Benedict Cumberbatch Imagine- The Girl in the Window

Chin Up, Little Lion

It hasn’t even been a month.  No, just a mere seventeen days.  And you couldn’t hate it more.

You had gone to your parents and they had welcomed you back with open arms, comforting you and bringing you tea, used to your melancholy habits.  But the mugs were left scattered about your room, undrunk.  You would pour some down the sink, the rest you just would stare at, unable to stomach their kindness.  You couldn’t stand what happened between you and Ben.  It’s torn you apart and you lay in your room on a day to day basis, reading old comforts, listening to the good music; but they had no tune, no beauty.  You refused to do an ordinate amount of things, though you would often be pushed out of your room to have dinner that you hardly ate, or watch a movie. 

Later on in your self-made isolation, you wore a ball cap, put your hair up under it and shrugged into one of your old hoodies.  You slipped into comfort shoes and went for a walk, breathing in your life and decisions.  It stabbed you in the heart cruelly.  All you can see flying past your eyes is all the times you and Ben smiled and kissed and loved, until your life flashed so fast, you found yourself looking at the boy in the window from your mind’s eye.  And like in a dream, as you stared at him, he looked up and your eyes met; he smiled.

You thought that you just might vomit.

You are standing in the middle of some park, teenagers passing through in a group, bundled up moderately.  They pass nearby you, and if you were paying attention, you would notice them staring at you oddly as they pass, their titters quieting.  And one stopped: a young boy, about nineteen, though he looks older.  He has a sculpted face and soft eyes, prominent chin with full lips, and brown hair flopping into his hazel eyes.  He stopped for a moment and his friends paused, quietly asking what he was doing.  He waved them off, telling them in a light Scottish accent to go ahead; he would catch up later.  He abruptly made his way over to you, throwing an end of his scarf that had gotten free over his shoulder, showing his military style jacket a bit more.  Tucking his hands into his pockets he wandered up to your side, to wit you were still perfectly oblivious, tears shimmering in your eyes and breath hitching in your throat, a cold breeze nipping you through your jacket.  He stops at your side, making your eyes flicker to him, noticing his presence.  He does nothing, just lifting his chin to look at the grey cloudy sky, letting out a breath.

“Bit gloomy today, isnae it?”

You inhale sharply and turn slightly to him.

“Sorry?”

“Weel, it’s nae a very happy day, is it.  Clouds hangin’ a bit low for my taste.”

“Um, yeah, I guess, it is.” You stutter a bit, sniffing as you try to compose yourself.  He doesn’t say anything immediately, perhaps feeling that you needed the silence.  He just stands there easily, not making the situation uncomfortable.  Actually, it’s quite the opposite.  He makes your chest feel a bit lighter: you don’t feel so alone. 

You breathe in again, this time a bit easier, and jut your chin out towards his friends who were going around a corner and out of sight.

“Your friends are getting away.” You tell him shakily.  He smiles and looks at you briefly.

“That’s okay.  I told them eh’d catch up later.”

“Oh.” You say plainly, casting your eyes down.  “Why?”

“Because,” he started, taking in a breath “You looked rather lonely.   Thought ye could use someone to talk to.”

You just shake your head and refuse to look at him, wiggling your toes, though you can feel his eyes on you.