Chocolat Chaud

Arielle

            It was the colour of her lips; the mesmerising movements of her mischievous mouth when she whispered beautiful things into your ear and promised acts of rebellion. The feeling of passion when you were with her; heart-filling, consuming. It was the pigmentation of the thick substance on her finger, racing down her skin and into a pool on the kitchen counter, mixing with the vegetables. All you could remember was the stain it left on the blade of the knife and how it tattooed the memory of the incident; one accidental slip had made your heart race, combusting into blames because you felt like you could have prevented it. It was her spontaneousness that led to dyeing her hair as vibrant as the tip of a matchstick and the way it juxtaposed against the black of her coat. If you had known, you would have asked her to wear something less morbid, then perhaps fate wouldn’t have been so cruel. It was the sound of her voice on the telephone, pale fingers wrapping around the coiled cord; the sound of her laughter when she proclaimed her love for the seventh time that day. It was the pace of her heartbeat as she switched on the radio; the rage in the artist’s lyrics seeping through the speakers. Perhaps the other driver was listening to the same song; wild and uncontrollable, panic rising in his throat, his vision blurred with haze, alcohol poisoning his body. It was the colour of the street light, the colour she was drenched in, the colour that haunts your nightmares and refuses to give you mercy.

                Red. All you see is red.

             Arielle’s thumb hovered over the screen of her phone as she read through the tumblr post and finished her last slice of cake, licking the frosting from her fingers. She was undeniably addicted to food and tumblr and Chocolat Chaud allowed her to appreciate both, with such a great menu and free wifi.

             Arielle looked over at her plate dusted with chocolate crumbs and crinkled her nose. She had forgotten to take a photo so she could share it on her blog with her seventeen followers—considerably small to a majority of the population, but she was unconditionally proud of each one.

             Aw, well.

             She drank the rest of her milkshake and decided to go to the bathroom before going home, opening her textbook and entertaining herself with the false prospect of productivity. The diner’s bathroom consisted of three stalls, each small, but considerably clean and always had toilet paper. There was nothing worse than not having toilet paper.

             After Arielle washed her hands and quickly combed her fingers through her hair, she walked back to her table, dropped some money onto the table and left. With her hands in her pockets, she started walking back home. But something was wrong. Something was missing.

             Arielle paused momentarily, her right hand freezing in her pocket. No phone.

             An overwhelming sensation of panic washed over her; heart racing, palms breaking out in a sweat. In a heartbeat, she turned and started speed walking back to the diner.

             Crap, crap, crap.

             She had been gone merely five minutes, but within that short amount of time, someone could have stolen her phone. Her contacts, her details, her passwords were all recorded on that small device.

             As Arielle pushed through the door, she bumped into some customers leaving. She muttered breathless apologies as she pushed through the crowd and made her way back to her table. As soon as it came into view, she saw her phone, sitting where she left it, completely safe.

             Relief consumed her.

             Taking it into her hands she instantly typed in her password and saw the familiar icons of all her apps, as if expecting some of them to be missing during the temporary disappearance. But everything seemed perfectly fine.

             This called for a virtual celebration.

             Tweeting this momentous event seemed most appropriate.

             So, on her way back out, Arielle opened up the app and typed: Temporarily misplaced my phone. Probably the most stressful five minutes of my life. To emphasise her tweet, she decided a funny photo should accompany it, so she clicked the small camera in the corner of the screen, ready to go through her collection of funny photographs.

             But as she opened her camera roll, she found an image she most certainly didn’t remember saving, nor taking.

             Quickly saving her tweet as a draft, she opened her gallery and enlarged the image. It was a photograph of a boy, no younger than nineteen, smiling. Accompanied by wonderfully defined cheekbones, Arielle couldn’t help but stare at his T-shirt. Across the front, in green font was: THE PERUSE PROJECT.

             As her eyes scanned the remaining details of the image, Arielle realised the photo was taken in the diner. She recognised the window behind her table, the lining of booths across the wall, the colour of the walls. This boy had taken the photo while she was gone.

             But who was he?

             Arielle reopened her twitter app and started a new tweet:

              Temporarily lost my phone and came back to find this to be the last photo in my camera roll. #whoistheperuseproject

             A/N: Hi, lovelies! It’s Livvi here. I’ve been doing my exams and I’ve been completely and utterly stressed, so I have decided to put my study down to do some writing. The introductory tumblr post isn’t actually on tumblr. It was just something I wrote last week that I thought I’d incorporate into this chapter. It’s inspired by the post where someone asks a user to describe the word ‘red’ without using it.

             This won’t be the last time you see these characters from me. Thinking of expanding this same sort of idea into a full-length novel on my main account, but thought I’d start off with a tester type chapter here. If you like this chapter you can share it around on twitter with the #whoistheperuseproject. Mine and Hollie’s twitter links can be found on this account. If you haven’t already checked out Hollie’s chapter, please go read it now! It’s absolutely beautiful—her writing style is wonderful guys. Hope you enjoyed!