The Gentle Art Of Healing

05┃midnight surprises

FIVE

M I D N I G H T  S U R P R I S E S

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fallen books & conversations

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              IN CRISES, MOST PEOPLE have a Plan B. Or at least, they tell themselves they do, just to make themselves feel the slightest bit better.

But when they find out they, in fact, don't have even a Plan A, much less a Plan B, their next mode of consolation is to tell themselves that they still have the whole alphabet to go through. The sad thing is, what you call the plan, doesn't matter.

Heck, you could call it Plan Z but that doesn't change the fact that you don't have a plan at all.

In my case, however, I decided not to go with any of the options mentioned above, and instead admit to myself that I, unfortunately, had no clue what to do whatsoever.

I mean, either way, you would still panic, so you might as well panic in self-awareness instead of self-denial. At least you could save the last iota of your pride when you confront your killer/kidnapper/terrorist, and let them know that you actually had no means of self-defense instead of making yourself look like a complete fool.

So as I slowly, stealthily, followed the noises of the commotion in one of the aisles, a large encyclopedia that I had randomly chosen off one of the shelves raised above my head, hopefully making myself look borderline intimidating although my arm felt like falling off, I couldn't help but shake with fear.

What if it really was a serial killer or a terrorist? I hadn't really made my presence very subtle, considering the lone light that was switched on amidst the pitch blackness of the library, and I was in the key location for an attack. I could just imagine his plan: execute the only person in the way of his plan, drop the bomb, and let it set off a ripple effect, murdering every other person in the five mile vicinity.

How nice.

I knew I was nearing the mystery person when the curse words became louder and the sound of books being moved on the metal shelves became clearer. My heart thumped wildly against my rib cage, threatening to jump out of my chest, and I seriously wondered if he could hear it.

Maybe this is retribution for what I did to Harper, for indirectly killing her. Maybe because of that I'm going to get killed in return. Ma–

"Peyton?"

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            CRASH.

This time it came from me, after having let the encyclopedia slip out of my hold.

It was a lot of things that surprised me, really. First and foremost, that the assumed killer knew my name.

Secondly, that I actually recognised his voice.

Thirdly, that his pair of striking, unmistakable emerald green eyes were standing out like a sore thumb, blinking at me like the Cheshire cat, making me feel highly disturbed.

"Colin?"

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            "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" we both blurted in unison, looking away in embarrassment after.

"You can go first," he said hastily, moving his hand out in a swift gesture, an indication for me to proceed.

"Well, I was over there studying," I said, jerking my chin in the direction of the table I had been previously occupying, "when I heard the loud noise."

"Funnily enough, I was heading to the counter to collect some books that I had reserved previously, but I bumped into the shelf and then everything just fell," he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"I'm just surprised you're not at the party tonight," I casually commented.

He arched his eyebrow. "Is there any reason for you to believe that I would have been there tonight?"

I shot him the same look Lauren gave me a couple hours ago back in our dorm room. "Don't play innocent with me. You're the swim team captain. You literally have one of the highest social statuses in the whole student body. I don't see why you wouldn't be there. I mean, don't tell me all your friends are staying in to study too?" I said, a hint of sarcasm seeping in at the end.

"Ah, screw social statuses. Who gives a damn about them, anyway? Besides, I really don't see how or why being particularly good in a certain sport automatically means that you're entitled to go to these kinds of things," he said, waving his hand dismissively.

"Well other than the fact that practically the entire female population in our school is in love with you, and your particularly good physique, unlike you, most people do care about social statuses, and yours happens to be pretty high," I explained.

"And don't say something cocky. I just stated facts," I continued.

"Which don't include myself," I quickly added.

A glimmer of amusement flickered across his eyes, and he slipped his hands into his pockets, shrugging his shoulders.

"Wasn't about to."

"Okay."

"Okay."

I groaned.

"Please don't start."

"Start what?" he asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

I sighed, tugging at the ends of my impossibly tangled hair. "There's this teen fiction novel, written by this guy, John Green, it's called–"

"The Fault In Our Stars?"

I blinked, shocked.

A small smirk graced his lips, but it soon morphed into a grin as he took in my surprised look.

"Huh," I said, musing to myself more than actually addressing him, "the swim team captain is actually a nerd."

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me," he said casually.

"I'm not sure I want to find out," I said sceptically.

"I mean, since you're not a member of my supposed fan club, as you call it, I guess there's no harm doing so," he replied teasingly, his signature smile pulling at his lips.

"Well then," I started, playing along, "I think this is the start to a beautiful friendship."