[ Printer Friendly Version ] [ Report Abuse ]
Chapter 10 : Rental
| ||Rating: Mature||Chapter Reviews: 12|
Background: Font color:
Sometimes you’re so fixated on making your relationship 'the' relationship, that you forget, sometimes, you just have to let things work themselves out.
"I forgive you."
He's not supposed to forgive me, it's like everything I'd said had flown over his head. To be honest, it’s a bit worse than flying over his head, it’s like everything I said jumped into a spaceship and that spaceship flew billions of light years away and then got lost in a far far away galaxy. Oh, I watch muggle sci-fi.
"I lied Louis, there should be consequences," I say, poking him in all seriousness.
He laughs, "you're seem to be punishing yourself quite well."
I squirm, he’s enjoying this. It's almost as if he knew, but he's not that smart. Sorry Lou, but you’re not. He couldn't have possibly known, could he?
I squeeze my eyelids tight for a second.
"Give me your hands," I say, forcefully with my best authoritative tone. My authoritative tone is basically a failed impression of McGonagall, because of my slight Irish accent and high pitched squeaky voice.
He shoves both his hands out at me and I create an 'L' shape with his thumb and finger on each hand, then with my hands on his wrists, I guide them together to create a rectangle.
We catch eyes for a second and for a moment I'm breathless, but I quickly look down and go back to work.
"This is a frame," I say, tapping the dodgy rectangle that is made out Louis' fingers. "Keep that in mind, this metaphor is a little messy, it's fresh and I haven't thought it through, hopefully the visuals will help."
He doesn't respond, I hope he isn't lost already.
"This is a frame and perfection or what we perceive as perfect fits neatly and nicely into this frame, got it?"
He nods and using my index finger of my clean hand, I trace around Louis’ dry fingers.
"Now, once something fits our requirements to qualify as or exceeds them, it can fit into the frame and that's what we perceive as perfect."
I look into his eyes and he seems to be understanding what I'm babbling about, so I continue.
"But look at the shape your fingers are in, is that a perfect rectangle?" I ask rhetorically.
"It's not, so how can what we perceive as perfect be perfect if the criteria we judge it by is imperfect," I say breathlessly.
Louis opens his mouth about to say something, I but rudely interrupt partially to be a bother, but mainly because I'm not finished and I don't want to lose this bullet-train of thought.
"The frame is mangled and mishaped as it's impossible for a person to be a hundred percent objective, there's always bias. Your perception of perfection is wrong, because you can't acknowledge the flaws with that thing, item," I take a breath, " or person because maybe you're so in love with her too notice that she's not quite right or what you want."
I sigh as I've finished my rant, I'm not even sure if a word of that made any human sense, I'm back to my natural language called incoherency.
"You're insane," he says finally, but he continues, "you've proved your point, now get me a pen."
I raise my eyebrows, but pull a pen out from my pocket and pass it to him. He refuses to take it and begins to speak, "draw a pirate mustache and beard on my face, like you did in last years gender-bender sleepover."
I oblige, taking the cap off the pen and begin to scrawl over his wonderful face, slightly stepping on my toes. I feel him shudder as the pen swirls on his face to make a moustache.
"Now," he says, "you see my face is like the expensive parchment from Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop with some awful, hideous doodles on it, but you keep looking because once you get past it, it's strange and damn good looking, because there's something valuable behind all the ink, but you like the doodles because it's makes it unique like no other piece of parchment, that you love and you know you love it."
I can't breathe.
"And without the doodles, that paper isn't the paper that you fell in love with and you're still in love with."
I am gobsmacked. If I'm not mistaken, he just used a metaphor and a beautiful one at that. I look down, so he can't see me blushing.
He notices my expression, takes it for confusion and quickly adds, "my frame, your frame and everyone else's may not be perfect, but it's my own shape, so that only one special people can fit in it, of course the things inside are imperfect in someway, even if it's a teeny flaw, but it doesn't stop me from liking it any less."
I look at him, eyeing him, wondering when on earth he could spurt out all this romantic poetic garble. I lean in closer to him and then push him playfully.
"You knew didn't you, that I lied about the book," I say incredulously.
"Well, it seemed a little off, so I investigated-."
"Asked Arisa," I correct him and he sends me a sceptic how-did-you-know glance.
"So, I asked Arisa, she said you had it and then well, I guess you haven't figured," he says, looking down.
"What exactly did you do?" I ask, getting worried, feeling something bubbling inside of me as I clench my fists.
"Well, I took your book and I repla-."
"Great," I snapped, "did you read it?" I asked, running a hand through my hair.
"I flicked through it," he says easily.
I run my hands through my hair again and put one of my hands on my hips.
"So, you figure that since I lied to you, you, you could just take my most prized possession," I seethe.
The proud smile he had has gone and has been replaced with a confused frown.
I swore under my breath repeatedly and turned around.
Louis calls out at me and says, "will you forgive me?"
Flustered and annoyed, I blurt out the honest answer.
Because that's the best way of showing someone that you're absolutely fuming.
He doesn't reply. He doesn't need to. He’s satisfied with the answer he got.
At least, I had one thing to my advantage, he has a horrible fake mustache drawn on his face.
A/N: Hello, hello, you didn't expect this kind of update speed? Don't get used to it, please don't.
Another shortling, but I felt this conversation couldn't be in one go, this is a novella, can you feel it coming to an end? I can. 2 left.
I hope Patch didn't confuse you, her and Louis (and well, me) are all on the same wavelength.
nothing. I'll put some italian in the next chapter, I miss it.
Disclaimer: I don't own HP :)
Please review! I'm feeling a tad discourage by the number I'm getting :)
Previous Chapter Next Chapter
Other Similar Stories
Little We Care