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almondharry · 5 years

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you look so good: four

you look so good — [10.1k]

She should’ve stayed at the library.

She should’ve gone home.

She should’ve gone to a coffee shop.

“Well, don’t just stand there.” His eyes did not part from the novel cracked open in front of him. His nose wiggled when he found a particular line amusing. An awkward beat passed and Genevieve was at a loss of words. “Have you become a statue? Do I need to unfreeze you?”

She should’ve gone anywhere, but here.

Part Four: The Markov Theorem

The Markov Theorem

November 3, 2016

“You’re staring.” Genevieve noticed without looking up. A pen pressed tightly to paper, runny swirls of leaky blue ink stained the page.

Her neck was stiff, like age old wood, bent like an archer’s bow. The only time she blinked was to copy a specific formula needed from her textbook—situated strategically to her right. Her iced coffee had condensation lined around the plastic to-go cup, the beads came together to pool in a ring on the library table. She was running late and skipped on grabbing a napkin. It was full to the brim, not a sip had been taken. Time slipped through her fingers like playground sand. The answers were due at the beginning of her next lab, t minus twenty minutes. The clicking of calculator keys was the loudest sound in the room, apart from the coughing radiator.

He looked on in slight terror, but mostly amusement, at the rate her pen skimmed over her notepad. He found it a bit odd that she preferred to use grid lined paper than regular. He remembers her starting at the top left corner of the page, he had turned around for a minute to plug the thick cord of his laptop charger into an outlet, and when he turned back she was already past the middle.

Futile attempts were made to decode the numbers and letters scribbled in her path. The page resembled a bowl of alphabet soup, letters and numbers swimming together. He gave up all too soon when he felt the beginnings of a headache. The only thing he took away is that she looped her two’s.

Her penmanship captured an urgency. The once pin straight numbers became more and more italicized, as if they sprinted to chase a bus that slowly drove away. His line of sight started from the tip of her pen to the escaped wiry strands of hair from her ponytail, and lastly, to the hold her teeth had on her bottom lip. A skittish frenzy bounced in her eyes behind the square frames. An impression of a mad scientist, he thought. They rest on the apple of her cheeks and slide down the bridge of her nose at a sloth’s pace.

“Crazy,” he said after observing her for another second. He shook his head, a ghost of a smile quirked at the end of his lips. “Absolutely insane.”

“A bit looney,” she hummed. Her lips pursed and they both knew it was a poor effort to hide a grin.

“Little obsessive.”

“Quite dull.”

“Completely mad.”

“Oh, most definitely mad,” Genevieve settled. Her pen paused its dance and her hand reached to push her frames up to finally look across. He was already staring at her, his grin widened to a size that can span out acres worth of empty land.

It was something they did, a harmless game of bickering adjectives that goes back and forth between them like an intense ping pong match. It was a childish way of name calling and poking fun. Their legs were a comfortably tangled mess, hidden by the smooth wooden desk, but his knee would knock against her shin every once in a while.

Genevieve sighed, “Now, are we done discussing your outstanding qualities or—”

“—Remarkably clumsy,” He added on abruptly. Genevieve knew he preferred to get the last word in.

She paused. “—Oh, you’ve still got a few then.”

“No,” he laughed through his nose, the corner of his lips twitched like he knew something she didn’t. His eyes squinted and gleamed like a reflection does in a fresh puddle after rain.

“Then?”

“There’s…” Genevieve heard blinds being tampered with across the room, soon something is sliding against a metal rod. A flash of yellow is thrown at them like a bucket of splattered paint. His pupils slowly dilated to accommodate the sudden change of lighting, and Genevive decided then that she would want to see that happen once more. Tiny dust particles floated up and waltzed together as their skin warms. His index finger gestures towards his face. “You’ve… nevermind.”

He dismissed with a quick wave when her brows curled inwards in soft curves.

Genevieve gave him a look, wary and doubting.

Their table was pressed up against a wall. It had a bookshelf that once was seeded at ground level, but now has branched out and up the ceiling, only stopping once the plaster slopes into a curved, dome-like ceiling.

He busied himself by trailing the tips of his digits over worn out spines. Genevieve watched his lips part to gently mouth words. He silently recited a title of interest to himself under his breath. His pointer finger curled into a pirate’s hook and attaches itself to pull a hardcover from its slumber.

He kept a list of unread books he planned to read, she pondered if this one would make it.

There was a way—a careful cradle, a light touch— that came so easily to him when he held a book between his fingers. It was as natural as sunlight and brought a distinct warmth to her bones. He regarded every page with a keen consideration, a dip sat between his brows from his concentrated frown. But it was after some flipping that the pad of his finger hovered over a particular sentence. Genevieve wondered if the same arrangement of words were to be on her skin, would he touch her with the same tenderness.

That’s when something shifted for Genevieve, a twig snaps. The air, once crisp, goes stale and dormant. The tip of her tongue stung and she tasted copper behind her clenched teeth.

She doesn’t know how to define this variable. It’s part mixture of guilt and shame that pricks her spine. Her brain feels like a ball of yarn, tangled. She tried to unravel the string in hopes to understand where this is coming from. How could she reach such an irrational conclusion? She looked across the table one last time, to remind herself that the statistical probability remains zero.

She pressed her lips together and stood up from her seat, it’s wooden legs screech against the floor. “I’ve got to go.”

She tucked her notebook, pen, and calculator in her bag. She almost lost the grip on the calculator slider. Her hands, shifty and restless, trembled from wound up nerves. The strap of her bag sunk into her shoulder. She hadn’t taken more than three steps away from the table before another set of wooden legs sounded.

“Wait,” he called out.

Genevieve glanced to her wrist, the second hand slowly crawling towards the twelfth digit.

“Yeah?” She turned around, eyes still on her wrist watch, an inquisitive pinch between brows.“Gotta be quick or else I’ll be late”

“You’re…” His strides made up for the lost distance. She was hyper aware of the heat his body brings forth. “Come here.”

It was a gravitational pull, she neared him like waves hit the shore. With half a step, she is the closest to him she will ever get. Genevieve inhaled a strong scent of pine needles. It mixed with lingering whiskey and mouthwash. She takes whatever she can with him.

“Hold still,” he instructed tentatively.

Her head angled up, a strain knotted at the back of her neck. But all sense of unease evaporates when he raised his hand and cupped her jaw. A careful cradle, a light touch.

Genevieve doesn’t move—she can’t move. Her arms and legs were dead weight. The neurons attached to her face where his skin meets hers are flamed. Everything was in overdrive, her heightened awareness only furthered this torture. She watched his gaze zeroed in on her parted lips. A focused and determined stare locked on to the bottom half of her profile.

His thumb, previously settled on her cheek, teetered towards the corner of her mouth. The tension was like pulling both ends of an elastic band. The rubber stretched at a snail’s pace. The tension grew, the band thinned.

Tiny ridges in the skin of his thumb were felt as he pressed it down on her bottom lip. He gradually dragged it from one corner to the center, each second felt like an hour. Her lip wobbled with the pressure.

“There,” he said easily.

The elastic snapped.

He removed his hand from her. The pad of his thumb is coloured a deep blue like he had given his fingerprint for a passport. Genevieve’s eyes widened and her fingers immediately touch her mouth, trying to press the feeling there forever. Her lip, caged behind teeth, tasted bitter like a potent chemical—residual ink. “All good.”

Good. Good. Good.

He stepped back and her lungs take in a breath through her nose. It was much easier to breathe when he stood in his respective bubble and didn’t steal her oxygen. Or sanity.

The reality was, if he asked for either, she would present it on a golden platter.

***

November 8, 2019

The fourth floor of the library was something else really. In the corner, a girl sobbed as she clutched the grade of her failed midterm. Another girl stared off into space for more than twenty minutes, going through an existential crisis of some sorts. A boy opened his textbook to do a question then shut it promptly two minutes later, only to open his laptop to change his major. It was a help centre for math related inquiries. Computers lined in two neat rows and a couple circular tables were occupied with graduate students tutoring students with appointments and the occasional walk-ins.

A student slowly dragged their feet on the carpet walking towards the front desk. Their eyes glazed over in a zombie like fashion; the coffee mug in hand and eye bags were this season’s hottest look.

“Hi.” Genevieve smiled. “What can I do for you?”

The first year girl wore a hoodie a size too big for her. “I need to book a study room for my group. Is there any available?”

“One minute.” Genevieve spun, the wheels on the chair pulled towards the administrative computer. Trained fingers typed their login and password, before a scheduled calendar popped up. “How many people are you looking for? And would you like a tutor with you?”

The girl mentally counted the people in her head. “I think there are four of us, and a tutor won’t be needed.”

Genevieve scrolled through the previous bookings with her mouse. Different colours blocked out specific periods until a vacancy popped up. “The next open slot is in fifteen minutes. Floor twelve, room nine. It’s available for two hours, how does that sound?”

“Perfect, that will be just fine.”

For a second, the sound of keyboard typing filled the hole in the conversation. “Can I get a student ID number?”

The girl presented her university issued card. Genevieve copied the numbers before finishing the booking. “That’s it, you’re good to go.”

The girl mumbled her thanks and dragged her feet towards the elevator.

Between the diner and her lectures, Genevieve had found herself at the library more often than she’d like to admit. This eventually lead her to pick up a part time position as the front desk help.

People would either come up to schedule bookings for study groups, tutors, or a computer. Professors of the mathematical science’s department held their office hours in certain rooms, so maintaining a strict schedule was key to avoid overlap. Dr. Bida, a professor she had done research with during her first year, always smiled brightly and waved whenever he passed by. The pay was great, the tasks were minimal, and it gave her the opportunity to do her course readings when it was particularly dead.

“Zayn, what the fuck are you talking about?” The faint voice travelled from a distance away. Genevieve’s ears perk up from the familiarity. “I’m completely lost.”

“Okay, how about one way ANOVA? You must have done that by now at this point of the semester.” Genevieve knew it compared the means between groups and determines whether any of those means are statistically significantly different from each other. Specifically, it tested the null hypothesis: where µ is the group mean and k is the number of groups. “Does that ring any bells?”

“Maybe, I don’t know?”

“Please tell me you know what the acronym stands for at least.”

“Nope. Nothing. I’m blank.”

“Really?”

“I’m dead serious.” Angie’s words held no comic relief. “When I told you I needed help with this course, I really meant it.”

“And you tell me this a day before your assignment is due.”

“Sorry! I got the dates mixed up, honest mistake.” Angie’s voice squeaked as she neared the end of her sentence. The voices became clearer and clearer as they stepped from behind the wall. “Why did you ask to meet here anyway? We could’ve done this at yours.”

“No we need—” Zayn didn’t get to finish his train of thought. His words cut abruptly like a slice of sponge cake under a steak knife. “—Gen? Is that you?”

Genevieve’s neck snapped up at the mention of her name, her eyes owlish. She was guilty of listening in on their back and forth, but wasn’t sure if their friendship had reached a point where she could freely insert herself into the conversation, so she had kept her head down to her books.

“Gen! I didn’t know you worked here!” Angie exclaimed marching over to the desk, Zayn in tow. Genevieve smiled, a genuine one, not the one she had in her back pocket for the sake of customer service. “Holy shit, this must be a great job!”

“You’ll find me here more than anywhere.” Angie played with the free pens and sticky notepads that advertised the university’s logo. She almost tipped over the brochures about managing mental health with a full course load. “What brings you guys here?”

Zayn hissed in pain. “Don’t ask—” but it was too late.

The back of Angie’s palm hit her forehead.

“A horrendous tragedy,” she moaned with her eyes shut. Faux grief made her lips tremble. Though sadness transformed her face, a bitter scowl soon tugged at the end of her lips. “You know apparently I have a thirty percent assignment due tomorrow? Like a whole thirty percent. And I found out yesterday.”

“Ouch,” Genevieve sympathized.

“It’s your fault for not going to the lectures and sleeping in.”

“Zayn, who’s side are you on?” Angie challenged. He dodged her attempts at giving him a twisting pinch to the ribs. “Anyway, Z here has taken the course before so he’s being a sweetheart and lending his brain. Well, whatever is left of it anyway.”

“Angie, I’m helping you. If you don’t tone down your quips, I might as well put in the wrong answers on purpose and poof! That thirty percent of your grade will amount to a zero.”

Angie narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“Don’t try me.”

“Do you see what I have to deal with?” Angie faced Genevieve and motioned a limp hand towards Zayn. She resembled a bored weatherman with a greenscreen behind.

“Ignore her, Gen. Can we get a computer?”

“‘Course,” Genevieve laughed. “Do you need a tutor with you?”

“That would be a dream,” Angie added as she pulled her hair into a ponytail with the band wrapped around her wrist. “The more the merrier, you know! There’s strength in numbers.”

Zayn leaned his weight on the slab of counter in front of them and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s only an assignment, you’re not going off to war.”

“With the amount of torture I am enduring, I might as well.”

Zayn and Angie’s conversation went back and forth like a tennis match. Genevieve’s fingers robotically put in her login and password because the monitor had gone to sleep. Genevieve examined the calendar that popped up on her screen momentarily, her lips puckered in concentration. “You’re good for a computer, but I’m afraid the next tutor isn’t available for four hours.”

“Shit.” Angie rubbed her temple to ease her climbing stress.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for a lack of availability between tutors and students. Genevieve scanned the page in front of her once more to find any possible way to squeeze them in. Usually when an appointment was a no show, it was possible. But when the screen showed no cancelations, there was not much to do. “What course is it anyway?”

“It’s an intro course to stats.”

“Oh, I might know a few things about it here and there.” Genevieve clicked the x on her window and met Angie’s pleading gaze. The desperation in her eyes disappeared with her next words. “I’m here to help if you need it!”

“Yeah? Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I had to take it first year, it was very straightforward.”

“Speak for yourself, I went to one lecture and felt like the prof had taken a baseball bat to my face.”

“I’m guessing you need the computer for the SPSS software?” Genevieve recalled they had one assignment in that course. The tricky software was already installed on campus computers, but cost a fortune if purchased individually. It made sense as to why they didn’t do it on their laptops.

Zayn piped up. “Yeah, there’s like a tonne of raw data to analyze. It’s gonna take a while.”

Genevieve nodded, already clearing her station. “Ah, well, I’m not doing much right now, I can take a look.”

“You’re an absolute angel, godsend!” Angie would’ve jumped over the desk to crush her in a hug if Genevieve hadn’t rolled back her chair to step around the table. She turned a small sign towards the middle of the desk. Ring bell for help.

Genevieve brushed off her thanks. “Oh I’m far from, just doing what I can. It’s no problem, really.”

Genevieve was making sure that her textbooks were shut and put away along with her expensive calculator when Angie started again. “This is what we need in our life! More selflessness! Everyone is so greedy now days, don’t you think? So noble of you. In fact, I’m gonna write your name down for the nobel prize for math!”

“That’s not how it works, Angie, but sure knock yourself out.” Zayn chewed his gum so slowly that his jaw flexed with each bite. “I think it’s not even called that. Right, Gen?”

“It’s called the Field's medal. It’s like the nobel prize, but it’s awarded every four years.”

“To-may-to, to-mah-to. Same thing.” Angie shrugged and threw an arm over Genevieve’s shoulder when she was close enough.

Genevieve lead the duo to the assigned computer, their row was thankfully empty. The room was shared with two other students seated further away; with their headphones on, they seemed oblivious to the world. Angie logged into her account and Zayn took it from there. He sandwiched himself between Angie on his left and Genevieve on the right.

The chairs in the lab weren’t as comfy as the one Genevieve was previously seated on. Without a cushion, it was just hard blue plastic which made your behind sore.

Zayn double clicked the software icon. His screen filled with horizontal and vertical cells similar to excel. He split the screen, on one side there was SPSS and on the other there were instructions. He copy pasted the raw data assigned by the professor, numbers in the squares from A1 to G93 rolled in like a lottery machine.

“Okay let's sort this out,” he sighed under his breath. It was the most redundant part of the assignment. The variables needed to correspond correctly or else your analysis would not be fruitful.

Genevieve frowned, confusion pressed her brows together. People had different ways of doing things, and of course, there is no harm in that. But the more she observed Zayn’s cursor, she realized his approach was inefficient and clumsy. “Are you doing it manually?”

“Isn’t this the only way?��

“Nope, I can just plug in a few formulas to set the parameters and the software will pick up how we want it organized.”

“You’re kidding,” Zayn deadpanned. He turned to Genevieve with his mouth parted and eyes popped. “Last time, I hand sifted through pages and pages of data.”

“All 900 points?” Zayn nodded enthusiastically at Genevieve’s raised brow. “That must have taken hours. Here, let me show you.”

It went on like that. Zayn mainly lead the direction; Genevieve added in her two cents and supervised. Angie was busy picking her peeling gel nailpolish. There was a solid fifteen minutes where she put in effort, but her clicks ended up deleting two rows. Then a mutual agreement was reached that Angie fingers would remain far away from the mouse or keyboard. She was free to voice her concerns from a distance.

Genevieve sneaked a few glances at the front desk, but there was no one in dire need of help.

“Fucking hell,” Angie seethed in a hushed whisper. The way she jumped off her seat suggested someone lit a round of firecrackers under her chair. She darted to grab her bag and hold it in front of her face. Behind her disguise, her face twitched with fear and she slouched to make herself smaller. “What on God’s green Earth is she doing here?”

“Who?” Zayn said without peeling his eyes from the screen, used to her dramatics. Angie scampered underneath the empty space of their desk. It was remarkable how quickly she could get her body to fold into a fetal position. From her cramped place on the floor, Angie still had Zayn and Genevieve’s view.

“Don’t look now, but it’s Rebecca by the front.” As if it was a staged cue, their necks snapped towards the red head exiting off the elevator, in sync. She carried a binder with papers and a textbook topped it off. Rebecca had a phone pressed to the side of her ear as she spoke into the receiver. Angie’s advice was lost in thin air which resulted in her face contorting into a snarl. “I said don’t look, great, you’ve both made it painfully obvious now. Wonderful.”

“Who’s Rebecca?” Genevieve whispered as low she could.

“Angie’s ex.” Zayn informed.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Zayn finally noticed Angie’s ridiculous hiding spot and a look of second hand embarrassment flushed his cheeks. “Get out from behind there, Angie, you look like a loon.”

“Is she gone?” Angie inquired.

“No.”

“Then I’m not coming out.”

“Great.” Zayn had learned how to pick and choose his battles with Angie. This was a time to let her be.

Genevieve felt like she had heard the thirty second trailer of the topic. It was difficult to string the beginning, middle, and end of the saga that seemed to be Angie’s relationship. “What happened between you guys?”

“She broke my heart, smashed it and then threw a party like nothing else happened. I caught her in bed with a first year and she said they were cuddling. Cuddling! Can you believe that?” Angie scoffed. She had taken a bite out of a chewy bar that she swiped from her bag. The plastic crinkled loudly in her fist. “I’d rather be left at the altar, it would’ve been less painful. The smugness of the first year didn’t help matters, went around campus gloating. Menace.”

“She fucked Angie over real bad. She had commitment issues and shit.”

“She didn’t fuck me over, Zayn. I’m plenty fine, can’t you see? I’m lovely, I’m—”

“—Hiding pathetically under a desk?”

“—great. Splendid, even. Perfectly intact.”

Zayn eyes were like a bowling ball going full speed down an empty ally. The mouse double clicked under his index finger as his attention diverted back to the task at hand. “Save your breath, you’re sounding more and more like Harry.”

“Why are you comparing me to him, have you gone mad? He was ten times worse than me.”

“I’m saying both of you are like kicked puppies. Moping and basking in your misery every second of the day. So what you lost someone, people come and go! That’s life!”

Angie scoffed again. Her competitive streak was bold and prominent and very visible. “Give me some credit, I’m much better at coping than Harry. He’s a complete mess, makes me look like an angel.”

“What do you mean?” Genevieve prompted, leaning forward. She chewed on the corner of her mouth. The skin was soon to be raw and agitated.

“When we first met Harry, he was a wreck. He doesn’t talk about it much but we assume he went through a nasty breakup of some sorts.”

Genevieve didn’t have experience with what hot flashes felt like, but she was sure this was it. The room was suddenly a couple degrees colder, but her skin was flaming hot. The warmth was most intense over her face, neck and chest. The tips of her fingers felt like she held onto ice cubes for a moment too long.

Genevieve ran her tongue over the dry cracks in her bottom lip. “Oh.”

Angie bit off another piece of her bar, a few crumbs falling from her mouth. If Genevieve was in a decent state of mind, the mind numbing hours of training videos would’ve reminded her to enforce the no food policy in the building. Instead, her tongue sat heavy in her mouth.

“He sulked for at least a year before getting over whoever it was, he won’t give us a name. I tried prying it out of him when he was sloshed, but he’s a stubborn little knob.”

The steady percussion of Genevieve’s heart raised in tempo. A dagger twisted in her gut which explained the sharp pain in her abdomen. The four walls of the room took gradual steps towards her. The space became limited, suffocating, and the oxygen was being slowly sucked away.

“But the difference between you and Harry is that he got over it! Whereas you, on the other hand, can’t get past the first stage of grief.”

“Stop talking, you sound more and more like my therapist. And I’m not paying you, so don’t get any ideas.” Angie narrowed her eyes at Zayn, then peered up at Genevieve with a sorry gaze. “If I got a dime for everytime Zayn psychoanalyzed me, I’d pay off my tuition and get a fancy bungalow in The Bahamas. Maybe even a minifridge. He thinks he’s the next Freud, don’t you?”

Zayn laughed. “Do you see what you’re doing? Deflecting the actual problem.”

“Oh come off it! Less talking and more doing my assignment, chop, chop! It won’t finish itself, you know?”

“While I’m here slaving away, would you like to tack on any more insults, Your Highness?”

“Now that you mention it….”

Gen exhaled in hopes to loosen the winding nerves in her shoulders and chest. Her eyes focused on the digital clock at the bottom right hand corner of the monitor. “You guys good with this? I’m gonna run to the loo then head home since my shift ends in five.”

“Thanks so much for doing this, Gen. Absolute lifesaver,” Angie dropped her teasing in a second. A soft smile spoke of her gratitude with great conviction.

“No worries, text me if you need any more help.” Genevieve stood up from her chair. The sudden movement made her head dizzy. Her legs were as stable as jelly.

“Hope that won’t be necessary, but go ahead and feed your number just in case, you know? Zayn isn’t the brightest bulb at times.”

“I’m not the brightest bulb? Are you listening to yourself? You haven’t touched the keyboard once!” Zayn snapped his eyes over to Genevive as she handed back Angie’s phone. An exasperated rage glossed his features. His hair pointed a million different directions from the countless times he ran his fingers through it. “Gen, get out while you can or else you won’t get another chance.”

“You guys are too much,” Genevieve chuckled shaking her head. “I’ll see you around.”

Genevieve’s bladder wasn’t the reason behind her brisk steps towards the toilets. She needed to splash her face with ice cold water to balance out her temperature. It was overwhelming, to say the least. All the information thrown at her needed time to come down to a simmer, currently, it was bubbling at an all time high and slipping over the edge.

Her fingers pressed to the polymer of the salmon coloured sink. The skin under her nails turned paper white from the pressure of her weight. Her breaths were laboured, so she shut her eyes tightly and steadied all the possibilities her mind was running to.

A flush sounds loudly. The high pitched noise dwindles when the tank is refilling. A lock turned and out comes the click click click of tall heels.

“Genny? Is that you?”

“Hannah?” Migraine Morton wore a tight leather skirt that did wonders for her legs, which of course were covered in fake tan. She waved her manicured hands under the sink, the sensors blinked a blue light and water rushed out of the tap. “How are you?”

“It’s been forever, you’ve changed so much! And look at those cheekbones, you look straight off the runway.” She ripped paper towels from the dispenser. The colour becoming a dark brown as it soaked the water off of her. “It’s the Keto Diet, isn’t it? It’s been working for so many of my girlfriends, but I can’t get even keep five pounds off. Anyway, how’s everything?”

The way she tilted her head assumed that they were lifelong friends who spoke everyday. That wasn’t the case whatsoever. The most Hannah knew about Genevieve was from a boy that once connected them. They probably qualified as acquaintances rather than friends on facebook. But Hannah had a knack for befriending anything with a living pulse—fucking too, if you listened to the gossip on campus.

“Yeah, it’s been going well! Lectures, the diner, bouncing back everywhere.”

“It’s… it’s good to keep yourself busy, you know.” Hannah’s tone transformed into that of a sympathetic one. It probably came from a good place. But when her brows crumpled together, Genevieve wanted the ground to swallow her whole.“I know how hard it must be after...”

“I’m actually doing alright.” Genevieve smiled, an on command customer service grin.

“It’s just when I heard, I thought you would be absolutely devastated! I mean, who wouldn’t be right?” Hannah twirled a stupid blond lock of hair around her pointer finger. “Both of you were always joined at the hip”

“People learn to let go. It’s only natural.”

Hannah’s face morphed into one thought provoking one, as if Genevieve’s words were a part of some philosophical theory.

“You know what? You’re absolutely right!” By her face, you would assume that clouds had parted and a beam of light shone down. This revelation was probably the first and last of the century for her. “Do you remember Amanda Wang? From first year sociology? How we were inseparable? Well she literally disappeared off the Earth and I haven’t heard from her. Just between us though, she was a bit of a pretentious bitch.” Hannah smacked her glossy lips. The shine seemed sticky and too bubblegum. “Of course, there’s no comparison to be made between our situation, you knew him for years.”

“Yeah,” Genevieve answered weakly.

“Shit I’m sorry!” Her eyes widened as she registered what she said, palms coming up in defence. Her brain had a tendency to lag a couple steps behind. It was always a few seconds too late. “I’m not making things any better. That probably sounded really daft.”

“It’s all good.”

Hannah threw away her used paper towel. She hiked her purse in the crook of her elbow. “Keep hanging in there girlie, it gets better!”

“Don’t I know it!”

She reached forward and squeezed her shoulder. “Oh, Genny! You’re still the jokester as ever! I’ve got to run off to my next lecture, but it was nice seeing you! Don’t be a stranger, we should meet up again! Text me!”

“See you, Hannah!” Genevieve grinned, fake and compulsory.

She wiggled her fingers, like a main character of some cheesy 2000’s movie, and clicked off.

Genevieve’s palms held her face as she tried her utmost best to not scream from frustration. There was one thing clear as day, she had to get away from the library. All the Harry talk, all the Hannah talk, was only depleting the count of her brain cells. She needed them to finish her untouched module. There were fifty questions. At one glance, she knew they would suck her soul.

Genevieve grabbed her coat and bag from her desk. The person who was assigned the next shift was signing on the computer to punch in their hours. She waved a quick goodbye and pressed the button to the elevator.

Her car returned from the shop. After a hefty oil change and the addition of four winter tires, it was safe to drive. Her seats were frozen so she turned on her engine and blasted the heat. In turn, the radio automatically switched on to the station set as the number one setting.

Liam: —That was Strangers you just heard by The Bell. I’ve been listening to them quite a bit, they’re bound to play stadiums soon, you can take my word. Now it is time for my personal favourite segment of the show. Usually it’s you guys listening in, but I’d thought we better switch it up! This is Listen Liam! Where you tell me what’s going on in your life and maybe I can offer an ear. You’re on the air.

Caller: Liam! I am in a bit of a pickle.

Liam: I’m all ears, go on!

Caller: I think my friend has a drinking problem. She went so overboard last night that she started chewing her bare foot thinking it was a piece of meat! She’s vegan! How is that even possible?!

Liam: [Laughs] Now, that has got to be the funniest thing I’ve heard all week. We all have a friend that’s like that. I’ve got Niall. Blonde, loud, talks a lot. You heard of him?

Caller: I think he was in one of my lectures.

Liam: Great! As soon as I think something is going iffy with one of my friends I just compare them to Niall. If they’re worse than him, I’m rushing to the closest rehab. If not, all is well!

Caller: That actually puts so much into perspective. Thanks Liam!

Liam: Always here for help! Thank you for your call. Our next song is very fitting, Here is Drunk in Love by the Legend herself.

Genevieve didn’t know she was in the parking lot of Liam’s radio station until she put her gear in park. If she couldn’t get peace in the library, the next resort was the couch generously offered to her on numerous occasions. Liam was only found here at wee hours in the night since he did night radio. Today was one of those odd days his show was on during the day—the same time she needed a place to study. It all seemed destined.

The architecture building was all points and sharp edges. The drop in quality design amplified as soon as she hit the basement. No longer was there fancy glass and shiny mirrors. The tiles on the floors were unevenly aligned and she didn’t want to analyze the yellow mold dripping down the side of one wall. She passed a custodian’s quarters, and in the corner was a door with a makeshift sign announcing the station’s territory.

Liam leaned against the wall beside the shut door. One of his foot was over the other. His phone glued to the side of his face. “Yes, yeah that apartment is no longer available.”

His eyes snapped up at the sound of her shoes against the floor. He grinned. Genevieve gave an excited wave as she walked further down the hallway and his eyes brightened.

“No, unfortunately,” he continued to mumble into the receiver.

When she got close enough, she could hear an angry accent blaring through his phone. Liam rolled his eyes and spoke into the receiver once more. “I’m sorry, there’s not much I can do.”

He pointed towards the door beside him, motioning to go inside. His phone call was probably going to take him a minute to sort out. Hopefully, he had queued up a couple songs to avoid a dead line.

Genevieve walked into the humble space, the door shut gently behind her by Liam.

There were two parts to the room. On the right side was a booth, the cramped size meant it was most likely used as a supply closet. All the equipment was squished in there. A computer sat on an ikea table and a foldable picnic chair did little to compliment it. It was a mess of wires and stray headphones lay lifelessly.

Adjacent to it was the second half of the room. A worn out rug was cut up on the floor to fit the small space. Then there was the infamous pissed on couch. The quality implied it was from the goodwill down the block. It’s ancient floral pattern proved it was previously owned by someone in their 60’s. On one end of the couch, a head of dark chestnut hair rested against the arm.

She should’ve stayed at the library.

She should’ve gone home.

She should’ve gone to a coffee shop.

Now looking at the sight in front of her, the possibilities were endless.

When Genevieve was twelve, she was sure she had lived through the worst day of her life. It was in Mrs. Webster’s afternoon math class. She hadn’t been keeping up with doing her homework. And Mrs. Webster picked on her to answer a simple multiplication question scratched on the board. She blurted out the first number that came to mind— two.

The whole class hollered with laugher and she sunk down in her assigned chair with red cheeks. Sixty-eight multiplied by nine was never, ever, two. If only she had made an educated guess and gave a number that wasn’t a single digit, she wouldn’t have seemed like a complete loser.

That night she went home and reviewed the chart of times table and made sure it was burned in the back of her eyelids.

The multiplication table, the public humiliation, and the sight in front of her was ingrained deeply in a part of her brain she would never voluntarily revisit.

He laid horizontally on the couch. The length of his legs —spread out across the cushions— shrunk the size of the furniture, making it seem smaller than it actually was. He propped his head on a folded arm, a makeshift pillow.

“You’re here.” Their disagreement from before was still a fresh wound. The alcohol aided her bravery last time, but now without its push, Genevieve wondered if he took those words to heart. She didn’t know where they stood. “Yet again.”

“I am.” He closed the book after folding a dog ear at the top right hand corner. His neck craned to look towards where she stood. “Hello to you, too.”

Genevieve clutched the strap of her bag. She noticed there was no resentment in his voice. “How… what are you doing here?”

“Liza’s show just finished up, I’m usually here for it. The million dollar question is, what made you decide to grace us with your presence on this fine Tuesday?”

She blinked quickly as panic flushed up her neck. She had to be tactical about her response. Admitting to needing a study space was the cheese at the end of a mouse trap. She didn’t want to trap herself in a room with Harry for God knows how long. Her day had gone through enough loops and twists and Genevieve wanted to get off the rollercoaster. She had to get out of here. “I came to drop off something for Liam, but I’ll get going.”

Genevieve turned around to grip the doorknob, but before she could twist it, Harry spoke up. “What is it?”

“Hm?” She asked looking over her shoulder. He sat upright, the book of his interest was now face down on his lap. He wore a simple black shirt, a red flannel was unbuttoned over it.

“The thing you were here to drop off.”

“Yeah, oh, I um, already gave it to him.”

“That still doesn’t answer the question.”

“It was a...” she mulled through an imaginary list of objects to fit this scenario.

When she took a minute too long, a knowing smile quirked his lips. “Lying isn’t a good look on you.”

She scoffed. “I’m not lying, Harry.”

“Yes you are and it’s written all over your face.” He pointed it out like a simple observation as if saying the sky is blue, birds fly, and Genevieve lies. “You do that thing when one part of your mouth is higher than the other and you avoid eye contact.”

The swinging door almost knocked her out from the sudden force. She dodged it just in time. It was a hair’s length distance away from breaking her nose. Her eyes widened in shock. Harry mouthed karma.

“Shit, Gen.” Liam stumbled in. “Why are you standing so close to the door? You alright?”

“Was actually leaving.”

Liam’s brows creased. “Rubbish, you just got here. You’re definitely staying for longer. I was thinking of popping to that pretzel shop right beside to get myself something to chew on. Which one do you want?”

“I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Liam looked over Genevieve’s shoulder. “Harry?”

“Anything, as long as it’s not super sweet.”

“You got it.” Liam nodded and gave a gleaming smile his way. “And you—” Liam turned to Genevieve with a pointed finger, it didn’t hold much authority “—Better not be gone until I’ve come back or else I’ll be very cross. I mean it, don’t even think about it.”

Genevieve huffed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “What am I even supposed to do here in the meantime? Queue up songs for you? I’ll play the Highschool Musical soundtrack for your listeners and soon there won’t be any left.”

“I’ve already got that taken care of. Don’t you have a mountain worth of coursework? Get a start on that.”

Genevieve felt like she was reaching into a magician's black hat and pulling out a rabbit. But in her case there were no furry animals, only poorly threaded excuses. “I… I don’t have my calculator or any pens or—”

Liam shuffled into the booth. His back curved as he bent over the desk. A cylinder container was situated at the corner beside the workplace lamp. It was sparsely filled with a couple highlighters, paperclips, and a single pen.

He plucked the utensil quickly before handing it to Genevieve. “Here, use this. I think I may have my finance calculator in my bag. It should have the same functions.”

The pace of everything slows down as the cheap plastic rolled between her thumb and forefinger. It was a classic blue BIC pen, the type offices bought in bulk to save money.

There is a reason why Genevieve only used black inked pens. Every time she saw blue on paper, she felt his thumb on her lip. It was too distracting, like a herd of bees buzzing collectively around her in threatening circles. Multiple stingers pierced nostalgia deep into her arms, legs, shoulders, lips. Her skin broke and red painful bumps erupted. Her chest tightened and her throat clamped shut.

“Gen, Gen? You alright?” Liam squeezed her forearm and Genevieve woke from her trance.

“Hm?”

“You became really pale.”

She cleared her throat to delay her response. “Um… I—can’t. I don’t use blue pens. It’s just…” She knew she sounded delirious. Though her left hand was fisted, the slight tremor was not well hidden.

Liam’s inquisitive look wasn’t judgemental or contemptuous and for that she was thankful.

What differentiated Liam from others is that he understood without needing to know the details. He didn’t ask questions because he knew if Genevieve wanted to share, she would at her own time. Most often times, her lips were the zig zag teeth of zippers—tightly fastened—but he remained on the sidelines, patient. With one look he appraised her and knew this stemmed deep.

“I’ve got another,” Harry interrupted, making Genevieve’s neck turn towards him. She forgot for a moment that he was in the room. He waved a pencil in the air. The pink eraser on the end was salmon coloured and the tip was a bit rounded. It wasn’t a pen, but it would have to do.

“That settles it,” Liam concluded with a clap. “You’re staying.” There was no room to rebuttal. He grabbed his wallet and cell phone and pulled the door open. Liam was gone, only leaving a gust of wind in his departure.

Genevieve rubbed her palm over her face.

“I don’t bite, you know?” His tone was steady. “Being in a room with me isn’t as dreadful as you’re making it out to be.”

“Oh, it’s worse,” Genevieve mumbled under her breath, but it was drowned out by Harry’s backpack hitting the floor. The spot on the couch beside him was now vacant.

“We need to set boundaries.” It’s ironic for her to say this as she walked over to empty space he set aside for her.

The only other place left to sit was the floor, she didn’t need to add back problems to her list of already growing concerns. This list had Harry’s name at the very top in red ink; underlined, and multiple exclamation marks surrounded it. If it was anytime to acknowledge it, this was it, when he was an arms length away on the opposite side of the couch.

“What do you mean?”

“Like we need some parameters. Some sort of rules to abide by if you’re just gonna end up popping up everywhere.”

He laughed, eyes screwed shut and head thrown back like Genevieve was on stage behind a microphone at stand up night. It took a minute for his chuckles to dwindle down. Harry’s brows almost met his hairline when Genevieve’s face remained stoic. “Oh wait… you’re serious.”

“I’ll go first.” Genevieve distracted herself by pulling out her notebook and flipping to the last page she worked on. She picked up the pencil he dropped beside his thigh. It was easier to get her thoughts in order when she didn’t make eye contact with him.“We can’t let anyone know about how we know each other. I haven’t… haven’t told Liam, Meena or Niall about any of it and I'd like to keep it that way.”

“It’s not something to hide.”

“For me, it is.” Genevieve breathed out a sigh. Her back hit the cushion and she folded her legs underneath herself. “And from what I’m hearing from Angie and Zayn, they don’t know much either.”

“It just never came up so I didn’t bother.” Harry shrugged cracking the novel open to his marked page. “Alright, I'll give you that, only if you agree not to be so...”

His sentence was a loose piece of thread, floating freely. He purposefully let it dangle between them.

“Go on.” Genevieve tilted her head. “Finish your sentence.”

His face contorted as he tried to find the right word. A tongue poked the inside of his cheek.

“...Tense.”

Genevieve threw the pencil at Harry. The gesture is so natural that it startled her. It bounced off the side of his forehead with a clunk. His fingers rushed to apply pressure on the sore spot. His pink lips pouted.

“Jesus, woman,” he groaned. He pretended as if Genevieve had chucked it at full force, when in reality it was a lousy throw, she had noodle arms. “I gave you that to use, not to assault me with.”

“I’m not tense.” Her jaw hung open in disbelief.

“Then it shouldn’t be a chore to agree to it.” Harry countered.

Genevieve rolled her eyes. “It shouldn’t.”

The radio switched tracks, Liam’s queued up a song sounded softly in the silence. An acoustic guitar strummed in the background as Genevieve started a problem and Harry went back to his book.

He spread out his legs in front of him, his back moulded against the couch in a way that would leave him to complain about an ache in a couple of hours. Genevieve refrained from pointing it out.

Two songs finished and a pre-recorded ad played. The brief thirty seconds advertised the fundraiser a student group put together to raise funds for Angie Wu’s family. The next song started, an upbeat tempo and rhythm.

“Never thought I'd see the day you’d say no to pretzels.”

She didn’t realize she was nodding with the music until she stopped and turned her head towards him. She raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“Those were your favourite.”

“Yeah, I’m just not hungry.”

“You were so crazy about them. I took one bag from the pantry and you bit my head off. How was I supposed to know it was yours?”

Genevieve’s eyes flickered down towards the cover in his hand. “Never thought I’d see you read something by Toni Morrison.”

“It was on the list.”

“You still have it? I thought it was lost.”

“I do, the bloody thing never ends. Just when you think you’ve gone through a big chunk, you flip the page and there’s more.” He peered over the top of the book at her. “I’ve went to the library enough times, they know my name without checking my card.”

Genevieve dotted an equal sign and then a row of numbers. She collected like terms and simplified the problem. “I tried looking for it everywhere in the flat. Spent two weeks.”

“Should’ve checked the car.” His voice was low, almost lost in with the music, but she heard it. A sad smile played on the ends of his lips as he flipped the page.

Genevieve noticed his adam’s apple rise and fall. There is a distant look in his eyes that she had never seen before. Harry’s lashes fluttered quickly, to blink away the memories playing in his mind. He cleared his throat before speaking. “Most of them are confusing as shit, don’t make sense. Feels like reading in circles, but so far I’ve liked four of them.”

“Yeah? How many have you gone through?”

Harry’s forehead scrunched in thought as he mentally counts the different titles, using his digits to keep track if needed. His lips—puckered in concentration— were red and bitten, yet appear feather soft.

“Not many, maybe nine?” His ring and middle finger scratched at his hairline, light bounced off the metal bands wrapped around his digits. His posture softened as a blush rose up his neck. “‘I'm a slow reader,” he admitted, his tone timid and bashful.

Genevieve’s eyes rolled involuntarily, a breathy laugh danced through her lips. “Oh, I know.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means that you take two years to read a take out menu, always have.”

“It’s called browsing the options and specials.”

“Yet you order the same every time? Do explain.” Playful offence is threaded between them. It was starting to resemble the easy conversations they once shared over a cereal breakfast, lazy Sundays, in passing here and there. The smallest things they had taken for granted became a bitter recollection.

His throat grumbled in defeat. “Be nice.”

There were days where Genevieve wanted to put a halt to whatever distance they had carved from each other. Harry felt oceans away, but it would be cruel to put all the burden on him. Genevieve wasn’t standing there with warm welcoming arms either, she was rather stone cold.

They were dropped beads of a broken necklace, scattered on a tiled floor. The thread that joined them had snapped. There had been occurrences where Genevieve’s thumb hovered over his contact name, the number so old that she wasn’t sure if it still worked. She almost sent him a text, left a voicemail. She missed her friend, that wasn’t in question, but she couldn’t bring herself to go through with it. He was to blame.

But there they were. Harry was still Harry. And Genevieve was Genny. Sure, his shoulders were slightly broader, his hair a bit shorter, and his posture more crooked. It was also okay that they weren’t the same. There was an awkward space that separated them, one that didn’t exist before because Harry would have had his arm thrown over her shoulders and her head would comfortably align with his chest.

“Is it—” Genevieve gulped loudly, hesitant as nerves circled her belly like sharks do the ocean. She twisted her sleeves in her palm before starting once more. She didn’t know if her request was intrusive or disrespectful in any way. She hoped it wasn’t. “Is it okay if I maybe take a look at it?”

Harry had found the list, so it belonged to him. Much like how Genevieve protected some photographs and a lighter with her life. It would be reasonable if his answer wasn’t what she was pulling for. He had ownership and the right to say no.

A pause followed, it made her sure that she was twisting knobs on locked doors. Harry’s face remained impassive. Had she not said it loud enough? Her limbs felt heavy and heat began to crawl up Genevieve’s face as she realized rejection wasn’t a reality far away, but it was rather staring her in the face.

Genevieve deflated when he nodded eagerly.

“‘Course, yeah. I’ll bring it around sometime.”

The door swung open and Liam came in clutching far too much than he could balance. A bag hung from between his chest and chin, there were three more in his hand. The paper wrinkled loudly as he moved. He shut the door behind him with the heel of his foot.

Genevieve shot a confused look at his small buffet.

“They just increased the student discount for these! Can you believe?”

***

November 15, 2019

Genevieve was a match burning at both ends. Sometimes it would be too much of a chore to step in the shower or brush her teeth. The smallest tasks that once would come so naturally now demanded significant energy. Sure, she could blame it to her course load, and juggling jobs at Flo’s and the student help desk. But she knew self care was pushed to the back burner way before any of that started—three years ago precisely.

Today, she opened the shared document on her computer.

A long needle injected into her spine; the pinch was sharp. Stress shot through every nerve ending when the cursor scrolled down the screen.

Group assignments did more harm than good, if only professors understood that. The assignment was to be done between four random people in her course. The groups were preselected and Genevieve didn’t know a single face. The dropbox to hand in the report closed at midnight. Currently, the fifteen page report only came up to three pages.

She tried to get hold of her remaining group members, but the group chat was only a string of messages from her end. The shower she planned to take was now an unaffordable luxury. She cracked her knuckles and began pulling the dead weight of three people.

Her phone buzzed, disrupting the quiet in her flat. She was so caught up in editing the null hypothesis she didn’t check the caller ID and answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Genevieve?”

“Mum, hi,” Genevieve breathed out and the rush of air created static on the line.

“Are you in the middle of something? You sound busy.”

Genevieve skimmed over a research paper she wanted to reference. Her mouse copy pasted the citation. “Just doing an assignment last minute. I could throw up from the stress.”

“Baby, you need to take it easier, that is no way to live, no matter what deadline you’re under,” she scolded with gentle concern. Like always, it went through Genevieve’s ear and came out the other. “Anyway, I called because Sarah—the nice lady down the street—has started a donation drive for Syrian Refugees. I’m giving her your old clothes, is that alright?”

“The ones in boxes up in the attic?”

“Yes, if you need them I can—”

“No, give them away. I can’t remember the last time I wore them, it’s better they get some use out of them.” Genevieve selected two lines on the document. The words highlighted a sky blue, then she hit backspace.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking. Plus, it would clear up some space up there anyway.”

“Don’t go too intense with your cleaning, you get a bit kooky.” Genevieve giggled and pressed the phone between her shoulder and cheek. She continued her work on the laptop.

“There’s no harm in having a clean, tidy space!” Label makers and organizing bins got Margaret White more excited than any man. Spring cleaning happened quarterly at their residence. The attic was full of abandoned scrapbooks, VCR cassettes, old furniture, and her broken bicycle that had a neon pink basket. “While I was up there, I did find something.”

Genevieve smiled. “Did you cry to my elementary school pictures? Again?”

“Oh hush!” Genevieve pictured her crossed brows. Waterworks were in ample supply when taking a trip down memory lane with her mother, it was like forgetting to shut the water tap off. Genevieve found it amusing to poke fun at her for. “You still have a box of his stuff. Do you want me to get rid of it?”

The pause was deafening. The clicking of Genevieve’s fingers on the keyboard came to a definite halt. Her laptop screen became muddled as it went out of focus. She felt the back of her eyes sting as she recalled the specific box. She smelled August.

“Gen?”

“No, no, don’t do that.” Genevieve clutched the receiver with a sudden desperation. There was apparent sniffling on her end of the line. Genevieve cleared her throat and tried to disguise it as a cough. “Mum I just...”

“I can post it to you. There are a lot of pictures.”

“Can you, please?” Genevieve choked back a sob.

“Of course.”

Genevieve clamped her eyes shut and breathed deep through her nostrils. She assumed she owed her mother an explanation for the sudden onslaught of emotions. “I’m not crazy, it’s just this course, this assignment, is really putting a stress on me.”

“I know, Darling,” she said, but didn’t sound convinced in the slightest.

Genevieve swallowed sour bile. “It’s not… it’s not because of him, I swear.”

“Didn’t think it was.”

“Really?” Genevieve’s word squeaked.

“Genevieve, baby,” her mother began. Margaret pursed her lips and it built a bustling silence. Words were tricky in sensitive situations like these. If not cherry picked with care and caution, they can ruin relationships—even of blood—with a snap. “He left, he was a great boy, but he left. And a part of me tells me you’re not coping.”

“I am. I promise I am.”

Genevieve covered the mouthpiece on her to muffle any whimpers. She rolled her lips tightly.

Margaret sighed. “I just worry about you, is all.”

“No reason to be, I’m doing much better.”

Blue sky. Birds fly. Genevieve lies.

“Alright.” There was shuffling on the other side of the line. “I’ll ring you another time. Take care of yourself, please.”

“Will do, love you.”

“Love you, too.”

When the call ended, Genevieve bowed her head in shame. Her phone clattered on her wooden desk, then laid dead. The squares aligned in even rows on her keyboard were black. The font of each letter was simple, and the colour of winter. The U,G,S,A,T keys were dotted with small puddles of tears.

***

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#1dff #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x ofc #harry styles imagine #ylsg4 #the uni au no one asked for #fucking idiots to lovers #honestly if they learned to communicate this wouldnt be a 20 part fic #but thats not a possibility bc harrys an aquarius #q

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