In The Pages||Elizabeth Olsen Story

Chapter 2 - Boxes

Staring up at their new house didn't last long as the ever-going rain stabbed at their eyes, causing them to blink rapidly and look away.

"Y/n hurry out of the cold!" Yelled their mother from the ajar front door.

Y/n did as they were told and scurried out of the storm that was battering the quaint village.

Shaking the droplets off their coat- much to their father's sounds of dismay- Y/n plodded further into the scarcely decorated hallway.

Raising their eyebrows at the prominent creaking echoing throughout the small abode, they met with their parents in the beige kitchen.

"Are you sure this house can withstand this weather? I've heard American houses are mostly cardboard." Y/n asked into the still room.

Y/N's mother rolled her eyes before replying, "Stop whining and move your boxes into your room." She ordered, kissing them on the crown of their head.

"But you just told me to get out of the cold!" Whined Y/n

Their mother inhaled deeply and chose not to continue the conversation while walking out of the room.

Y/n groaned before turning to their father for support.

Without lifting his eyes from his phone, "Listen to your mother"

Typical.

Slouching out of the door into the less aggravated weather towards the unlocked car, they tried to haul at least  four boxes out at once, resulting to them having a single box in their arms at the end of their journey back to the door.

They let the last box fall from their grip without trying to save it- they gave up on saving them once the second box fell.

Groaning and slamming their head against the door before sliding down it and slumping on the wet concrete seemed a lovely way to give up, so it's exactly what they did.

Little did they know that from across the road, they were being watched from a bedroom window. Curiously watched. Their appearance out of the house caught the watcher's attention more than the passing cars and pedestrians.

Placing her previously discarded book down, (counting the amount of cars that passed was more interesting than Shakespeare) the girl watched as they silently grumbled whilst walking to the car. Watched as they grabbed a box from the boot. And another. And another. And another.

She then watched as they again grumbled when they failed to catch the first box that fell merely three steps into their journey back to the door.

And she continued to watch as they ended up with no boxes at their destination. They didn't grumble this time, simply laying down on the damp ground.

She laughed softly at them. Why was she watching this strange person fail to move boxes? She didn't know. But she wanted to know more, more about them.

And their attitude to boxes.

Both Shakespeare and the number of cars passing her house had been long forgotten, and she was completely focussed on the figure in the rain.

How they moved, why they moved, if they shuffled slightly, a change in expression. Anything.

Maybe it was her lack of human interaction on the dismal day which made her so concentrated on the stranger. The lack of human interaction was her choice of course, she had let her family know she would be doing nothing but read by her window, basking in the sound of the droplets against the window for however long the rain lasted.
And, of course, the rain had lasted all day.