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Summary: I can still remember the first day I met her. I can remember the way she was so different from everyone else. I remember the friendship too. Now, I can remember everything, that fit all so nicely in place, but was not seen at the time.
Warnings: This is a slash story. Female slash story, so it contains content of affection between two girls. If people have a problem with that, then they shouldn't read it. I do not appreciate flames, however constructive criticism is accepted, and appreciated.
I can remember the first time I saw her. She was standing in the doorway of a grungy looking club downtown, one hand tucked in the pocket of her jeans, the other hanging by her side. A cigarette hung out the corner of her mouth, and it made me instantly think of James Dean. Her hair was cropped short, and at first I thought she was actually just another man standing there, peering out through the night at me, but the swell of her breasts which pulled tightly at the black tank top she wore told me otherwise.
I remember not being able to take my eyes off of her, and I actually stopped walking in order to stare at her.
A hand reached up to pluck the cigarette from her lips, and she growled at me, glaring out from the shadows, demanding to know what I was staring at.
It scared me, and I snapped my attention away from her, shaking my head slowly, before hurrying off up the street. I didn’t want to seem rude, but there had been something about her that for just that little while had made it almost impossible to me to take my eyes off of her.
I can remember that as I hurried down that street, I had heard footsteps behind me. I was sure it was her, but I didn’t dare look behind me. I don’t know if I was scared or not that it was her. At least if it was her, I knew who it was.
I didn’t stop until she called out to me, calling me a little girl. I was almost mad at her for that, but it didn’t last long as I stopped and turned around to face her. She was closer behind me that I had realised, and she stood there, cigarette hanging back out of her mouth as she looked me over.
I remember the nervous tingle that went through my body at that point. I shivered slightly, which caused her to raise an eyebrow.
She asked if I was cold, as though she was genuinely concerned, but then she shook her head and said that it wasn’t because I was cold but because I was scared of her.
I wanted to shake my head and tell her that wasn’t the case, but I didn’t know what to say instead. So I said nothing, just stood there quietly, staring at her.
She smirked sightly at my silence, and plucking her cigarette from her mouth again, she dropped it to the footpath and ground it into the cement with the toe of her boot. Looking me over again, she cocked her head to one side and demanded lightly to know why I had been staring at her earlier.
I could only shrug. I didn’t know why I had, and I couldn’t think of how to explain that. I shook my head slowly, dropping my eyes away from her.
She asked if I could talk, laughing a little when I looked up in surprise. When I nodded, she asked why I wasn’t, and to that I just shrugged. She smile slightly, and reached a hand out to touch my cheek. Her smile turned into a smirk as I jumped, and she raised an eyebrow.
She asked what my name was, and I told her. She repeated my name softly under her breath, sounding it out slowly, pronouncing each syllable separately. Isabella.
I smile slightly at the sound of that. I liked the way she said it. She held out her hand, but offered me no name. I placed my hand in hers gently, expecting her to shake it, but it became more of a tight squeeze than a shake. She said it was nice to meet me. And I replied that it was nice to meet her too.
There was a flicker of a smile that crossed her face at that moment, as she withdrew her hand from mine, tucking it in her pocket.
I remember standing there for a while, just shifting from foot to foot, our gaze flickering around, settling on each other every few seconds without saying anything. She finally broke the silence by asking me if I had pen. I nodded, digging into my shoulder bag the see if I could find it.
When I found it, I held it out to her. But she shook her head, and held her hand out, asking for my phone number. I hesitated slightly, feeling my heart pounding against my chest. My parents had always told me to never give my number away, especially if I didn’t know the person. And I didn’t even know her name.
I don’t know what it was, but there was something about her that stopped me from thinking about it too much, and after a slight moment’s hesitation, I carefully wrote my phone number out on the back of her hand.
There was another flicker of a smile from her, as she studied the number. She asked if it would be alright to call me. And I nodded, not really sure why I did. I probably shouldn’t have, but now I don’t regret it.
After another moment’s silence, she twisted slightly where she stood, and said that she’d better get going. I nodded slowly, and whispered a goodbye. She gave a short nod and turned, walking away from me.
When she had strolled about ten paces down the street, I called out to her, asking for her name. She stopped, turned and smiled at me. Calling back, she said her name was Briannee, but she preferred being called Brian. Like the singer from her favourite band.
With that, she turned, and continued walking. I stood there, watching her go, whispering her name under my breath. I thought to myself that I’d have to ask her who her favourite band was, next time I saw her.