AuthorsNote:The first sentence was a prompt from this character development-tumblr and I wrote from there while waiting for my turn in Kela. I edited it a little, but since the story was all flow and no know I left the end like it was.
For once again I found myself in the exact place I never wanted to be.
The sickly blue door with two names on it; one that I'd rather not have ever learnt and one I desperately wished to delete from my mind for the sake of my sanity. It doesn't matter that it is a name that rolls infrom my mouth like a lovers caress, that might actually be the source of my displeasure in visiting.
I hesitate before ringing the doorbell and before ringing the doorbell and listen to the stupid jingle that echoes muffled inside the house. Who would bother to install such a thing? Wasn't simple ring good enough?
Cellophane rustles accusingly under my hands, fingers threatening to throttle the wrapped wine bottle. I wish I could throttle myself instead so I might get out of this torture in disguise of a housewarming party. Schooling my features to that of a genuinely happy as I hear soft padding of familiar footsteps from inside the house. I resign my brain to rot in its stupid ideas and curse my blasted hormones to the lowest planes of Hades as a tingling warmth pools in my stomach.
Door swings open and I plummet under the dazzling smile aimed at me.
"Hi stranger" she says and I get distracted by her usually messy dark hair being all silky and flowy and all kinds of adjectives only used in Harlequin-novels.
"Hi" I breath in a hopefully less aloof manner than I feel "Found your way here all right, yeah?" "Yes, might have gotten confused by the countryside a bit and frightened a few cows with questions and had to fight them over this, the daft hayheads-" I offer her the gift bottle "wouldn't believe me when I insisted it's only fit for human consumption." she chuckles, a carefree, happy sound. "Thank you, I salute you for winning against the local maf." I push the bottle into her waiting hands and gingerly lace my own, now empty, fingers together hopefully in a natural manner, not sure what to do with them otherwise. "But seriously, this is suburbia, not counrtyside. It's barely an hour to town from here" she says, rolling her eyes and beckoning me inside after her.
I follow shyly and toe off my shoes, setting them neatly in midst of the unruly pile of footwear belonging to the other guests.
"Keep telling that to yourself and your cow keeping neighbour." "You do realize that the cow was garden decor? Ill advised, but inanimate by all definitions if a hurricane doesn't rip it from the ground." The amused tone of her voice brings back memories of long nights spent playfully sniping at each other, but they are mercifully swept away by the hubbub from the kitchen: chatter and laughter in the magnitude and volume achieved only by at least 20 people.
We arrive in the kitchen that is too brisk and clean to be homey. No cartoon mugs with silly quotes, no books strewn on all surfaces, no coffee stains, no overflowing ashtrays or ancient cheetos on the floor. Not that I'd be adverse to a bit cleaner enviroment but this space doesn't feel like she belongs.
She looks so happy here but I wish I'd brough two bottles of wine, one as a gift, one to hug in the far corner of the possibly modernly white livingroom. I dislike it so much, but not more than myself even more for being so petty as to resent her happiness.