What does "THE FAULT IN OUR STARS" mean to you?

Sometimes The Universe Doesn't Screw Up - Chapter 2

By: xanaliewrites

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CHAPTER TWO

Valerie’s back went as stiff as a rod, straight and unmoving. The thin white shower curtain separated her and the stranger, but it felt invisible. The sound of running water broke the silence in the bathroom.

Please go away.

The trickling of water stopped, and her heart hammered in her chest. She heard footsteps, going away from her.

Please go away.

Someone sighed loudly. He was a boy, by the sound of his voice. The bathroom was dark, and she could feel her pupils dilating in fear of being seen.  Suddenly the room lit up, the bulbs above her blinked to life. She saw her shadow being cast on the shower curtain, and cursed inwardly. For a few painstakingly long moments, there was nothing but wide eyes and her heart smashing against her ribcage.

Please.

Then—a footstep. The heel clicked on the floor, making her heart scream.

“Hello?”

 She furrowed her eyebrows. She knew that voice. Yet, she couldn’t figure out to whom it belonged to. “Hey, is there someone in here?” Where did she hear that voice before?

She snapped her head up when she saw the shadow of his hand float along the shower curtain. She took a deep breath, and her heart slowed down a little bit; she hadn’t dared breathe since she heard him. “Hello?” he called out softly, his hand grabbing the curtain. Her heart started pounding again. He pulled the curtain aside, and the pounding stopped.

She hadn’t expected him to be here. She didn’t expect him to be the one who found her sitting alone in the little bathroom, in his red hoodie jacket and jeans, holding the little red plastic cup.

Jeremiah stood there, his face wet, and grey-blue eyes and mouth opened with shock. His long curly hair was slightly damp, probably from washing the drawn-on moustache on his face, which was now faded.

She looked at him, the same expression on her face. There was a short pause. “Hey,” he said, trying to hide the surprise in his voice. She raised an eyebrow at him, her eyes dropped to the moustache on his face. “Bonjour, monsieur.” He hurriedly wiped most of it off, and scratched his head awkwardly, looking at her.

“So…” he said, trying to find the words. It wasn’t always like this. He was her best friend when they were children. No, ‘best friend’ was an understatement. He was her other half. They were inseparable. No one term could ever be accurate enough to describe their relationship. They would fight to see who could come up with the best term. Their conversations would go along the lines of something like this:

“Oh, my sweet Valley girl!” he would shout out the nickname she hated, using her Paddington Bear blanket as a cape. She would sit among the pillow fort they made, and him sprawled on the floor, his hands reaching above him. Sometimes they would re-enact scenes from Romeo and Juliet; that book her mother used to read to her by William something (Shakespeare).

“My lovely Valerie!” he would yell passionately, and her stifling a laugh, trying to keep up the act. “You are the peanut butter to my jelly!”

“Oh, my darling Jeremiah!” she would look down from the window of her ‘tower’; “You are the cheese to my grilled sandwiches!” she would yell back at him.

He would frown and look at her. “You make your grilled cheeses with Kraft cheese. That’s not cheese. That’s gross. You’re calling me gross.” He crossed his arms, as she would break into a fit of giggles.

“Sorry,” she said, and cleared her throat, assuming her character once more. “Oh, my peasant Jem! You are the bacon to my eggs!”

“Ooh, that was a good one. Okay. Val, my sweet pea! Y—“

“Sweet pea?”

“No? Okay, then. Never mind. You are the crunch to my little brown leaves on the ground in the autumn.”

“Jem, my boy! You are the little cracks in my pavement that make people slip and fall on their face.”

“Val, that’s mean.”

“Sorry.”

There were a lot of good ones they made up over the years of their friendship, but they had slipped from her memory, as they grew apart. But they hit her like a brick to the face as soon as she saw him, rushing back to the dog-eared pages of her mind. All those little skits and laughs had joined the ghosts and shadows of each other’s past. They became strangers. And it was all her fault. She had built a wall between them. But she didn’t realise that she had given him enough of her to tear that wall down, and yet he didn’t.

“What are you doing here?” She blinked at him, surprised to be pulled back into reality so fast. She opened her mouth, but she couldn’t hear herself speak.

SAY SOMETHING.

“I’m here for the party,” she replied. He chuckled softly. Idiot. “No, I mean, here. In the bathroom. In the bathtub. Alone, might I add.” You may not. He gestured to her. “Besides, the party ended fifteen minutes ago,” he added.

“I… I just wanted to be alone for a while, that’s all.” There. That wasn’t so bad. He nods as if he understands. But how could he? “So,” she mimics him. “How… how are you?” Wait—she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to know the answer. He nods again. “Yeah, I’m pretty okay. Life’s been good to me, I guess.” He looks at her, one eyebrow raised. “I guess I don’t need to ask you,” he says. And he was right. Being popular usually means that people knew you better and/or faster than yourself. “But I will,” he said, that old crooked smile appearing on his face, lighting it up. “How’s life?”

She looks at him, contemplating her answer, whether she should tell him the same thing she told everyone else, or the truth. “I’m... I’m okay.” She says flatly, and dropped her head, not meeting his eyes. Part of her still hoped that he would go away. Part of her hoped that he would stay and talk.

There was a pause—then some shuffling. She looked up, and saw him shift to sit on the edge of the bathtub. Her heart smiled a little. He was staying. “Now, pardon me for my rudeness, but I don’t really believe that.” The smile was gone. “What do you mean?” she said. The words poured out of her mouth before she could even register them, or what he would think of them. “I mean, everything’s awesome on my side. I graduated. I’m nominated for Prom Queen. I got a scholarship. I don’t understand how you don’t believe me,” she said, smiling nervously.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

Oh, shit.

“That’s true,” he says, his eyes emotionless. She knew what his next words were, but it still felt like a small slap to the face.

“But you’re not happy, are you?”