"Bittersweet Symphony"

[scarlett_ohara2]

“Bittersweet Symphony”

Author: me (Liz)

A/N: Firstly, sorry for being so scarce around here for so long! School/LJ have eaten my life this semester.

Nextly, aghh, another one of these [aka, slight companion piece to How Soon is Now and Oh, Academia. Apparently I have a neverending desire to literarily make out in the library!]. My writing Muse told me that its name was Mephistopheles, but I might’ve misheard and it was actually Lucifer.

Anyway. A somewhat fictionalized observationary tale.

Looking back, there was foreshadowing. So if this were a bloody Sherlock Holmes tale, they’d be stripping me of my M.D. and throwing me to the hound.

“It never fails,” he’d told me as we were climbing up the library stairs, “Every spring I get a sinus infection and I’m super sick.”

Clue number one.

Clue number two: Pre-Law Boy and I had to see a film for our mutual Spanish class, and so we sat next to each other, feet propped up on the desks in front of us, whispering during the slow parts. At one point, Javier Bardem’s character was angsting some more about how he didn’t have a job, just like 95% of the rest of the film, so I wasn’t paying intensely close attention.

“Ahhh—hetsch-sheh!”

Until he sneezed.

Yeah. The Boxcar fucking Children could do better than me.

~~~~~

Really, I’m pretty sure that this whole thing is his fault. He’s a man, so why shouldn’t it be?

We were supposed to have a study date together on Monday afternoon, same as always, but he texts me before to say that he’s not feeling well at all and that he’s going to go home and sleep.

Eat soup, I message back, though I really mean, ‘Don’t leave! Stay here so that I can make out with you in the stacks in your current feverish condition!’. Though of course I can’t expect him to be fluent in crazy, so I’m not sure if he got that.

I think he must be feverish, since he texts back something that I can’t make any sense of, beyond the word meth!. I send back, What, so you’re making meth now?? And he tells me that Sudafed is one of the key ingredients in meth, so he’s pretty sure his body must be making meth by now.

So is paint thinner, I say. Yeah, but I’m not drinking paint thinner! He tells me, and I say that’s good to know.

Nancy Drew’s shaking her head at me. The Bobbsey Twins have brought popcorn. This is going to be one hell of a trainwreck, so I think maybe we should bring those Boxcar Children back in after all. At least they have railway experience.

~~~~~

The next morning I go to the library early since I have to register for the next semester’s classes. I’ve always liked going there early- the fourth-floor computer lab is always empty at that time, and it feels like I have the whole library to myself.

Unfortunately, one of the classes I’d picked out is already full, so I browse through the course list, while wondering where the other twenty people who registered on the first day and are dying to take psychopharmacology are. I look through the English section on a whim, and find a short story class that fits into my schedule. I decide to text Pre-Law Boy and ask him if it’s the same one that he took, since he’s always telling me about how awesome it was.

There’s no response for a long time, but I register for the class anyway. Later, as I’m reading through a Spanish short story for another class, I get a message that tells me that yes, it is the same class and he loved it, and then: Guess what? 102 fever. Wonderful.

Boy, I think, you have no idea just how wonderful that is, but of course I can’t tell him that, so I just message back that I decided to take the class and that his fever sounds awful and did he take any meds for it?

There’s no response, and Miss Marple’s whispering in my ear that conscientious detectives never play guessing games, but I say, hey, Missy, did you get a look at what I’m wearing today? Pretty sure that even at breakfast, conscientious was off the table.

Speaking of that, I’m getting really nervous about whether he’ll be coming to class today or not. I got dressed up all specially for it, and I can just anticipate what I’m going to wear to the next class, since I’m on the slippery slope of sluttiness and greasing my feet, besides.

I almost jump every time someone walks past the classroom door, but he doesn’t ever show up. Generally, this is a pretty lax class, but naturally, the day he’s gone is the one the professor decides to finally give guidelines for the final project.

I make up my mind midway through the class that I should call him after and tell him what he’s missed today. That’s just… being a good classmate! Exactly.

If nerves are like hair, I’m sure mine are frizz, because it only takes until late afternoon for him to message me back and for me to finally buck up enough to call him.

His message describes, in a lot of detail, going to the doctor and then the pharmacy. It’s almost like he knows, and is trying to torture me. My logical self knows that he doesn’t and isn’t, but still.

Agatha Christie’s giving a ladylike laugh from the front row, loud enough that I can hear. I can tell that she thinks that if I haven’t figured out what’s going on yet, I deserve to be the victim in the story rather than the protagonist. Screw you, too, Aggie, where were you back in ’26?

He doesn’t pick up when I call, so I leave a message and he calls me back not long after.

“How are you doing?” I ask, and he says that he’s feeling somewhat better than this morning, and I say that that’s good. I tell him about what he missed in class, and then he starts to tell me about a law school thing he’s going to later in the week.

“Akk—ketsch-schoo!” Then, suddenly, he sneezes into the phone, and apologizes thickly. I’m so surprised that I can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t involve telling him how hot that just was. He clears his throat in my silence, and then I ask him something else about his law school visit, and we move on. Or at least he does.

We end up finishing the conversation by discussing antibiotics. Oh, this boy. He’s going to kill me, but he’s going to do it slowly, so that I have ample time to choose poignant last words that I can spit on my deathbed like bloodred Scrabble letters.

“Well, I should probably go and not-die for a while,” he says at the end.

“Okay,” I say. “But keep in mind that, at least according to the Bible, resurrections generally take three days.”

He laughs in surprise, and says that he’ll remember that.

“Antibiotics are like Jesus in a pill,” I continue.

“Jesus pills,” he repeats, and gives a congested laugh that turns into a cough. I can just picture him shaking his head at me.

He clears his throat, which sounds like it hurts, and then tells me that he really should go.

“Feel better,” I say, and he is gone.

~~~~~

The next morning kicks off with slutty me announcing that she’s staying the rest of the week, and that I shouldn’t underestimate just what she’s capable of. I believe her.

Hey Lazarus. You still hot-blooded today, or are you feeling better? I send, at 8:30. He sends back later that OTC meds are making him faux-alive, but that he still doesn’t feel that great, and has to work and go to class all day.

OTC, I scoff back. False prophets.

We spend quite a bit of time discussing whether he should borrow my Spanish book since he forgot his, but ultimately he decides that he doesn’t have enough time before his next class for it to be of any use, so I head off to my next class, psychology.

Naturally, we’re discussing relationships today, and my professor decides to lead off the lecture by asking, “How many of you have thought about sex in the last five minutes?”

Oh yes, right here. I can feel my face reddening and I really hope that the professor isn’t looking at me.

I can hear my phone buzzing several times during the lecture, and I have trouble paying attention, wondering what the messages might say. I open them as I’m leaving class- the first is from a friend from home saying that he’s making a surprise visit back from Hawaii, but the other two are from Pre-Law Boy.

The first tells me that his class was cancelled, and asks if I am in class. Apparently, he’s not very patient, because the next was sent not very long after, saying, Lizzzzzzzzzzzzz, I want to borrow your Spanish book nowwwwwwwww. I text back saying that I am sorryyyyyy, but that I haven’t mastered teleportation quite yet.

I don’t hear from him again until later in the afternoon, at the tail end of my dead-boring poetry class.

Did you set another mysterious library fire? He asks, and I laugh as I’m walking out of the classroom. There have been several strange library fires and subsequent evacuations this semester, including one yesterday.

Yes, with my mind! I reply. Told you I was working on my telekinesis!

I walk quickly from the building my class was in towards the direction of the library, hoping to run into him on the sidewalk, but by the time I get there the crisis must be over, though there are fire trucks outside.

Nice job. I was trying to learn! He says, and I smirk. There are FIRE TRUCKS out here! I tell him.

Is this another episode of foreshadowing? I’m not sure. I tried asking the Hardy Boys, but Frank just looked at me disapprovingly and Joe wolf-whistled.

~~~~~

I’m not even really sure how it comes about; slutty me’s not so forthcoming about her methods.

All I know is that Pre-Law Boy’s morning class gets cancelled last-minute and so he ends up joining me in the library.

When he eventually arrives at the remote table near the Spanish literature section where I have all my stuff, he’s looking a little worse for wear.

“Hey,” I say softly. “How are you feeling?”

He coughs into his fist, and slutty me is leaning forward. There is a reason she picked this dress to wear today.

“Like hell,” he says, but smiles when his eyes meet mine.

“Which circle?” I ask, but he’s swallowing gingerly and getting his textbook out of his bag.

“What?”

“Nevermind,” I say. I already know which circle I’m in, and Dante really had fun with that one.

“Guess what,” I continue.

He’s sitting right next to me, resting his chin on his hand. “I don’t know.”

“I need your help.”

He looks me up and down. “What kind of help?”

“Well, there’s this book,” I start. “And it’s kind of on a high shelf…”

Ah, slutty me, how I enjoy your cunning ways.

There are several reasons why I picked the Spanish literature section: for one, it’s in a relatively obscure location in the library, and for another, it’s completely plausible, so he’s not even expecting it.

“Where is this book again?” he asks me congestedly, and I merely smile and keep going, saying that it’s just a little further in the stacks. He’s just standing there in the aisle, though, looking up.

“Ahhh—huuuguhxx-shoo!”

“Actually,” I say. “I think I found it.”

He’s dragging his forearm under his nose when I take his other wrist and pin it back against the bookshelf. His other arm drops to his side, and I take that one, too. His lips are hot enough to melt the river Styx.

Eventually he breaks off to tell me that we should stop, that he’s going to get me sick.

“Shut up,” I tell him, nipping his lip. “Talking will hurt your throat.”

He breaks off again a while later to cough into his elbow, and I rub his other arm in comfort until he’s done.

“So those library fires,” he starts, and I’m really not sure where he’s going with this, but I play along anyway.

“Ah, those pesky library fires,” I repeat, trailing my hand down his chest. “I think we might start another one.”

He looks at me, hard, and his eyes are fever-bright and I think, yeah, pyrokinesis is really today’s theme, huh.

“You’re so hot,” I tell him next, leaning in so that our foreheads and noses are touching. “Double entendre intended.”

His tongue curls around mine, and it’s warm and like playing tug-of-war, except both of us seem to be winning.

At one point, he gives in to a ragged-sounding laugh, and we slump back against the Latin-American Boom books.

“There was never any book, was there?” he asks me, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed.

“Mmm,” I say, my fingers on his cheek. “Good deduction. Case closed.”

[starpollen]

Ohhhhh I love your writing.

[sneezytwilight]

Oh I love this story! Its so sweet and flirty and just MMMMMM.....

[queenie]

Oh. My. God.

[Butch]

scarlett_ohara2 - AWESOME.

[obsessed]

So, uh yeah... you're pretty dang amazing.

[sillystarsmoons]

Wow this is great, thanks for sharing.

[sillystarsmoons]

Wow this is great, thanks for sharing.

[scarlett_ohara2]

Ohhhhh I love your writing.

Awww, you! Thank you so much!

Oh I love this story! Its so sweet and flirty and just MMMMMM.....

Yaayy, thank you! I had a lot of fun writing it.

Oh. My. God.

My feelings exactly! Hee. Thank you!

scarlett_ohara2 - AWESOME.

Awww, thank you so much!

So, uh yeah... you're pretty dang amazing.

Hee, THANK YOU! (And I think YOU are pretty amazing, too!)

Wow this is great, thanks for sharing.

Aww, you are so welcome. Thank YOU for reading!

[TheCakeIsAlive]

Awwww. I love the Sherlock Holmes and Aggy references. And hmmm... isolated corners of libraries are indeed very uhm... useful for such purposes.

“Like hell,” he says, but smiles when his eyes meet mine.

“Which circle?” I ask, but he’s swallowing gingerly and getting his textbook out of his bag.

“What?”

“Nevermind,” I say. I already know which circle I’m in, and Dante really had fun with that one.

Love this bit.

[Emily]

I love how she admits she's being slutty and picking her outfit especially for that purpose. LOL She's such a schemer.

[27jj]

HELLLO HOTNESS. More on that later.

[scarlett_ohara2]

Awwww. I love the Sherlock Holmes and Aggy references. And hmmm... isolated corners of libraries are indeed very uhm... useful for such purposes.

“Like hell,” he says, but smiles when his eyes meet mine.

“Which circle?” I ask, but he’s swallowing gingerly and getting his textbook out of his bag.

“What?”

“Nevermind,” I say. I already know which circle I’m in, and Dante really had fun with that one.

Love this bit.

Aww, the Dante bit was my favorite, too! Thank youuu!

I love how she admits she's being slutty and picking her outfit especially for that purpose. LOL She's such a schemer.

Hee, I definitely can be. Thank you for reading!

HELLLO HOTNESS. More on that later.

TÚ. GRACIAS, QUERIDA!