Metanoia // George Ezra Fanfic

Party! Hatred! Yay!

I furrow my eyebrows, making a stupid face, "What!?"

He shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant, kicking at a stone on the ground, "You said you couldn't give him this letter, because you would feel bad. This does not stop me, however, from giving it to him myself. Since you said you wouldn't stop someone from doing it if they chose to, and since Samson is a lying, cheating scumbag, I figure it's my duty to humanity to give him this masterfully written letter."

I stare at him. His hair is a mess, falling in his face and sticking every direction, the wind blowing it around too, but it doesn't seem to bother him.

Maybe he's crazy too?

I laugh, "Come on, you're not being serious."

"Oh, no, madam. I promise you, I am one hundred percent serious right now. I don't know if I've ever been so genuinely honest as I am being at this particular moment. I assure you, I am most thoughtfully sincere and intensely determined to give him this letter." He rambles, eyes wide.

I squint, staring him down, but he just stares right back at me.

"Really?" I repeat, "You want to do this?"

"I didn't write this letter, with all its grand potential, just so it would be thrown away, or lay in this notebook for its entire existence. It must be appreciated, and shown proper love. In order to do that, I have to give that git this elegantly drafted note." He says, impishly, "I'm not afraid to do it, and I'm sure you know where he lives. All you have to do is accompany me. It'll be fun, I promise. Like a party, but with only two people who are delivering an offensive letter to a diabolic scumbag."

I give him a skeptical look, "I don't know, George..."

He places his palms together in a pleading way, whispering to egg me on, "So much fun, so much fun..."

The wind still blows his hair everywhere. He looks a little silly. An enormously tall man, standing over me, sticking out his lower lip and furrowing his eyebrows, like a little child. Except for his abysmal voice, which sounds like a thirty-year-old mans. Nothing about his physical appearance seems to match, but it also seems to fit together perfectly. The sun continues to set in the sky. It's nearly dark now. Shadows cover George's face, but I can see that he's being candid.

"Okay." I say.

"All right!" George leaps in the air, pumping his fist, "Party! Hatred! Yay! Let's go offend Samson!"

We walk to my car, George hopping in the passenger's seat as I slide hesitantly into the driver's side. Never in my life would I have ever imagined this happening to me. Taking a man I just met to my soon-to-be ex-boyfriends house to deliver an insulting letter, which he will think is from me. 

But, what the heck? 

Today has been weird anyway, I guess I'll just make it a record that's hard to beat.

I take my car out of gear, and I notice that George checks the rear view mirrors in the corners of his eyes. He hurriedly puts his seat belt on. I smirk.

I pull my auxiliary cord out, attaching it to my radio before I address George, "You can play some music, if you want."

I attend college at the University of Alabama, in Tuscaloosa. I liked college for the most part, but I loved Alabama more. It was where I grew up, where my parents grew up, where their parents grew up. I'm sure you get the picture. Everything was familiar. I could look around my city, knowing that this was my place. It was where I belonged. The rivers and the trees were the same that my ancestors looked at every day, the same as me.