Stranger to Me

~Eleven~

Gilda's P.O.V.

*Flashback*

I walked into the store, ready to kill something. My eyes were narrowed at all the people in there. Stupid people. I hated all of them. Mother had sent me to get her some butter. Like she really needed butter right now.

I wasn't in the mood for cake, or cookies, or pie, or whatever pastry she was going to make. I just wanted to be at home in my room so I could cry my troubles away. I wanted to just sit there in the middle of the store and burst into tears.

Instead, I gritted my teeth and found my way to the dairy section, where a guy who looked a little older than me was stacking the butter.

"Hello there, little lady," he greeted. I just winced and pretended I didn't hear him. I snatched a block of butter, but I guess I hadn't chosen strategically because the entire mound came tumbling down.

Everything inside of me wanted to just walk away with that butter and not look back, to let the guy handle it himself. But the good inside of me won over, and I knew that, especially in a public place, I couldn't just not help clean up a mess I had singlehandedly made. I put down my purse and the offending block of butter. Grouchily, I crouched down and grabbed a block, putting it back on the stand.

"Well, aren't you Miss Happy," the boy joked. I glared at him.

"You're lucky I'm even helping you," I said sourly. "I could have just left and let you clean it up yourself. After all, you do work here."

"Well that's not very nice," he said."It's only right to help cleanup a mess you made."

"Perhaps I don't want to be nice. Perhaps I shan't help. I think I should leave."

"You wouldn't dare," the boy smirked, standing up.

"Wouldn't I?" I challenged, also standing."In fact, maybe I will."

I spun on my heel and proceeded to strut away when I heard a snort of laughter. Mortified, I realized I had forgotten to pick up my purse and the butter. I attempted to walk back in a dignified manner to retrieve them, but failed to do so, tripping on one of the many butter blocks strewn around.

I braced myself for the impact of the ground, but I didn't feel it. Instead I felt a pair of steady hands grab my waist and lift me back up. I identified the hands as the boy. Mortified even more, I turned around and smoothed my skirt, ready to thank him, when I realized he was blushing furiously. I was about to say something when I noticed that I was too. For a moment we just stood there, switching between looking at one another and looking awkwardly at the ground. There was more of the latter. I helped pick up the rest of the butter and stacked it with him in awkward silence.

Eventually, I picked up the butter and the purse and, murmuring a quick," Thank you," scurried away.

I went to pay for the butter, but instead of going out the door, I found myself finding the boy near the butter again.

"My name's Gilda, by the way," I introduced.

"Albin," he said, reaching out his hand in greeting. I accepted it.

After that, I went home and gave my mother the butter, but I wasn't mad anymore. I didn't go to my room to cry.

I lay there, with my eyes closed. I could feel the butterflies fluttering around within me.

And I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.