TROUVAILLE ... l.danes (REWRITE)

chapter thirty-three; the past

KNOWING SHE'S THE REASON WHY

nineteen-eighty-two

THE LAKE barely moves in February. So still it feels almost dormant. A dead soul that lays six feet under, unable to push through, just so completely still it doesn't even make a dent. Lucas watches it from his place on the bridge, feet swinging just above the water. If he just reached, his sneaker would dip in and he would break the stillness. All it takes is one movement, and it all falls apart.

He likes it out here. Nobody ever comes looking for him out here, just a bit further out from town, the chill creeping up his spine. It's always so cold by the lake in the winter. The only people who come here do it for fishing. Not like the summer, when there are so many people around, begging for a dip in cool waters, trying to get the sweat off their backs. He likes it better when nobody is around.

He leans back until he hits the bridge he's sitting on, hair scattering around him. His eyes find the sky and the greyness isn't so harsh anymore. A bit hazy. Like an old movie, his Dad has rented that he never really takes notice of, because old movies suck and he's too bored to watch them all the way through. The sun barely peeks through. Sometimes, he feels like the sun. Shining so bright for everyone else, forcing them all to notice him, always feeding into someone's ego. But, for a moment, when the cloud covers him up, he is hidden from their eyes and he can lay back and nobody notices him.

It is bliss.

Thundering feet echo across the bridge and he twists his head in time to see a familiar blonde running towards him, slightly out of breath. She must have run all the way from her house. She slides to a stop before she crashes into his horizontal body, bending over with her hands on her knees to catch her breath. Her face is all pink. It's cute.

"Hiya, Juliet."

"Do you have to–" She sucks in a deep breath and straightens. "Do you have to call me that?"

"Yes. They've actually changed the First Amendment. I think it says 'he who shall be named Lucas Danes may only call she who is Shelley St James by any of the following names; Juliet, Princess, Shortstack, Blondie–"

"Alright, I get it. You're not funny."

He sits up just as she sits beside him on the edge of the bridge. Her legs are not long enough to reach the low water. She's actually sitting with him. She's swinging her legs back and forth, and she's watching the stillness of the lake stretch ahead of her, and she's blushing. Oh, fuck, what does he do? What does he say? When did they last talk? What did they last talk about? He never used to worry when it came to Shelley. They could talk about anything and they did. Now, he barely knows how to get two sentences out.

He gulps and decides he's going to speak.

She beats him to it.

"I'm going on a date next week." He freezes. This must be Shelley's first date. "And I want to kiss him. But, I have no idea how."

Something crawls out of his stomach and up his throat. What is she asking him right now? Why did she come here? Who is she going on a date with?

"Lucas, I need your help."

Ah. Shit. The worst case scenario. Or the best. He knew, at some point, that Shelley was going to start kissing people, but he didn't expect her to come to him about it. Why him? Why does he have to be burdened with the knowledge that she's going to kiss some guy who will take her on one date and then leave her high and dry the next time some hot girl walks by. God, he can't stand this.

"Help with what?"

"With how to kiss. I've never done it before!"

"Right. Yeah." He scratches the back of his neck. It prickles with heat. Burnt through with a flaming iron poker. "Well, you just lean in slowly, you know, and kiss him."

She rolls her eyes and huffs. "Obviously, dumbass. If you're not gonna help, I'll find someone else." She starts to get up, but Lucas is quick to stop her, hand shooting out to grab hold of her arm and keep her in place. She looks at him, stubborn eyes so much like her father's it feels like being scrutinised in his office for not taking better care of yourself.

Lucas gulps.

Why did Shelley come to him?

"Kissing is – well, it's pretty easy." She leans a little closer, drinking in every word. Has he ever been the pinnacle of knowledge before? "It's a bit more work for the guy, choosing the right moment, where to put your hands, that sort of stuff. But, he'll lead the way. You'll know he wants to kiss you because he'll be looking at you. Just follow what he does."

"So, he's just looking at me? Nothing else? What if he's looking at me because I've got ice cream on my chin and I'm sitting there thinking, ooh, he's gonna kiss me? That's silly."

"You'll know."

"How?"

This time, Lucas huffs and rolls his eyes. "Fine. Roleplay time, I guess. Pretend I'm your date." Shelley stares at him and then nods. Better than answering all these damn questions. He blinks, lets his eyes roam around the still lake and then settles back onto her. Everything stops.

The sun has started to peek out from behind the clouds, just enough so that its rays touch the honey of Shelley's hair and lights her up in hues of golden rain. She smiles a little, so that the corners of her mouth barely lift up and her cheeks squish into her eyes. She tilts her head to the side and her hair follows, falling off the edge of her shoulder like water running off a cliff's edge.

He forgets how beautiful she is when he hasn't seen her in so long.

He starts to lean forward. He can't stop himself, edging closer and closer until, finally, he's close enough to feel her breath on his chin. She stares up at him with those pretty round eyes, like fallen hazelnuts they pick during Fall. He doesn't want to blink. His hand moves of its own accord until it is curling around her cheek, thumb curving a pattern into her jaw and then up over her cheekbone. She sighs, softly.

He must have lost his mind.

He dips his head forward until his mouth is almost on hers. He should stop now. She already knows what to do, what to look for. What more could she need from him? It's not like she came here looking to kiss him. She came here for advice from someone who kisses a lot of girls. God, why does he kiss so many girls? Are any of them even good? Will Shelley be a good kisser?

Why can't he stop thinking?

Lips curl around his. Oh. Shelley had used Lucas' knee to give her the extra push up, closing the gap between them before he could. Oh. She moves quickly, so that she's on both knees, hands shooting out to take hold of his face and deepen the kiss. She wobbles a little. Oh. He drops his hand and wraps both arms around her waist, clutching onto her just as tightly as she is clutching onto him. Oh. She's a really good kisser. She knows exactly what to do with her mouth, how to move it to fit his, how to slide her tongue against his bottom lip. Oh. Shit. He can't stop kissing her.

He doesn't want to stop.

She's the one who pulls back. Her face is flushed, made up of splotchy pink patches that he can't tear his eyes away from. She's even more beautiful like this. He wants to reach up, run his fingers through the long tresses of sunlit hair and pull her into another, longer kiss. He wants to be breathless. He wants to come up gasping for air, knowing she's the reason why.

He shouldn't want her like this.

He does.

She leans back from him and drops her gaze to the wooden planks beneath them.

"Thank you," she mumbles, "I'll – uh, I'll keep that in mind."

Before he can stop her, she's on her feet and running away. His heart hasn't stopped hammering against his chest. He will always remember that last image of her, with her head bowed and her cheeks still pink, and her hands shaking in her lap. Does she want him too?

He will never be the same again.