I propelled backwards, falling onto the metal and bruising my back, the damp mud seeping into my clothes as a very nasty word escaped my dry lips. My heart skipped a beat, a shiver spreading across my body and a wave of pain shooting up my spine. I let out a low moan and scrambled to my feet, my phone the only weapon I had to throw if I had to. Since being on the ground, the boy had stood up. I stared at him for what felt like centuries - his now curious eyes reflected emeralds from the sea, an ocean of green with specs of hazelnut brown; he towered over me, his legs long and defined in the running shorts I'd mistaken for joggers; he was obviously young, probably a few years older than me but with his dimple giving him a baby face; his hair fell to the top of his pierced ears, the bronzed silk falling in curtains to the top of his helix and fading as it reached the back of his head. He spread a wide smile as I stood with my phone raised and ready to launch, revealing a set of stunningly straight teeth.
"Scary weapon.", the boy interrupted my examination, a gruff, deep voice echoing around the damp walls that cornered us. He sounded amused.
"These tracks are made for trains, what the hell are you doing here?" I winced at the obvious fear in my strained voice.
"They are also meant for thoughts." He replied. What the hell was this? Some kind of twisted riddle?
"Not when death is imminent. These are active train lines." I lied, but what was he to know? I'd never seen this guy before.
"What is living without dying?" He smirked.
I was beyond certain. This guy was definitely crazy.
"Suicidal? Or just depressed?" I questioned sarcastically, plucking out my confidence and acting unphased...or who know's what kind of impression he would get. I stood up straighter and lowered my lethal weapon, still gripping it's sleek frame tight and ready to use if I had to.
"A realist, actually." He spread his smile further.
"A realist?" I scoffed. God knows I was seriously concerned now. The thump of my forgotten headphones created an eerie backing track to the tension between us, the sweat on the back of my neck and in-between my elbows no longer from running.
"I don't hide from my emotions, I feel them." He said, matter of fact, shoving his hands into deep pockets.
I followed his movement carefully. When he noticed my body tense, he withdrew his fingers, holding them up to show empty palms, shrugging his shoulders as I locked eyes with his. While he was clearly curious, I was carefully cautious.
"If you keep thinking on train tracks, you'll be feeling broken ribs, a fractured skull and a shattered spine". The sun was now higher in the sky, the town would be waking up soon. If I needed a quick get away, surely there would be someone around to help me on the main road.
"Morbid, but truthful. I appreciate that." He said, eyes lingering on my face just a second too long. He took a step closer.
I took two steps back. "What kind of death speech is that?"
"One that will be remembered. Written on a park bench, quoted in a museum or even memorialised on a stone statue"
"Or vandalised on a graffiti wall" I stated, half-heartedly mocking his bad boy appearance.
"Well, you've sparked my interest. What is one's fantasy?"
There was no way in hell I was having this conversation with bronzer boy. "One you will never find out."
"Is that a challenge?". His smile spread wider, if that was even possible.
"More like a threat."
Silence...for a second over ten.
"Why were you standing over me?" His question threw me slightly. This guy was oozing confidence for someone who was just lying on train tracks.
"To fulfil my ethical conscious." I joked.
His hand flew to his chest, holding his heart and tugging at the drawstrings of his hoodie. "Ouch darling, the feelings sting." His face scrunched up in imaginary pain, his side profile revealing a small spiral tattoo just behind his left ear.
"I thought you embraced emotion". I aided this with some satisfactory air quotes.
"Catharsis is a drug". He added, looking me up and down, his deep green eyes lingering on each part of me from my muddy shoes to my frizzed hair. He smirked when he reached my eyes, the dimple deepening as he intensified his gaze.
I sighed. "So, you are a crazy drug addict?".
You could cut the tension with a hot iron knife.
"A sinner." Did I seriously just see him roll his eyes?
I scoffed, crossing my arms. "Original."
"Not admirably".
I stared deep into his gaze. His fixture on my face was freaking me out, and the broadness of his shoulders in unison with his towering height left me feeling severely on edge and small - even though I was considered tall by many. I decided to cut this short, no way was I staying a minute longer.
I knelt down, the silence between us deadly. I grabbed my headphones by the dangling lead and spun on my heel, stalking back to the platform while keeping my senses aware to my surroundings. I kept walking down the track, knowing there was a side gate 20 metres ahead that led to the main road.
I heard his footsteps crunch over the leaves outside the tunnel, his pace double the speed of mine. In seconds, he was beside me, a brown bag I hadn't seen before thrown over his shoulder. He was at least a head taller than me and his hair was shorter at the side than I expected. He stood on one metal rail as I stood on the other, making it clear to me he wasn't going to invade my personal space or do anything suspicious. Not that I was convinced. I don't trust strangers.
"Secrets?" He spoke a question, looking ahead into the distance as we walked in broken silence.
"Pardon?"
He brought the other strap of his bag onto his corresponding shoulder, gripping the tighteners. "Secrets. Do you have any?"
"A serious, yet ironic, question for someone who was just awaiting death, don't you think?" I bit back, venom oozing from my fangs.
"Awaiting danger, darling. Not death". God, he thinks he's so charming.
"Don't call me Darling." I snapped.
"It suits you." I hear the smile without having to look at him.
"Whatever, Bronzer." I said, instantly cursing my need to refer to everyone with nicknames.
"I know my complexion is undeniably golden, but putting me in third place...that's a whole other level of ouch." He found this amusing. How cute.
I came to a halt and turned to face his height. He stopped dead, taking a step back. A sign of respect? I wasn't sure. "I meant your hair. It's bronze."
"And your's, it's brown". Captain obvious over here.
"Congratulations, Bronzer. You aren't as dumb as you look."
"Don't call me Bronzer." His tone was halfway jokey; halfway serious.
"Suits you, darling." I spat back, smiling to myself over the repetition of his snarky comment.
This made him laugh. A deep, genuine, infectious laugh that lit up the tension in flames. I felt my lips arching, suppressing the smile that undeniably needed to be held back. I covered my mouth with my wrist, hoping he hadn't noticed my small victory as he giggled to himself. Weirdly, I didn't feel as on edge anymore. His laugh was so...pure. Genuine. For the entirety of our encounter I felt unsafe, yet now I felt intrigued. I'd never met anyone quite like him.
Once he had stopped huffing a puffing, he wiped away imaginary tears of laughter and stared down into my eyes, holding my gaze. "You still haven't told me a secret."
"Strangers don't tell strangers secrets." I enlighten him.
In an instant, he stuck out his hand in the space between us, the sudden movement startling me. "My name is Blake. I'm 6'4, have a masters in emotions, hate the concept of fate, love the fluffiness of pancakes in the morning and the mystery of dying inspires me."
I stood, shocked by his...openness. Blake did suit him though. "And what was I supposed to learn from that?"
Blake took my hand in his and shook it fiercely. I let him. "Name, physical fact, sarcastic flirtation, something I despise, something I adore and a concept of debate." All I could focus on was the electricity of warmth I felt spreading up my fingertips and into my hands as our skin touched.
"I still know nothing about you." We were still holding hands.
"You know everything about me." He stated, staring down at me. Something about his eyes were hypnotic...the spirals of green and brown entrancing me and washing away the feelings of alarm that were settled deep within my stomach.
I dropped his hand and broke the connection. "Right."
"So, what can you tell me about you?" We continued our walk...just slower.
"Nothing that will make me any less than a stranger."
"Bet."
"Bet?"
"I bet, by telling me one small thing, we will no longer be strangers." He huffed, tightening the straps on his bag once again.
"My curiosity is quaking." I replied, cursing the mean streak I get when i'm nervous.
"Sarcastic flirting - this is going to be easier than I thought." I let my smile show this time.
"Hold on a sec..." I started.
"What is darling's name?" He interrupted, radiating a plastered smile that said 'Im an old soul at heart'.
"Excuse me?"
"Your name, darling. Unless you'd like an easier question?" His ego was quite certainly massive.
'And why would I tell a guy who hates fate and enjoys pancakes over waffles, my precious, private name?"
"Because a name will tell me the beginning of your story." We had reached the gate onto the main road as he finished that sentence. This was my chance to run - I was certain this boy was not from our town, it was too small for me not to know of someone so...distinct.
"The version of my story you would write." I found myself correcting, subconsciously noting that something was stopping me from stopping this conversation. I didn't want it to end, yet I did.
"Not always." He grinned.
I stuttered, having no idea what to say. His presence made me uneasy, the way he held himself, the way he looked at me...it seriously stumped me. I looked down at my feet to avoid the awkward gaze. His shoes were shiny and new, fashionable NIKE trainers with green lines of rubber illuminating the stained white of the overlying fabric.
"Grab breakfast with me." A statement, not a question.
I snapped my head up, shocked by his demand. "I don't do breakfast."
"I don't do breakfast either, but I do eat it." He laughed, and I laughed. I actually laughed. I don't remember the last time I did that...
"Um, I don't have time." I wanted to. I wanted to more than anything. But, I couldn't.
He placed a hand behind his ear, faking a yawn and an over exaggerated stretch. "There's always time."
I broke off into my own thoughts. I'd wasted twenty minutes of my run talking to this stranger, and now he was inviting me out for breakfast. I had to finish my run, and it was already 7.21am - the sun was fully up and I could hear the buzz of morning traffic only a street away.
"Look, Bronzer." It felt wrong saying his real name. "I hate to break it to you, but some of us don't have the time to conspire on active train lines and continue pointless conversations with unsuspecting strangers."
If only I had his confidence, then maybe my answer would have been different. I awaited his response, his stance unchanging and his eyes unmoving from mine. "Only breakfast, that's it." He seemed unphased, only more content.
"Breakfast seems pointless if 'thats it', don't you think?" I played to his game, testing where the slight push of bravery led me.
"There's a train out of here in 8 minutes. Let's grab breakfast and lunch."
We both smiled. "Your spontaneosity scares me."
"Your routine scares me." He cooed.
"What routine? Having a plan in place helps me live." The irony is, he didn't know I was the only one without a plan. It was amusing he thought I had my life together.
"Spontaneosity is what helps me not die." He said with authenticity. I liked that he didn't know the half of what that statement meant to me.
"Impossible. That is what gets you killed"
"Dying?" He spoke, a look of wonder crossing his features. "No, that is very much possible."
The sun was high in the sky now, the ball of fire a warm stove above the phantom bridge - a spotlight on me and Blake.
"Are you going to keep rambling on about death, the devil and all things morbid, or are you going to buy me a coffee?" I placed my hands on my hips, surprised how easily id given into his offer.
He mirrors my action, his strong hands gripping his firm chest. "I thought you didn't do breakfast?"
"Coffee isn't breakfast - it's a polite compromise to make the all-to-confident, mysterious, egotistical pretty boy leave me be." Once I realised I'd called him pretty, I internally smashed my head into a brick wall - great job, idiot.
Blake grinned, his eyes squinting as he thought of a carefully crafted response. "I'm going to take the 'pretty boy' comment as a compliment. That's progress." He was definitely amused.
Time to burst his bubble. "If I were you, I'd be more concerned about the mysterious comment."
"And what is so bad about mystery?" He zapped, wiggling his eyebrows slightly.
"It means we are still strangers." I smiled.
Blake thought deeply about this. I could hear the clogs turning under his bronze waves, the shining emeralds projecting thoughts and feelings that were incomprehensible to the naked human eye. He stood up straight, hands finding the comfort of his jumpers pockets as he fiddled with his fingers. "So it does."
"I know a coffee shop, it's only a few streets over." I hold his softened gaze.
"I don't do coffee."
"I don't either...but I do drink it. They make amazing hot chocolate."
He grinned, surfing his hand through his hair. "Then count me in."
I started walking towards the gate, still completely oblivious to why I agreed to this...there was just something about him I longed to know...something I couldn't quite put my finger on.
As I huffed pushing the rotting wood open and holding its squeaky hinges for Blake, an idea popped into my head, one that would complete my run, and bring some fun. "I have one condition." I caught his eye as I readied myself.
"And what would that be?" He asked as I took one last look at his trainers, the lime green staring back at me.
"It's a race." And with that, I sprinted ahead, leaving a breathless Blake floundering behind.
Song Dedication - Right Here, Chase Atlantic