Shift ☆ Louis Partridge

3 | The Perfect Plan

☆
[y/n]

_

I'M DROWNING.

Not in water, but in my own twisted feelings of grief and disappointment. Shifting has become an addiction of a sort—it gives me a high when I'm there, but it all comes crashing down when I come back—and I can't get rid of the feeling.

The first time I went, I lived a dream life.

I tried to expand my reach and insert myself into childhood stories like Peter Pan and Alice in Wonderland, but they always had an end. I'd script the whole thing out; live it for what felt like a few minutes, feel at home, and then wake up sweaty and tired like it was all a nightmare.

But that wasn't the worst part.

I'd have to get up and live through my normal wretched life, pretending like I didn't have the world in my hands for a single night.

To have him.

But it wasn't real, was it? Louis in my dreams wasn't the real him, and everything he said or did was a consequence of the script I had laid out beforehand. Falling in love with me was never his intention. It was just how I wanted it. And, in the pitiful way it was, I wondered if I could get him to fall in love with me on his own.

As if Louis Partridge would ever love me.

Or know I exist.

I'm not doing well, if you couldn't tell. I feel like I'm being weighed down by my own guilt of tricking my mind into believing there was a source of happiness over something I had absolutely no control over. I felt like I was manipulating him. Not him directly, but still, I felt like my blood was made of syrup and made it hard to breathe.

I have memories of a boy I've never met, but they're the ones that mean the most.

"Hi Lauren," I sighed, approaching the desk, "bouquet number nine?"

The woman peeked out from behind her computer, giving me an awkward look when she saw me. I knew I looked awful—rumpled clothes, tangled hair, and dark circles under my eyes—and I knew she was surprised to see me less than enthusiastic about my new bouquet assortment.

Truth be told, I hadn't even looked at the one from last week. My botany classes were becoming more a pastime than a passion, and I couldn't think about plants without thinking of Tewksbury. Then I'd think of Tewksbury and think of Louis, and then I'd fall into the spiral of disappointment.

"Is everything okay, [y/n]?" Lauren asked, sliding a brown-paper bouquet towards me, "I hope everything's alright at home."

"Everything's fine," I said.

"You can always stop by if you need to talk."

"Thanks, Lauren," I smiled, as best as I could, "I appreciate it."

I left the shop, holding a bushel of daisies in the palm of my hand. I always loved daisies. They were my favorite flower, because they were the flowers of wishes. He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not. That type of thing.

Picking one out for myself, I counted 34 petals tucked neatly around the pollen base.

"He loves me," I sighed, beginning to pluck them out one by one, "he loves me not..."

As I made my way back home, a million thoughts sprung up in my brain. If I was to shift again, was it possible to stay there? No, I'd have to wake up at one point. But, in a different sense, what if I went back in unscripted. The first time was a mistake, but if I managed to go in spontaneously and end up somewhere other than the back of Louis' car, then I could put my questions to the test.

Would Louis Partridge fall in love with me on his own?

No script, no alternative plans, just his own (DR) choices. I kept thinking about this train of thought while plucking petals off the daisy. He loves me. Maybe he'd see me for who I really was. He loves me not. I wouldn't pull any tricks, change myself into someone I wasn't. He loves me. I could put all those bullies to shame if I could manage it. He loves me not. I wouldn't hurt anymore. He loves me. I'd finally feel like I wasn't going to end up alone, and I'd finally feel like I had a sense of worth I couldn't achieve on my own.

He loves me not.

I stopped thinking, staring at the last petal in my fingers. It seemed like a stake in my heart. He. Loves. Me. Not. Maybe more of a slap in the face, but nevertheless, it felt terrible to see.

But what were flowers to fate, hah!

This was just a silly coincidence, wasn't it? I hope so. I really, really, hope so. The only way I can find out is by shifting tonight. I'll do it properly this time—no storyline, no pre-inept feelings, and no pretending I'm someone else—because it hurts to live a dream life where the one you love falls in love with a placid version of you.

So here's the plan: see if Louis would like the real me.

─ ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─

THE MINIMALIST SCRIPT

(1)

Wake up in my own room.

(2)

Change nothing about my world,

London, or myself.

SAFE WORD:

Say "time to go home" and I'll wake up.

_

Fun fact: SHIFT was originally going to be my first Louis Partridge book, until I got tea spilled on me on my way to the corner store—which is how I came up with the idea for Cheeky!

So the reason why I put a summary in italics at the end of  all my Spillings' books, is because none of it was real and [y/n] couldn't live it out. She could only make a summary in her script. don't you love it when things come full circle?