I'll Follow You Into The Dark Ch. 1

So, really for my own entertainment. But comment if it so pleases you. And also to spend my days NOT being studious and NOT gluing my ass to the couch and feeling sorry for myself. Everyone needs that sense of accomplishment, right? This is a little thing called a fanfic. You'll get it if you know who Cesc Fabregas is, otherwise just another love story.

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I stood outside of the stadium. I was debating whether or not to step inside, where I could potentially be attacked. By my own forces, my brain straddling the line between heartache and satisfaction. I squinted as I looked up into the gray sky, maybe for a sign, maybe for the imminent rain to fall so I could rush back into my car and be released from this purgatory. This moment of judgment. This moment of decision. He couldn’t see me way up in the stands, of course. But I was almost sure that he could feel me, and that when he felt me he would stop dead in his tracks, the ball would come to a rolling stop, the crowd would become fixated on me as well wondering why the life was all of a sudden drained out of their winger. It would be a theatrical moment when the world stopped spinning and my head spun faster. I had not daydreamed an end to this nightmarish fantasy. Only the anticipation. The resulting moment would ruin the anticipation. It always does.
-Miss, would you like me to take your ticket for you?
Of course, I had been standing there looking like a goon, clutching my ticket at the entrance gate staring into spaces of grey. I suppose this was the sign I was waiting for.
-Erm…yes. Thanks
-Cheers, the ticket-taker said without an ounce of emotion on his face. This kind of English paralyzation of the face I had once seen as rude and cold, but now found humorous in contrast to hyper-excited toothy American smiles I had been previously accustomed to.
The smell of beer and cigarettes smacked me in the face as I took my few first steps in. I was not accustomed to sitting this high, with the “commoners” as the other girlfriends said. This was not polished. It was not pretty or clean, but it was raw emotion. I felt right among them, more right than I ever had among the clicking Loubutins in the pampered corridors.
My Chucks felt right, too.
I took my seat, but everyone else was standing up, so I jumped to my feet to be one with the crowd. As the men-folk were totally entranced in the game and their alcohol, I could see the eyes of their girlfriends on me, trying to figure out my vague familiarity. My eyes were focused on the field.
And there he was as glorious as ever. Everytime his foot tapped the ball my heart jumped up in my esophagus and my stomach fell out of my ass. This moment was completely surreal. We had been so intimate, me tracing his birthmark with two fingers, his hands cupped around my breasts making them seem, feel, even smell remarkable.
I looked down at them now. Unremarkable in my old T-shirt. And here he was the big shot, and my private adoration seemed pitiful up against the adoration of the 75,000 people here. He missed a shot, everyone gasped, the same way I had gasped when his arms encircled my waist.
This was a bad idea. This is all too much for me too handle. The game had now slowed into a lull, with the ball crossing the center line so frequently; it began to feel like a tennis match. Most had fallen back into their seats. The old rusted metal creaked. Out of nowhere, he came sweeping down the field, leaving defenders in his cloud out sweat and determination.
Goal. I craned my neck to see the celebration, which had always been my favorite part. To see the invincible giants weep like old women and jump excitedly about like children. It made them all seem so undoubtedly human. After his teammates and cleared their man child, he jogged to the sidelines, and huge grin plastered on the flushed face I had once seen only centimeters above my own, and blew a kiss…to her. Once upon a time that kiss belonged to me. I longed for it to float higher and higher into the stands until it found its way upon my lips. But this one was not destined for me.
Everyone was chanting, screaming, clapping.
I calmly took my keys out of my purse, clasped it shut, and said polite “Excuse me’s” as I maneuvered my way among the throngs of human flesh. The ticket-takers were still jabbering excitedly about the feat that he had managed to pull off. Wow. I sat in my Honda. My keys never made it into the ignition. My knees met my chin and I did the one thing I hadn’t done in a long time. Not even when he had broken from me. Tears mingled with mascara and snot.
This was messy, I was a mess.
I still retained my private parking pass for the player’s lot. I knew he was bound to find me after the game was over and the congratulations had worn thin. I always kept a blanket in my backseat should I ever need it. I crawled under it. It had grown scratchy with time, and smelled like dust, but I slipped into its comfort and was out cold.

“In a million, trillion, kajillion years from now, when we’re old and helpless and have failing memories, would you recognize me?”

“Sure, I don’t see why not. All I’d have to do is see that scar under your chin and I would know. Boom. Like that.”

“But what if my face had totally changed and wrinkles had covered every part of me, even the most recognizable ones?”

“Hmm.”

“Well?”

“I’d put my hand to your heart.”

“What good would that do?”

“I’ve memorized your heartbeart.”

There was a tap at my window. Louder and louder and louder. Jesus, how long had I’d been here?

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Don’t worry, I was just leaving,” I tried to yell.

“Are you ok in there,” the voice replied.

Ugh. I struggled to climb over the divider and hop into the front seat. It was pitch black outside, and I could only see shadows. I fumbled to hit the window switch to let the stranger know that I was mildly OK.
I didn’t notice that the rain had made it’s grand entrance during my nap and was now mercilessly pounding.

“Shit!” I cried that the rain fell into my car and on my face like a bad memory.

“Chloe, it that you?” The stranger yelled to get over the sound of the thunder.

Shit.