Written by barefoot friar
There are so many things he knows about her.
Tracing his fingers along her photograph has told him so much. Things like the curve of her face (he could imagine it being very soft), and the feeling of her tears dripping gently on his chest (oh, but he would never let her cry! things like that were for girls far less pretty). Most of all, though, was the way her hair caught in his fingernails when he ran his hands through it...
Still, there was a lot to learn.
As her friends continued onward, Charlotte hung back, giving a quick glance over the shoulder of her powder blue sweater. In a much bolder part of his mind, he imagined that she was waiting for him to reveal himself from his cover. Oh, and he would! Spring right forward to her, place his hand upon hers and whisk her away - if only he were braver, she would already be his, and he would know everything.
Yet the day wasn't wasted. He learned another new thing. The look over her shoulder had implanted the new fantasy in his heart. Was she waiting for him, albiet subconciously, waiting and yearning for her Prince? Ah, perhaps, and the bravery that crept over his heart was such a newfound thing that he had to give a little jump out from behind the bench hiding-place. What a beautiful thought, that she already knew of him...! And the floodgates opened for so many thoughts that made his mind race in excitement. Was she aware of him completely? Was this a coy little game that the girl played to keep him on his feet...?
When he saw her again, he winked. Instead of a return gesture, she seemed to be caught in some sort of attack, shivering and swaying on the spot.
Dumb luck! What could it mean?
Deterred from his excitement for a moment, he pulled her photograph out of his bag and absently pretended to stroke her hair.
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His Morning with Her
by xisney
Mike leaned forward to peer into the telescope. He kept a hand on the window to keep himself steady as he stared at her. Charlotte sat at her kitchen table, squirting ketchup on her scrambled eggs in the shape of a smiley face. He imagined himself sitting across from her, doing the same thing, and they'd raise their plates to each other, to show how happy they were together.
He stepped back from the telescope to look out the window. He blew on the window, watching it fog up. He used a long finger to spell out "Charlotte" before he turned away to face his tidy room. A lot of things filled the room, certainly, but no dust lingered in the corners or on top of things on his shelf.
Mike lifted his camera off his bed. Earlier in the week, he splurged on a new zoom lens. He bought it to celebrate his movement to the apartment that faced Charlotte's house. The new apartment made it easier for him to peer into the rooms of her house. He carried the camera back to the window to get a few shots of her eating french fries off of her ketchup covered plate.
He knew she liked them cold, and he wondered if they were cold or if she suffered and ate them hot. If he made her breakfast, he'd always have leftover friends so she could eat them cold, and she'd laugh while he picked some off her plate over breakfast, after they exchanged their ketchup smiles, of course.
The shutter flickered as he rested his finger on the trigger. It took shots in repetition. Later he could upload them to his computer and watch them as a sequence. Those flashes blending together were better than getting her on film. He could mentally fill himself into the short moments the camera missed.
He set the camera down to move the ballet flats closer to his telescope. He found the flats in Charlotte's garbage can, he supposed she grew out of them, he knew she was a size five and a half now, he saw her shopping for new ones.
He peered through the telescope again as he held one of the shoes in his hand. He fingers ran across the worn fabric as he watched her eat. He imagined their conversation over breakfast, she'd tell him what she learned in school and what sport they were doing in gym, and he'd smile and nod and think about how beautiful she was. He stroked the shoe as she turned her back on his to set her dishes in the sink, and his eyes ignored her mother, Helen. She was no longer of interest to him, not with the way Charlotte passed through the room.
His cat letting out a gentle mew drew him away from the telescope. Mike almost forgot about his cat, Rag Doll. He found the cat one day while following Charlotte, and it was the same day he learned the nickname Charlotte's friends gave her. Rag Doll. It was as if the cat was destiny herself coming up to him and purring his fate.
Mike tossed some fresh food into her dish and refilled her water bowl. Rag Doll twined between his legs, and Mike imagined Charlotte running her fingers through his cat's smooth fur.
Once Rag Doll ate with a purr, he threw a beige sweater on and slung the camera around his neck. And Mike took one more glance around the room before he closed the door behind him.
By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, he noticed Charlotte walking quite a ways ahead of him. It took him some practice to get it timed perfectly so that he could watch her without her noticing him, not unless she waited for him to reach the bottom of the stairs.
Mike thought that one day she would look both ways and cross the street to meet him at the stairwell. And she'd offer a bright smile and run a hand through her hair shyly. They would exchange pleasantries and he'd walk her to wherever she was going, their hands brushing against one another as they walked side by side.
He took a few long strides to cross the street and then kept a slow pace to see her in the distance. He checked for onlookers, but there was only a woman on the other side of her street, her eyes glazed as she spoke on the cell phone. She'd pass them soon anyway, so he ignored her presence like she ignored his.
But Charlotte didn't ignore him in that manner. Perhaps she didn't see him, but from the way she walked, the way the wind tossed her hair backwards, it was as if she was an actress on stage and he was the audience. She performed unaware of his presence, and he watched with complete awareness. Every step she made was his own private show.
Mike fingered the camera around his neck, raising it up to his eye. When he looked through the lens, Charlotte looked more accessible. It was as if he could just reach out his hand (which he did) and she was his. Every photo he took was proof of his contact with Charlotte. He knew where he stood in every photograph, and he knew where he could be in every situation.
He ran his fingers along the focussing ring. He watched her blur and then come back into focus. He breathed in deeply and twitched his fingers again, watching her change again. It was a change he had control over, and when she blurred, he could sharpen the image in his mind, adding his own details.
Mike pulled the camera away as he saw her hop onto a stone fence. She walked gracefully on top of it, one foot after the other. A smile curled onto his lips, and he took a few photos in the distance. He imagined walking behind her, holding onto her small, soft hand to better keep his balance. And she'd laugh because he had no sense of balance, and he'd laugh because of how beautiful and contagious her laugh was.
He pulled the camera away again, stopping to let her get ahead of him so no one called the police again. Mike stared at his shoes to brush some dirt off of them, but then a flicker of pink caught his eye. He raised his eyes to get a better glimpse as he walked forward.
A hair clip.
A hair clip fell out of her hair.
He approached it wearily. Charlotte stopped at the corner to talk on her cell phone, but she didn't notice him or the dropped clip.
He had two options. He could give it back to her and possibly have an exchange that could lead to the blossoming of a friendship. Or he could keep it and hold it against to his chest forever. He could squeeze it tightly into a fist and then look at the imprint it'd leave on his palm. He could imagine clipping it into her hair, opening and closing it between his fingers.
He was obviously going to keep it.
Mike lifted the clip off the ground. He saw a strand of strawberry blonde hair left in the clip, and he pocked it quickly, confirming that the strand didn't fall out of the pocket. But he'd have to go home. He never had a strand before. He'd have to make a scrapbook, tape it in place, do something to make sure that the strand never disappeared into the air.
He walked by Charlotte, letting her silky voice wash over him. He lingered for a moment, watching her bluish green eyes skim over him as he passed her. He wondered if she even saw him or if she only saw the lights from the stage. Then he headed back to his apartment.
He put the photographs on the computer, taped the hair (which turned out to be two strands) on a piece of paper and stroked them as he pulled out a piece of foolscap. He chewed on the end of the pencil, his index finger resting on the strand.
He started writing,
"Dear Charlotte,
I would just like to explain to you how easily I could fit into your life. I already adapted to your morning routine, and I know how to make the experience better for the both of us…"
"Yes," Mike said, his murky brown eyes running along the letter. "She'll love to hear this."
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Valentine's Day
written by UchihaRikax
Over time, he grew to be quite knowledgeable about her.
Her favourite foods, colors, seasons, and even her shoe size was memorized and implanted into his brain. Spending hours digging through her trash did have its rewards.
He entered the tiny café, breathing in the sensual smell of cinnamon, toasty coffee, and Charlotte's aroma, careful that he remained hidden. He sat down, as far away from her as he can. Shielding his face with the menu, he looked at Charlotte from an angle with loving eyes. Her luscious strawberry blonde tresses were tied into two ponytails, each resting on her shoulder. Her slim and petite figure was dressed in frills and bows, complementing her body extravagantly. He watched, dazed, as Charlotte drank her cocoa, smiling and laughing with her mother and father. He averted his glance back to the menu, and flipped through the glossy pages, reaching the Valentine's Day specials.
Ahh, that's right. Today was Valentine's Day.
He smiled mindlessly to himself, as he visualized a Valentine's Day with Charlotte.
They will be sipping a drink from a single cup, exactly what hopelessly in love couples would do. He'll then casually reach for her hand, spotting a slight blush on Charlotte's face. Charlotte then would giggle and he'll also laugh along with her, their voices in complete harmony.
Returning back to reality from his daydream, he continued to observe her, an affectionate look fixed onto his face.A chocolate sundae had arrived at Charlotte's table, her face showering in glee. He motioned for a waiter.
"Give me what she's having."
The waiter, nodded, complying.
The moment his dessert was delivered by the waiter, he grabbed the metal spoon with no hesitation, and ate 'along' with Charlotte, each bite at the same pace.
He stopped though, silently capturing Charlotte's glowing face on film. She looked as lovely as usual, her eyes crinkled in delight.
Disregarding his sundae, his eyes followed Charlotte's every move, as she and her parents left the café.
He knew exactly what to give her, just to commemorate this special day.
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She's Mine
written by -Poisonous Candy-
As luck would have it, this Valentines Day fell on a Saturday, a perfect day for Charlotte and her friend Lyle to spend together. The mall was the chosen place of their meeting, with her father following behind, about 10 feet away. He wasn’t going to allow his baby girl to be left alone with a boy.
“But daddy, why can’t I go with him alone?” She asked; all the innocence of the world in that one question he thought. She knew nothing of the sickness that filled this world, the horrible dirt underneath the surface that he had to write about. He couldn’t tell her about that now.
“Because my sweet Dottie, I was a boy once, and I know just how cute you are, so he must know as well. He wants to keep you all to himself.” He said with a laugh.
It was such a dad’s laugh, Charlotte thought. It was warm and hearty, but hiding something. She wasn’t stupid; she knew he was holding back. But he would never say. For now, all she could do was enjoy her day with Lyle.
Charlotte’s fingers mindlessly played with the hem of her skirt, while she chewed on her hair, looking at Lyle across the food court’s tiny table. Her father bought them lunch, McDonalds. It was easy, and cheap. Her burger was half finished, wrapped in the paper, but her fries were untouched. Lyle looked up, wiping his mouth with his sleeve before he spoke.
“Hey, how come you do that?” He asked, motioning to her hair. Charlotte blinked, taking her hair out of her mouth for a second, “Do what?” She asked, unaware that is was strange for her to do it, but it wasn’t the first time someone asked. “You know…Chew your hair…doesn’t it taste gross?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. “I...don’t really, know…My mom did it…and I guess I copied her.” She said, unable to come up with an actual explanation.
When they had finished their meal, Charlotte put her fries in a plastic bag and gave them to her father. She would wait for them to get cold before she’d eat them. Her father always brought them home cold from working, so she had simply gotten used to them that way, so she couldn’t eat them any other way.
Standing up, she wasn’t as tall as Lyle, even though her legs were longer than his. He was elongated almost, tall and skinny, with a mop of messy brown hair, barely brushed after he got out of bed. His skin was slightly tan, but it was really mocha, since his mother was black, and his father was white. He wore such…boy clothes. A red skater shirt, white a black and white over shirt with a dragon on it, and jean shorts with loose fitting sneakers. When he smiled, she could notice his front tooth was chipped, she had asked how about a week ago, and he said that he tripped when he was playing tag with his friends, and broke it against the side walk. He thought it was cute when she covered her mouth in false pain, like she experienced it herself, but, almost everything about her was cute. She had long red hair, it was really pretty, since he was the only red head he knew, and it reached way down her back, which was longer than any of the other girls. Her legs were super long, which made her the fastest in the school, and he guessed anywhere. Her clothing was pretty cute, always had something like a kitten or something on the shirt. Today it was butterflies. Pink and rainbow butterflies on a white background tank-top, it was soooo girly. He thought, but, it suited her. She wore a cute, pleated jean skirt, which reached just above her knees, and flip flops. He could see a lot of her freckles, and she had even more, which he thought was weird, but…adorable in its own way.
They began on their way again, wandering around aimlessly in the mall, with no real direction, or want to go into stores.
Michael’s face turned sour as his hands clenched in his pockets. How dare that boy hold her hand…like his hand belonged there! How dare he smile at her…with the stupid chipped tooth…he wasn’t good enough for his Dottie…he was flawed…she deserved perfection…she needed him. He wanted to simply push the boy aside and take his place, and enjoy the feel of Charlotte’s little hand in his…but her father was there. He always was trying to keep them apart, like he did with his Helen…someday he’d be gone though, and Charlotte would be his, like he always wanted. That stupid boy didn’t even know she liked her fries cold, or that she bit her nails…he always tried to collect them when she spit them out.
That boy hugged her! Hugged her goodbye! And he gave her a box of chocolates! He had given her much better gifts than THAT. Why did he get to touch her…and feel her softness, and smell her scent, only after a short period, when he himself had wanted that for so long! Oh how he wanted to hug her correctly, hold her in his arms, bury his face against her neck and enjoy her scent, stroke her hair and tell her he loved her…and instead…that boy got to touch her. He ground his teeth together, watching as her father lead her out to their car, going back to their comfy suburban home…that boy...He would have to learn…but not now…He couldn’t approach him now…but someday, he would know the same pleasure that boy had known…in the arms of his sweet Dottie.
Charlotte felt a chill down her spine, not from the cool night air, but from knowing a pair of eyes was fixed upon her, she knew this feeling, and she knew who it was…he had followed her, as usual…But her mind was still on Lyle…maybe he could protect her from the evil that followed her. Her knight in shining armor…
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Revenge
written by -Poisonous Candy-
Lyle…that was his name…Michael had found it out after a few days of snooping. He lived with his single mother, a stripper. He scoffed; he was the son of a whore, not good enough for his Lottie. Michael looked through the pictures he had taken of his lifestyle, learning his routes, and his favorite places. He would have his revenge. It would just take a night to instill a fear in Lyle that would never cease.
Hands very softly touching, Lyle and Charlotte walked to the corner of Apple and Jewel. It was here they went their separate ways, Lyle to the left, to the more, seedy part of town, and Charlotte to the right, to her upper middle class suburban home. Michael so wanted to follow his little Lottie right now, but he had to make sure his revenge was carried out. Lyle walked alone on the street, as he often did, passing a old rickety white fence, the paint peeling off, making it look even more dilapidated. Lyle turned his attention to it, to find photos of his mother at her job, and doing…other unsavory things with gentlemen callers. Lyle stepped back, looking in horror, before tearing the pictures off the fence, running off along the street. Michael grinned, part one was done.
Lyle had run to the only place he had solace, the video arcade. With a pocket full of quarters, he could escape from the life he was in. He entered the arcade to find the manager weeping; every screen was smashed in, and on the wall, in red spray paint, was written “YOU WILL PAY LYLE”.
Lyle’s heart caught in his throat, tears brimmed in his eyes…this guy…knew everything, he ran home as quick as he could, but knew that not even there he was safe…what had he done to upset this guy? What could he do?
Michael grinned, peering through the lens of his camera into the house. The pictures of Lyle crying like a small child would make perfect gifts for Charlotte…She would see that he wasn’t as strong and clever as himself, and she wouldn’t love him anymore, it had to happen…
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Happy Valentine's Day
written by Orcarora
Though the frost had long melted, the wind picked up for it was still a chilly time of year. In the cold, a lone girl sat on an isolated bench in an abandoned park. “Why was she there all alone” one might ask. Looking down at her shoes, tracked with mud and looking beyond dirty in the sunlight, the girl in question asked herself just that. All that she knew was that she had received a message from a… secret admirer, for lack of a better term, a week ago inviting her out and designating her to where she was sitting presently.
Normally, Charlotte isn’t such a trustingly naïve girl who would actually take up such a sketchy offer but for some reason, she had. Perhaps it was the burning gaze that she had felt following her for the past few months that persuaded her. Though it had made her uncomfortable and had been downright creepy, she had also felt a dark desire, a curiosity if you will, to know who this unrelenting stare belonged to. And most of all, she wanted to know why that person was watching her of all people. At the awkward age of twelve, caught in the middle of becoming an adult, Charlotte was gangly and looked slightly malnourished, in her humble opinion. Her red hair perhaps, was the only redeeming characteristic about her. But even that was dulled by the fact that it came in a package with the awful freckles that dotted the entire span of her small body.
Twirling a lock of her cherished hair self-consciously, she waited, shivering a bit when the wind danced around her small frame. A few times, she was alerted by her instincts to look up and try to catch a glimpse of what she thought was definitely there but each time she was rewarded with only the image of tussling leaves in the wind. After waiting for a solid half an hour in that state and feeling more than a little stupid and agitated, Charlotte stood up with a huff. As she was just about ready to leave, she heard a thud next to her, the sound like that of a paper package colliding with the hard pavement floor. In the split second that she took to spin around, the silhouette that she had thought that she had glimpsed was gone and in place of it, was a package lying adjacent to her feet with the words “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
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Together at last
written by -Poisonous Candy-
It had been almost a year since the world had been taken over…humans were scarce, in Charlotte’s town alone; there were only a handful…maybe 10 at most. The infected, what they were called, were crawling over the streets, killing anything they could find. Her father had been one of the first to go. Coming home from work, he came across what he thought was a young man in a hoodie, begging for change…they only found an arm and his notebook. Charlotte would never recover from that, only vow to survive.
Right now, she only wanted to get someplace safe. The school and markets were overrun with the creatures, and her home would soon become unsafe. Her only chance was to make a bolt across the street to her neighbor’s house. They had a basement she could hide in, though; she knew they died about a month ago.
Her hand gingerly touched the doorknob to her home, and she opened it, ready to run across. She took a deep breath and sprinted out into the street, where she was greeted by a tall figure, a large, pulsating boil on the side of his head, and a long tongue hanging out of his mouth. Her breathes became short and rapid, and she could feel herself start to fade out into black. Then, a sudden shot of loudness, her eyes opened wide, as she saw the body of the infected on the floor, and a tall, pale man holding a gun, aimed at where the infected had been. She fell, but was caught by him, and she could swear she could hear him hyperventilating as well.
Her next memory was waking up in a dark room, a basement, she was guessing, because of the stone floor and walls. In the corner, sat the man, simply…staring at her, and watching her, she was about to open her mouth to thank him, before he...grinned. Simply, grinned. In that moment, she knew who he was…her dark lover, her evil prince. Her toes curled in fright as she began to back against the wall. He frowned slightly
“My dear Dottie…I-I would nev-never hurt you…” His heart thumped in his chest. He had her…in the same room with him…he was talking with her. He couldn’t bring himself to get closer…she would scream. He didn’t want her frightened…he wanted her to love him, the same way he loved her. “I-I kill-ki-killed that thing…t-t-to protect you. Little Dottie…” He said, looking over her small frame, still pushed away from him.
She hadn’t expected him to stutter, nor be…so…courteous. But she had to remember, this was the man who made her mother and her life a living hell. Sent her a dead, stuffed kitten, he was evil. Even if he had saved her life, he was still not to be trusted.
He held up something, making her have to focus her eyes. It was a lock of her hair…! He had cut it from her while she slept. This was why he was not to be trusted; he outweighed one good thing with more bad things. And now she was trapped with him, trapped together in love and hatred, and in life and death, just how Michael wanted it.
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For their sake
written by -Poisonous Candy-
Thick smoke rose from a lit cigarette, creating spirals of ash in the cool air. Jack was standing outside his new clients home, the Porters. A loving wife and husband, with a young daughter, a victim of a stalker…poor girl, no girl should have to go through that. He thought about his own daughter, before shaking it off. He tossed his cigarette onto the ground, crushing it and putting it out with his foot, adjusting his coat as he walked up to the door, looking at it. It was finely crafted, it showed the good jobs that they had, and the money they made. He rapped on it a few times, waiting.
Charlotte opened the door, her eyes wide with wonder as she looked up at the large, imposing man standing in front of her. Jack smiled, a fatherly smile, loving, warm, and reassuring, “You must be Charlotte. I’m Detective Jack Kingsly, I’m here to talk with your mother and father about your problem.” He explained. Helen walked up behind Charlotte, placing her hand on her shoulder.
“Oh thank you Detective…Please, come inside, it’s so cold out tonight.” Helen said, moving her and Charlotte aside as he stepped in. “Much obliged miss. Do you mind if I remove my coat?” Jack asked. He received a head shake and he smiled, sliding his coat off hanging it on a coat and hat rack by the door. He moved into their cozy little home, lots of book shelves, pictures, a very…family oriented home. He found Calvin, sitting, enjoying a cup of tea and a book, Calvin stood and shook Jack’s hand. “Welcome Detective. I’m so glad you’re here.” He said, motioning to a large chair “Please, get comfortable, Helen, please get the detective some coffee?” Calvin asked, before sitting, Charlotte sitting on the couch, kicking her legs back and forth.
“So…From what our previous talks led to…and this new development…I believe the best course of action, is…an immediate move. Not the whole family…but…someplace for just Charlotte to go…” He said. “Do you have any friends out of the state…?” Jack asked, sighing. He hated having to break up the family, but it was for Charlotte’s safety, and that boy, Lyle’s safety, if Charlotte was gone, the Stalker would have no reason to harass Lyle, and he could grow up in peace.”
Helen brought the coffee and choked on her words. “Y…Yes…we do.” She said, hugging Charlotte close. “Honey…you…have to leave for a while…to stay safe…okay?”
Charlotte barely even heard her, she was already in a full blown panic attack, she had heard Jack saying she’d have to leave, and she couldn’t handle it. She fell back onto the couch, out like a light. She didn’t know that when she awoke, she’d be far away from her nightmare…safe, for now.
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Reunion
written by -Poisonous Candy-
He found her. After five years, he found her, living in a small town in Mississippi; she had hidden herself away from him. Now he had her…no father or mother around…just her. And she was old enough to handle his love for her. Michael had let himself into her house. When they were finally together, he knew she wouldn’t mind. He wandered through her small apartment. It needed a man in it…he should be living in it, with her, sleeping in her small bed with him, an arm wrapped around her. He didn’t want to disturb anything; she was so tidy…like him. They were perfect for each other…she just needed to realize that. He was about to leave when he head the tumblers in the door…No! He wasn’t ready to face her…but it seemed fate intervened to allow this meeting happen.
Her form was perfect. Her hair was as long and beautiful as he remembered it. She had grown a womanly frame since he had last seen her. She had full breasts, and her hips had begun to curve, leading into her long legs. He stared at her in awe, and she stared at him in shock. Thank goodness she fainted…he couldn’t have her screaming...out of bed.
Charlotte awoke on a bed of satin, in an unfamiliar house. Michael had bought it out in the country…just for the day that they were together. Her clothes were gone, and instead she wore a sheer baby doll nightgown. Her arms covered her body and she whimpered softly in fear, getting up, covering her body with the blanket from the bed. The sound of hyperventilating hit her ears and she wandered into the bathroom, seeing Michael, leaned over the sink, breathing heavily. His heart was racing from seeing Charlotte naked when he changed her. He got to feel her soft skin, and touch her, though, nothing sexual without her permission. He sensed her behind him and turned, looking at her.
“Y-You look beautiful, Dottie” He said, acting like nothing was wrong, like he hadn’t just kidnapped her. “W...Why are you doing this…how did you find me…” She said, barely able to squeak it out without tears. “Dottie...love always finds you…” He said…almost poetic like. He stepped forward, she stepped back. He seemed hurt and he nodded. “You’re not ready…I understand. I…can’t let you out of here, but I got you…something to eat…” He said, he left the room, and came back out, putting a bag of cold fries on the bed.
She opened the bag slightly and bit her lip. He remembered…it’d almost be romantic if he didn’t learn it by stalking her. She felt his arm slide around her waist and she froze in fear. His face buried against her neck, kissing it gently. “Don’t…be afraid…I just…want to show you…how much I love you…”
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What friends are for
written by NothingGold
“Man, that was an awesome movie!” Lyle said as he and Charlotte walked out of the movie theater. “Did you see how Captain Tomorrow kicked that guys butt? So epic!”
“Well, I thought it was really cute how he and Jenny ended up together in the end. That was my favorite part,” replied Charlotte with a small smile. Lyle gave her his patented ‘eww, gross, girly stuff’ look, causing Charlotte to laugh and stick her tongue out at him. “Hey, you can’t just have action scenes without their being a good reason to fight.”
“Bleh, I guess. Uh, is something wrong?” Lyle asked, noticing Charlotte looking worriedly behind her. “Did you forget something in the theater?”
“No, it’s fine,” said Charlotte. “It’s getting kind of late, though. Let’s head back home.”
Lyle gave her a skeptical look but decided to leave it alone. “Alright. Let’s get going. Mom’s making hotdogs tonight and I want to be there on time to get some,” he said brightly.
As they headed back to the apartments they stayed at Charlotte continued to glance behind her every now and then and increased her pace a bit. Lyle started to turn his head to look back, but Charlotte grabbed his hand and shook her head.
Lyle’s looked over to her with a frown and raised a questioning eyebrow. He wanted to know what in the world was back there for her to be so nervous. “I- I didn’t want to worry you, but I think this guy has been following us for a while now,” Charlotte said. “I’ve been seeing him around for a few months now randomly. He’s been outside of our building and around our school and I’ve noticed recently that some of my favorite barrettes have gone missing. I’m just not sure what to do.”
“What!” Lyle said, surprised. “What a creep. I’ll fix this,” he said with a reassuring smile and puffing out his chest. Lyle looked around a bit and then smirked when he spotted a bat on a stoop nearby. Immediately he snatched it up and turned around. He spotted a man in a beige coat walking a ways behind them. The man lowered the hat he was wearing to cover his face.
“Hey man!” yelled out Lyle. “You better back off!” And with that he started to run at the man with the bat raised. The man’s face turned from to surprise to a scowl, but he turned around and ran off.
Lyle halted his assault and turned back to Charlotte and gave her a thumbs up. “See? Problem solved,” he said with a smile.
Charlotte looked at him worriedly. “For now I guess… but I doubt this is a permanent solution,” she said to him as he walked back. “Thanks, though.” Her face had a light blush on it making her freckles stand out and she looked up to him with her blue-green eyes. “I do feel better without him following us.”
“Ha. It was no problem,” Lyle stated with a light blush on his face as well. “I mean, what are friends for, right?”
“Right,” said Charlotte with a smile.
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10 Ws.
written by Kiddlet
#01 - Walking
Michael thinks of Charlotte every time he walks, eyes half closed as he relives what muscle moves where or how her chest heaves for air as she runs, and can't help but feel just a little proud at how much faster she is than he is at his snail's pace ... especially when she has never, not once, used her speed to escape his gaze.
#02 - Waltz
It is a favourite fantasy of his to imagine them waltzing -- one hand lightly clasping hers while his other sits on her hip, guiding her delightfully innocent body into the right steps -- but whenever he thinks of the way her chin would tilt slightly (her lids just a little hooded her lips just slightly parted, her --) to meet his eyes, he has to stop before the despair that it is not happening destroys him.
#03 - Wishes
It is her birthday, all her friends gathered around her figure as the cake comes out -- and when she scrunches her eyes shut and takes a deep breath, he knows exactly what she is wishing for when the candle's flame winks out into nothing.
#04 - Wonder
He watches as she opens his latest gift, and he knows that it is not fear that causes her eyes to widen and her breath to hitch -- no, it is nothing less than awe and wonder at how attentive he has been to her secret desires, to have bought her what she wanted more than anything else in the world but never breathed aloud.
#05 - Worry
He almost tears himself apart with worry and panic when she disappears from the city, off his radar and out of his life -- but only until he realizes that this is just another hurdle, just another obstacle to overcome before they can prove to the universe that they are ready to be together.
#06 - Whimsy
Some told him -- in the privacy of their expressions buried deep under their agreements and solemn nods where they thought he couldn't see -- that his fantasy of being with her (whoever she is why don't you tell us) was just that (a fantasy that's what they all think why can't they see) and Michael hated every time he had to laugh awkwardly and agree it was just his own brand of foolishness, just to keep them from interfering.
#07 - Waste/Wasteland
There is an obituary in the paper one morning -- a young girl, named Charlotte, struck down in a hit and run ... and he feels his entire life become nothing more than a pointless wasteland with no reprieve in sight -- at least, until he reads the next line, and realizes it is not his Charlotte that has been killed.
#08 - Whiskey and rum
The whiskey and the rum are the only way he can sleep the night before he goes to see her -- so much time has passed, that his stomach is in knots and his nerves are frayed and he is so excited that even with the alcohol, he can barely bring himself to close his eyes long enough to rest.
#09 - War
Her tears (so innocent so unassuming so gentle so sweet) are enough to cause a war in his very soul as he paces back and forth and tears at his hair, trying to decide if now is the right time to reveal himself and if she is ready and old enough ... or if he should just step back, wait, and pray that she does not cry herself to sleep too many nights over such a callous lover.
#10 - Weddings
His desk is covered in bridal magazines, pages marked with little post its and notes scribbled down to obtain some sort of order in the chaos of photos and prices and catalogues -- after all, it would hardly be fair to expect his dear Charlotte to be able to make enough sense of the mess on her own to plan their ceremony.
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If you're happy, I'm happy
written by Fabulous Selkie
Normally he’d go running to clear his head, but he just can’t. The pavement doesn’t hit back right, and all he can think about is where his mom’s gotten off to. Each time he hits the concrete the clock ticks, and he wonders if she’s with a client, on the street, tick, tick…
The burn in his lungs doesn’t help. No matter how fast he runs, it’s like all his thoughts catch up with him and course through his veins in place of adrenaline. So he doesn’t run- he goes home, turns down the lights, and puts in the closest game he can find. It’s stupid and brainless, and he couldn’t ask for anything more, because it’s just the distraction he needs. The only way the day could get better is if—
Ding-dong.
…Alright, if that’s the pizza guy, he’s going to be impressed. Psychic pizza people- don’t even have to order, and they’re bringing you food. Lyle pulls himself up from the sofa, grabbing a shirt as he heads to the door. Sure, it’s been on the floor for a bit, but Joker shirts always work. Even if they’re a bit stiff and unwashed. And honestly, anything’s better than ‘No, I’m not lazy, I just got done running. I swear.’
He turns the key, opens the door, and… huh. There’s Charlotte. The smile that comes to his lips is completely natural, and he leans against the doorframe, genuinely glad to see her. She looks over him, once, and frowns a bit.
“Running to clear your mind?” It’s not asked with malice or hurt, but genuine interest in his well-being and Lyle nods slightly. He lets her in, even when it’s dark, and doesn’t question that she’s kept her back turned to him. Whatever she’s doing, she’ll explain it soon enough. She looks around, carefully and quietly observing, as if she’s doing a check-in on how his house is running.
Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise him if that’s what she was doing. He trots ahead, making sure to flick on the lights as he goes. Doesn’t want to leave Lotte in the dark, after all. They don’t talk as they walk, either. It’s not an awkward silence, but… a comfortable one? Like they don’t have to say anything and they know they’re cool. The ease guides them to his sofa, her on one end him on the other, and his gaming resumes. He’s halfway around Rainbow Road for his second lap when he realizes Charlotte’s been staring at him for… a decent part of the race.
“Are you okay?” She asks quietly, and Lyle finds himself pausing the game. He looks over to his friend- worry in her eyes and concern in her voice- and musters up a smile.
“Not really, but, I’ll get by. Normal stuff,” he says, intending to go back to playing. There’s something in the way she’s looking at him, though, that keeps his gaze on her. She runs a thumb over whatever it is she’s been hiding, and eventually pulls it out.
It’s… a stuffed cat. At least, that’s what he thinks it is. The ears are a bit lopsided, and its eyes aren’t quite right, but yeah. It’s definitely a cat. He stares at it for a moment in confusion, unsure of what to say, before looking up to Charlotte.
Her face is flushed, redder than it normally is, and she’s smiling softly at him.
“It’s a cat,” she says quietly, offering it out further to him. “I… I made it for you. You’d seemed down lately, and I know it’s not perfect, but—“
“It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Lyle interrupts, and sure it’s not manly, but it almost makes him want to cry. It’s not even the cat making him happy- it’s Charlotte, in her honest-to-god goodness, fingers covered in bandaids and eyes bright with wonder, that’s so perfect. Charlotte that ignores the week-old laundry and tries so hard to make him smile, and succeeds.
“I want you to be happy,” she breathes into his shoulder, and he nods gently. His hand goes up to stroke her hair softly, and he closes his eyes a bit, just relishing the moment.
If being happy is what makes Lotte happy? Yeah. He can do that.
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There's a fine, fine line between a lover and a friend
written by Kiddlet
Charlotte paused at the gates to the carnival, and it wasn’t until he had taken a few more steps forward that Lyle noticed.
There was a brief moment of panic -- all consuming, soul destroying terror -- that she had been trampled by the mass of slowly moving fun seekers, but that passed when she just as suddenly as she had disappeared popped up next to him and smiled awkwardly.
It took another few seconds before the fact she had paused and the fact that one hand was clutching the bow that had previously been in her hair came together to reach a conclusion in the boys mind, but by that point people were pushing and shoving them out of the way -- not really in a harsh manner, just impatient to get where they were going. When Charlotte yelped as someone accidentally stomped on the tips of her little toes while she was fiddling around with the bow, Lyle decided it was time to save her from certain doom, and -- very awkwardly -- took her elbow in a gentle grip and half-dragged her off to the side.
The mass of people -- thicker by the second -- hardly parted like the red sea for Moses, but at least he got her there without further injury. Squeezed as they were up against a small booth, Lyle deliberately turned his gaze away as Charlotte tried again to get the bow back into her hair. She was self conscious about being stared at, he thought to himself, and so looked away for as long as he could stand seeing nothing but sweaty New Orlean-sians in brightly coloured beads and tight little shorts parading past.
When he glanced back, she was standing and smiling at him awkwardly, waiting for his attention to return but apparently too shy to interrupt his musing. The bow was a little crooked, but rather than tell her and crush that little ray of pride he saw starting to blossom, Lyle just smiled back and pretended everything was okay.
You look pretty today he thought, but what came out of his lips was
“Want a hot dog ?”
Charlotte looked startled for a second, as if the idea of eating was foreign and alien. Then she realized her hair was between her lips and tugged it out like he might not notice, flushing uncertainly and shuffling her feet. His stomach lurched -- briefly wondering if he had done something wrong -- before her eyes suddenly widened, and she pointed at his bag.
“What’s that ?”
Lyle’s stomach lurched again, for an entirely different reason. Slowly -- very very slowly -- as if turning as slow as he possibly could would actually delay the inevitable, he turned and dragged his bag around to meet him. Sure enough, poking out of the zipper was the corner of the tacky, cheesy, horribly lame little valentine’s day card he had spent all night making.
“Uhm …”
“Oh, I get it !” Charlotte suddenly seemed excited, animated, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed with enthusiasm. Despite the emphasis in her words, her voice was still low, the words tumbling out over one another as she tried to express what she was thinking without seeming pushy or insensitive. “You’ve got a crush on someone ! I’m so stupid ! Of course it’s a valentines card !”
“You seem pretty happy about that …” he said, awkwardly phrasing the question without really asking it, still clutching his bag to his chest and not opening it yet. He wanted to, but …
“Of course I am !” She was too far gone in her own happiness for her friend to realize what the shift in his expression meant. “I’m so glad you like someone ! Will you tell me who it is ?”
“I … I dunno …”
“Come on ! We’re friends, you can tell me anything ...”
Lyle’s heart sank. She was so earnest in her joy, so genuinely happy that he was interested in someone else, that there was no way he could tell her who his crush was.
Not now.
Still, he just forced a smile and shook his head a little, slinging the bag back over his shoulder.
“I’ll tell you later,” he lied, and she grinned, nodding her consent to the compromise, looking at him as if everything was good and alright in the world -- which only seemed fair, because just for a second, he had thought maybe it was going to be.
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Age is just a number
written by CobaltLemon
Close your wide eyes, fall onto me,
I'll treat you right, no, no don't flee.
My love it will save you, like cold ice on a rose.
You fear it, don't fear it. You'll never grow old.
Your body I'll cherish, your soul will I savour.
Each small freckle, its' own little flavour.
Destined to be, we're written in stars,
I know all of you smiles and all of your scars.
How your heart beats wild, deep in your chest.
Sharing your footsteps, hearing my breath.
We'll smile together and how we will laugh,
Age was a number, now just in our past.
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