Delicate Thunder {Geebs}

Beware the danger it lurks for those who get swept away,
The dreamers get punished most by truth.

She was dead. Absolutely and positively dead. She'd spent a whole week watching for him. And when she returned home after scouring the streets school without seeing him, she'd spend the rest of the night with her eyes closed, trying to remember every detail of him. The exact structure of his face. The smell of his skin. The taste of him. The feel of his body, pressed against hers. She squeezed her eyes tight against these memories, trying to hold them close. She would see him again. She had to. If she didn't - Well, she couldn't think about that.

She was decaying without him, become snappish at everyone and sullen, and when asked why, she replied with a glare. They'd never cared before, why should they now? No, it was her secret, and she refused to part with it. The longer she held that night close to her chest and private, the sweeter it would be. And she hadn't had many sweet things in her life. It wasn't a crime to want one true secret, one thing that was hers completely, and no one else's.

He was unraveling her. He was in her mind constantly, winding his way through her life. It was torturous, having him so close in relation to her mind and so far in relation to her body. She couldn't concentrate, not on anything. She was fairly certain she'd failed a math test because of him.

But now it was Friday again. A week exactly since they'd met. She'd find him tonight. She'd look down every street. Hell, she'd even start a riot if that was what it took to see him in person for a few minutes. She dressed up again, in different clothes this time, but something that still made her pretty. She tugged at the hem of her shirt so there was a better view of her breasts, and adjusted the gaudy necklace she'd put on as a way to attract attention to that part of her body. Black skinny jeans with small rips in them hugged her hips, and she carried a small purse made out of an old pair of blue jeans. She was ready.

The dark streets cast lights out, beckoning Sicily near. She refused to be enticed by the sounds of laughter drifting from one bar, the smell of pie drifting from another. She was on a mission; she had to stay alert. For half an hour, she wandered around the streets aimlessly. Once, she checked the place where they'd met, but he wasn't there. At one point, some strange man had come up to her and tugged on her wrist as if he knew her, but she'd kicked him in the groin and hurried away. There was another man she wanted, and she didn't want anyone but him. Can you say "obsession," boys and girls?

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that, in her excitement, she'd skipped dinner. She shook her head, told herself it didn't matter. She could eat later. After that, things started to go downhill. Her heel broke, so she ended up ripping off her shoes and dumping them in the nearest trash can. Then, she'd stubbed her toe on a piece of the sidewalk that jutted an inch above where it was supposed to rest. Unable to catch herself in time, she'd tumbled forward and grazed her palms against the hard concrete. Some boy had tried to help her up, but she'd waved him off. Her hands were bleeding, but just a little bit, so she tried to ignore it. But when she took a step forward, she realized she'd scraped her knee, too, and that it had taken the brunt of the damage. A trail of blood meandered down her leg, and when she walked, her knee throbbed with pain.

Sicily could have admitted defeat then. But she was stubborn girl, and she was in love with Cassius. Maybe. Or not. Maybe she just liked him because - Oh, who was she kidding? She was in love. Completely and entirely. She hobbled over to a bench and sat there, arms crossed over her chest, glaring at anyone who gave her a strange look. He'd walk by, if she just sat here and waited long enough. If she just waited patiently forever, maybe he'd see her one day.