The Girl Next Door (Brittana Fanfic)

Chapter 18

She closes her eyes and breathes in, letting the frosty morning air prick away at her lungs. She loves the feeling: it's pure; clear. When she exhales she opens her eyes again and brushes her feet against the gravel on the ground, making sure that there isn't any black ice hiding in the cracks of the *sidewalk. She flexes her fingers and cranes her neck from side to side so she can loosen up a little. When she's ready, she pulls the iPod that she received for Christmas out from of her grey, trench-coat pocket and pulls a mitten off with her teeth so she can fish through the songs. Content with choosing Regina Spektor's 'Us', she hits play, wriggles her fingers back into her mitten and begins to run.

They made a statue of us,

And they put it on a mountain top.

Now tourists come and stare at us,

Blow bubbles with their gum.

Take photographs of fun,

Have fun.

She jogs past the houses in her neighbourhood and watches as other families prepare for the new year; relatives travel from all around the country to celebrate with their loved ones. They greet each other with open arms and sloppy, long awaited kisses that make the children cringe. She hadn't noticed before how diverse her neighbourhood really was and it was freshening to see the community pull together as one in preparation for the new year. Christmas time was a lot more intimate and about spending time with those closest to you. But New Years was all about the celebration. She spots a small boy, who was probably still in kindergarten, waving at her as he held onto his mother hand while she spoke to her neighbour in her yard. She smiles, waves back and begins to pick up the pace, letting the crisp breeze whisper across her skin and through her hair.

They'll name a city after us,

And later say it's all out fault.

Then they'll give us a talking to,

Then they'll give us a talking to.

'Cause they've got years of experience.

She runs away from the suburbs, running past fields where snowdrops grow for acres in the hard soil, adding the much needed touch to the wintry scene. She runs across an empty football field where the grass crunches beneath her feet and soon she's running into town; running down the same lively promenade she did with Santana before. The place is alive with glowing faces, men are still drunk from the night before as they stumble out of bars with their arms wrapped around each other, singing incoherently and out of tune. People of all ages huddle at the market as special holiday offers are called out, where buyers wave the money around in their hands. She doesn't stop to tend to her curiosity and enjoys the scene from a distance instead.

We're living in a den of thieves,

Rummaging for answers in the pages.

We're living in a den of thieves,

And it's contagious.

She eventually slows down and soon she's taking small strides down the busy path. She rests her hands on her sides and breathes slowly through her mouth as she listens to her heart fluttering healthfully. There is something about today, something in the air and something in the way she views the world around her... Something magical.

She stops in front of an old town house building on the main road; it's the oldest running candy store in Lima that is favoured by many. She peeks at the offers in the window: there's a chocolate fountain in the centre of the main display, surrounded by multi-coloured candy canes. Candy dots and dew drops are presented neatly in sugar bowls and fudge blocks are stacked into a tower in the smaller window. She grins in excitement and hops eagerly up the steps and even misses a few. When she enters the store, she's greeted by the sound of a bell ringing and the overwhelming scent of every glorious smell that there was: strawberries, raspberries, oranges, bananas, cinnamon, pot-pourri, mint and rose Turkish Delight attacked her senses. It's glorious.