Because You're Different ✔

29. Silver lining

Arctic Monkeys. R U Mine? The band never really caught onto me, but this track was an exception. Seemed like she felt the same. She was strumming a non-existent guitar, jumping around the kitchen, dark curls flying everywhere. She was wearing an apron over her skinny jeans and black Nirvana t-shirt, a combination that made me chuckle. I'd never seen her dance so carefree — come to think about it, I'd never seen her dance before. Even when Valentina was here, they had danced in her room, but never where we could watch. Was she ashamed of the way she moved? Her knees buckling every other time her feet hit the ground, her head going back and forth somewhat abruptly, her left hand in a fist, arms sometimes swooping out of control?

She shouldn't be.

I prayed she wouldn't spot me — it was liberating somehow, to see her let go like this, and the song and that mighty guitar dove right into me, and for the first time in weeks, I felt myself relax.

I was home.

She turned around — freezing when she noticed me grinning at her. She was breathing fast, cheeks red from exertion, some loose curls hiding part of her face. Those brown eyes pierced right into mine though, just when the greatest part of the song set in.

Sam was a fool for picking that Jennifer over her. This beautiful girl was living right across his room, and he was completely oblivious to it. Probably for the best, with the way he kissed girls.

The song died out, and she snapped out of it, quickly turning around to frantically tap her phone, trying to lower the volume. She succeeded, startling when she realized I was now in front of her. "Hi," she said, somewhat breathlessly. "No Charlotte?"

I shook my head. "No. Exams. Sam at Jennifer's?"

She smirked. "Yeah. Luckily. Means we'll actually have an appetite." I laughed, too elaborate for the joke, but it got rid of all the tension. She knew, of course. "Long week?"

"Endless. Glad to be home."

She smiled brightly, lights in her eyes, and I had to pull her in for a hug, squeezing her tight and taking in her scent, the soft tickling of her curls on my skin. She seemed taken aback when I let go of her, inspecting me as if there was something wrong with me. I smiled, then tapped her phone to put the music back on.

After dinner, which had somehow gone on for hours, while I'd previously thought I didn't have that much to tell, I asked her what part of the house bothered her the most, and almost immediately, she answered: "The Christmas balls carpet."

Of course. That revolting piece of 'art'. Grinning furiously to each other, we dragged the heavy thing outside to the trash. June tripped over the threshold, falling flat on her face on top of the carpet and breaking a few of the ornaments in the process. She sustained a cut in her cheek and a deep gash in her arm, but being who she was, she merely laughed at it, not even allowing me to take a look at it. "Come on," I said. "Just humor me for once." She gave in then, and while I dabbed her injuries with iodine and she tensed, fists clenching, I suddenly realized we'd known each other for almost one and a half years — it seemed much longer, like she'd always been there.

Then, we drove out to buy a new carpet, simple, practical, and soft — a carpet you could actually lie down on, which we were currently doing, music playing in the background. I could've fallen asleep right then and there, with a more than decent meal in my stomach, in grandma's house that was now mine, and her right beside me.

"I think this might become my new favorite spot."

"Mine too. Might make this into my bedroom."

She laughed, turning her head towards me. The cut had stopped bleeding, luckily. It looked like a cat had scratched her. It reminded me of that summer night in the hospital, when she'd accidentally hurt herself because she'd startled every time the door leading to the O.R. had opened. "Please don't. I already have to put up with Sammifer, I don't need to be suffering through you and Charlotte as well."