Book Lover ✓

01

one

I EXHALE, AND smoke billows out before me in thin wisps. I squint my eyes as the smoke disappears slowly, leaving behind an acrid smell; I've gotten used to the smell over the years. I rest my arms on the railing before I take another puff.

     I'm standing on the balcony of the local library that overlooks the busy town of Marshall; people and cars rush across the streets, looking just like worker ants from my vantage point. The mid September wind stings my face, and I flinch a little before taking a puff from my cigarette. The ashes will probably fall onto innocent passerby's hairs, but I can't find it in myself to care.

     Another man enters the balcony and comes to stand beside me against the railing. I spare no glance at him, keeping my eyes focused on the busy streets of Marshall. From the corner of my eye I can see him fishing out his own pack of cigs and lighting one up. The man doesn't look at me; we're just two strangers sharing a balcony and the second hand smoke.

     I inhale one last puff of smoke before I stub it out on the railing. The smoke escapes my lips almost sorrowfully, accompanied by a soft sigh. A breeze blows at my hair under my maroon snapback and some strands get into my face. I turn around and swipe the pieces of hair away from my eyes. The glass doors to the balcony are shut to prevent the warm air from escaping and cool air from seeping in, and the glass feels cool under my fingers when I pull them aside. The warmth hits me and warms the tip of my nose as I step into the library. The man turns around to look at me when I close the door, his eyes the very definition of lifelessness.

     Dusting any ashes off my jacket, I adjust my snapback and look around the vast space. The floor is carpeted, the wooden floor boards peeking out from underneath the burgundy carpet at places. Shelves filled to the brim with books occupy most of the library, leaving the rest for a counter and several tables and chairs for students to study. At the counter sits an elderly lady with glasses that look too big for her face, the mark of time evident on her features. She eyes me with distaste, but I offer no reaction towards her quick judgement.

     A huge crystal chandelier hangs above everybody on the patterned ceiling, illuminating the paradise for book lovers in a soft yellowish glow. My feet feel cushioned as I walk towards the shelves, eyeing the labels displayed on the mahogany. The books are neatly arranged along the rows, with baskets prepared at every shelf for people to carry their books. I lift a basket and walk slowly across each shelf to scan the book titles. I don't know what book to get—I'm not really a big fan of reading, but my therapist recommended me to pick up a reading habit as part of my therapy, and I'd agreed.

     Despite the strict rule in the library for silence, I can still hear distinct chatters from a group of teenagers huddled at one of the tables. Ignoring them, I pop in my ear buds to drown their voices out as I resume looking at the spines of the books. I randomly pick out books that have fairly interesting titles and pleasant covers and put them into the basket. 

     When I reach the end of the shelves, my basket is only half-way filled but still heavy enough that I am forced to put it down to sift through my selections. I settle on a deserted table at the corner of the library, far away from the high-school kids. I hope they haven't notice me yet—it's best if they don't turn around until I've safely left the library.

     After looking through the books, I realise I had picked out several fantasy and romance books, making a total of 5 books to borrow today. I put the ones that I don't plan to read on a rack before heading towards the counter. I lower my head when I pass the high-schoolers and safely reach the counter without anyone recognising me. They are probably from the same school as I am and I don't want to risk them finding out I'm here.

     The old lady greets me with a blank expression. I put the basket on the counter and she eyes me with disinterest. "Do you have a library card?" she asks, her voice as soft as silk.

     I shake my head no, and she purses her lips. "You need a library card to borrow books here, Miss."

     I suppress the urge to do anything stupid. I can feel some piercing gazes at the back of my head, and I steel myself. I nod my head, and the lady lets me fill out a form to make myself a library card. She seems disturbed and almost pitiful at my muteness, but I am not mute. I am perfectly capable of using my vocal chords, but at this moment, I can't risk letting anyone hear my voice and recognise me.

     A form and a few simple procedures are all it takes to sign up for the library card. I quickly use my card to borrow the 5 books I've picked out, eager to leave this place. As if she acknowledges my intention to be quick, her actions slow down as she scans the barcodes on the books. I keep a straight face despite being slightly pissed. It's a skill I've learned from years of experience.

     When all the books are finally borrowed, I throw in a grateful nod at the lady before hurrying away. Before I left, though, I hear the voices discussing not so subtly about something.

     "Is that Cassandra Holmes?"

     "Holmes?"

     "What's she doing here?"

     "Didn't think she was capable of existing anywhere other than the floor of the hallways."

     I fight a shudder and quickly leave the library.

• • •

first publication: September 15th, 2018

dedication

I dedicate this part to simonesaidwhat, the one who has been a great inspiration and motivation for me to start writing this story! I absolutely admire and respect you and your dedication to writing, not to mention how much I love your style! And I really wish that one day I can achieve your standard and quality of writing. Thank you for being willing to share your work with us! ❤️