sophie.

Chapter 1

What I liked most about him was his voice. It was deep, yet quizzical; something transatlantic, I guess, like Cary Grant in The Philadelphia Story. The kind of voice owned by a man that would laugh his heart out, or smile contagiously. The kind of voice that knew how to whisper secrets and tell scary tales, maybe even sing. The kind that could talk about the world in an entirely new perspective.

And the way he said those words, I couldn't help but find peculiar. He spoke with precision, with raw honesty, making the gaps of silence in between them resonate like a sharp, cold wind. He made you listen. Made you realize that there could be more to a remark than what you heard on the surface. Made you understand that there were a thousand ways to say the phrase 'I love you,' and that each time he said it, he meant it. The first time or the last, those words never changed, but they always felt new.

His eyes were difficult to look away from, too. Peculiar green things, they were. Soft, yet reassuring. Always full of trust and understanding. They held something behind them that not everyone was gifted with, a sort of quality that drew you in. Stole hearts, left tracks, rearranged views. He never failed in leaving a mark. It was never his lips or his looks. It was the secrets he said under his exhale in the rising dawn, the whispers he told you against the wall of the foyer, just before he took your breath away. 

His name was Adrien, and I was a victim.

DECEMBER 3RD, 2013

It started a while back when I was working as waitress for a local diner in my hometown. It was a small town, worse for the wear but proud of itself. The kids were growing and the retirees were deteriorating and the outlying farmers were breaking their backs to keep out of debt. The latest batch of high school graduates had just received their diplomas a few months before at the end of their senior year, and I just-so-happened to be one of them. But I had no real ties out of town, and I never really allowed myself to get particularly close to my classmates, despite the fact that I was born there. I don't know, it had something to do with the idea that I was forced upon these kids, and as soon as I outgrew childhood naivety, I came to understand that I didn't have to deal with them. 

Anyway, because of the fact that I disliked an approximate ninety percent of my graduating class, I didn't know anyone who could've saved me from Smalltown, USA. But honestly, I had pretty good conditions to work with. Polo, Nebraska was notorious for it's full, distinct seasons, and I never complained. The orange leaves were the defining moment of autumn, and skeleton branches were a sign of winter, no doubt.

So the diner was having a regular winter day -- most people came in to quell their rattled, frozen bones with coffee, cocoa, and various other hot goods. I was taking a batch of steaming waffles to Mrs. Barbara Hollyfield when an event took place that would undoubtedly change my life for an unprecedented amount of time.

The diner was pretty average, but it had a sort of throwback theme to it. Reflective metal, red cushion stools, and little hats made out of paper that looked like stupid tents. It was the stereotypical setting for those movie scenes where the waitress would walk by and a perverted oldie would grab her ass and whisper something profane. I'm getting off track, but hopefully you get my point. Simply put, my outfit was demeaning and the hat was demeaning and the whole place rotted of belittlement when the wrong people decided to convene. I guess it's important to say that never, ever, did I allow any sort of pervert to grab my ass without consequence. If anything, I alerted my boss, Jean Bailey, and she'd kick the guy to the curb, free of charge. 

So again, I was walking over to Mrs. Hollyfield, bearing the same old expression that wreaked of apathy and a sense of tolerance. A thought about how I never wanted to smell blueberries again was the last thing on my mind before I heard the screeching of wheels, a holler from outside, and eventually, the breaking of glass. No one was in that particular vicinity of the diner except me, and before I could really tell what had happened, there was a pain in my leg and I was blacking out.