What If I Lived a Lie? [You Me at Six]

Chapter Three: Folie à Deux.

“You’re beautiful, y’know,” Josh commented, twenty long and silent moments after the kiss that never quite happened, as they were both sitting in opposite corners of the elevator, “and it would do you some good to let your guard down every now and then.”

And when she looked at him, their eyes met… He could see it on her face, the raw, unfiltered emotion—she didn’t believe him. It wasn’t that she thought she was ugly, he assumed, she just didn’t classify herself as beautiful. She was confident enough to hold her head up when she was in public, but not confident enough to believe she was beautiful: a tragic conundrum.

“The entire world isn’t out to get you,” he found himself continuing slowly, delicately even. In retrospect, seconds later, he desperately wanted to retract the statement, thinking it would enrage her and set off her split second, quick fire temper. Instead, she lowered her gaze to her hands, clasped loosely together in her lap and responded with a mumbled, “How can you be so sure?”

Her voice sounded almost sad.

“I’m not sure of anything, really. But I think that’s the beauty of it all—of life, I mean.”

Her eyes flicked up to his then, and she seemed mildly fascinated by his statement, intrigued even. A tiny, half smile tugged up one corner of her lips and remained there for a split second before she forced it away, “Do you always say shit like that, or just when you’re trying to impress people?”

“Wow,” is all he said at first, “why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Deny yourself basic human interaction. I’m trying to—”

“You’re trying to what, Josh?”

“Be your friend!”

“Friend?” she challenged, an eyebrow arched; the gesture was due to a fascination, as well, though it looked different on her face, this time—less innocent, more exigent.

“Okay, admittedly, when I first saw you, I thought you were beautiful, and—”

“Stop,” she interrupted, a blank expression plastered on her face; he looked to her, expectantly, wanting her to go on, but she never did. She just fell silent, they both did. And something about that just… upset him.

“This is the fire department; we’re here to get you out.”

***

They collected their luggage, exited the airport, and caught taxis, without bidding goodbye, or even sharing another glance. What kind of goodbye do you give to a stranger you almost kissed, anyways? Do you exchange numbers, or chalk it up to a shared moment of vulnerability?

They did not expect, however, that they would get another chance at another non-existent goodbye.

When Olivia got out of her taxi, in front of the bakery, she gazed up at it with a bright smile, while the driver formulaically unloaded her bags, one at a time, standing them up next to each other. She couldn't help but feel a pang of anxious accomplishment; it hadn’t been easy for her and Hunter to get here, to California, to owning their own bakery. They’d saved up their own money for three years, taken out this loan and that loan, gotten “investments” from family members, and were even staying in one of Olivia’s relatives’ “seasonal home” for the time being, until they “got off their feet” as everyone was delicately putting it. Olivia took that to mean that no one really believed in them, but Hunter just reasoned that they were providing realistic and cautionary advice, something that they should both welcome. Olivia, after a few seconds of thought, had agreed. They suited each other in that way; it was like they spoke their own language, of sorts. When one was upset, it could only be the other who could genuinely soothe them. The picture perfect best friends.