
The day turns to night. All the colors around her have faded to shades of black and white except for the intense glow of those eyes. The hat is different; a wide-brimmed fedora, the mask is different; white and made of silk. His clothes are from a different century, his gloves are black and made of leather… Yet his hand is stretched out to her, warm and inviting and comforting, if only she can be brave enough to take it. So she does. Christine reaches out and places her hand in his. The memory freezes, unable to move forward. The sunshine comes back, followed by the vibrant colors of the flowers and the town.
She looks down and sees that her hand is desperately clutched around this stranger’s. Christine swallows hard and bites her lip, embarrassed that she could get so caught up in a dream.
“Thank you for everything, ” she says again and shakes his hand to cover her own indiscretion. In her panic, she probably shakes a little too hard and somehow, she also forgets to let go.
“I’m Christine, and you are…?”