Roses & Bullets

XIX. Imagination

ERIK He's f*****g here again? Mikey is waiting for Claire outside the hostel, and his expression changes as soon as he sees her with me. I wonder what he wants this time?

As we get closer to him, I notice that he's a pretty good-looking guy. I wouldn't be surprised if he and Claire end up dating one day. So why haven't they tried yet?

No, I don't know that for sure. I haven't asked Claire, and she didn't even bother mentioning Mikey the first time we had a serious conversation. Maybe Mikey hasn't tried courting her?

Why the hell am I so bothered about this? The way Mikey looks at Claire is what's bothersome. What's more, Claire doesn't even notice.

"Hi, Claire," Mikey chirps, before turning to me, "Erik."

"Hey, Mikey," Claire greets him back as she throws nervous glances towards my direction.

"I'll go ahead, Claire," I tell Claire as I give Mikey a nod. I don't want to seem rude, but I have no interest in talking to him either.

"Sure," she replies before proceeding to talk to his best friend.

I head straight to my room to get changed, but before doing that, I slowly take a peek through the window, careful not to be seen by Claire and Mikey. He has his hands on Claire's shoulder, and they are both laughing. Mikey suddenly looks at my window, and I quickly duck, feeling like an i***t.

I let a few seconds pass before peeking again, and when I do, the two of them are walking away. I sigh and start to remove my clothes and put on something more comfortable before lying in bed. Stop thinking about them, Erik.

Claire will be back before lunchtime, I'm sure of it. I toss and turn in my bed while waiting for Claire, and when I hear the lunch bell, I immediately jump out of bed and rush downstairs. However, Claire isn't there.

It's Mr. Wilson who prepared the food with Corey's help. My heart sinks, and I feel pathetic about expecting to see her. I enter the kitchen with no appetite at all.

"Hey, Erik," Mr. Wilson greets me. "Please forgive my cooking. Claire says she'll be running late."

"That's all right, sir. But where is she?"

"Oh, she's with Mikey," he says as he takes a seat. "I'm not sure where they went, though."

"They're on a date," Corey butts in, grinning.

"You know that's not true, Corey," Mr. Wilson tells his son. "They're just friends," he adds before looking at me.

"Yeah, sure." Corey clearly thinks differently.

They're just friends. I've heard that before. I don't know what to believe, but it doesn't matter.

"Have a seat, Erik," Mr. Wilson says.

"Actually, sir," I say hesitantly, "I already grabbed something on our way back here. I think I'll just rest for now. But thank you, anyway."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir."

"All right," he says. "I'll save some for you, so if you ever feel hungry, just come down here."

"Thank you, sir."

I go back upstairs and close the curtains, dimming my room. I'm not sure if I should wait or sleep or leave to find out where they went. I can't be this f*****g desperate! Shaking my head, I open my bag and take out the bottle of sleeping pills that I bought.

I take one pill and lie down, hoping that it will immediately take effect. It isn't long before I fall asleep, and when I open my eyes, it's already eight in the evening. Why didn't they wake me up?

Downstairs, all the lights are off, and I see no sign of anyone. I see a note from Claire's father in the kitchen, saying that Claire is still not home yet, and on the table is my meal, I assume. Where are you, Claire?

With a heavy heart, I go back upstairs and close the door as gently as I can even though I want to slam it shut. Why am I feeling this way? I must be out of my mind.

After an hour, I hear a knock on the door, and I am elated that Claire is finally home. She is smiling as she hands me the paper bag she's holding. I open it and see some French fries and a burger.

"I'm sorry," she says, biting her lip. "Dad says you haven't eaten anything since lunch, so I bought this for you."

"You didn't have to," I tell her.

"I didn't get to prepare food for lunch and dinner, so consider this my apology."

"It's fine, really." I want to ask what took her so long, but I figure it's not my place.

"Just take it, okay?"

"Okay."

"Are we good?" she asks, wringing her hands. "You're not mad?"

"Claire, why would I be mad?" Now she thinks I'm shallow.

"I don't know..." she trails off, and once again, like she always does when she runs out of things to say or when nervous, she tries to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear but fails.

I must have been possessed or something because I reach out and tuck the loose strand behind her ear for her. Her eyes widen as she blushes, and I immediately think of a thousand things that can go wrong between us. Wrong f*****g move!

Claire holds her chest and steps back before nervously smiling. I don't know what to say, and honestly, I don't think it's smart to speak either. However, I can't say that I regret what I did.

"Okay," she stammers, "see you tomorrow, Erik. Good night."

"Good night, Claire. And thanks for this."

I close the door and put the burger on the table before sitting at the edge of my bed. I smile, feeling happy that at least she had thought of me. If only she knows that I don't eat junk food.

I report to work the following morning, feeling anxious as to what the day will bring. I'm not sure what to wear, and I don't want to look too formal, so I just put on a V-neck gray shirt, black pants, and worn-out sneakers. I'm a little nervous, not because of the cranky librarian, but because I have no idea what I'm supposed to do.

Claire told me this morning that I'd probably be helping Mrs. Frye to put back the books on the shelves most of the time. She also said that maybe I'd do some easy maintenance work, so I have nothing to worry about. Naturally, that didn't do anything to stop me from overthinking.

I just hope that there aren't too many people because that is my biggest concern. Before I go inside, I fix my shirt and then take a deep breath. When I open the door, Mrs. Frye is behind the counter, stacking a pile of books, and no one else is around.

"Good morning, Mrs. Frye," I greet her as I walk towards her.

"What's so good about the morning?" she retorts without looking at me.

I don't know what else to say. I'm not good at this, I mean, having conversations with others. Maybe when I was younger, but not anymore.

I reach the counter and see that it's a little messy. Aside from the books that she's piling up, other books are scattered in her workspace, as well as some papers. Now I understand what Claire means when she said Mrs. Frye needs help.

"Read this contract," she tells me as she hands me a paper, " and tell me if you agree with the salary, then sign it. I just want to tell you that it's not that big."

I read the contract and realize that she's right: The salary is not much. But that's okay with me since I'm only doing this for my pasttime, so I sign it, anyway.

"Good," she says sternly. "Now, get to work and put all of these books in the fiction section, then come back here for your next task. Make sure you put them back properly and be careful with the covers."

"Yes, ma'am." I do as she says, and I don't realize how much time has already passed by.

I'm not sure how many books I've stacked or put back on the shelves, but I don't feel tired. I'm quite enjoying it, actually. People would occasionally come in, most of them are students, but they would usually talk to Mrs. Frye.

My shift ends, and when it's time to close the library, Mrs. Frye tells me to go ahead. She says she will do the closing on her own.

"All right, Mrs. Frye. I'll go home now. See you tomorrow."

Mrs. Frye only grunts at me, and I leave. As I near the hostel, I immediately smell something good coming from the kitchen. I see Claire through the kitchen window, setting up the table.

When she notices me, she waves and beckons me to come inside. A huge grin spreads on my face, and for a moment, I imagine that this is our house and that Claire is my wife.

But that's all it will ever be: My imagination.