Park & Eleanor

Eleven

park

His hands were still shaking. He’d actually talked to her. It was just a ‘hi’, but still. It was actually her. She was actually real. 

Or was she? Was his mind just playing cruel tricks on him?

Probably. That was his luck. 

 eleanor 

She felt electric. To start out so shitty, she was surprised at how quickly the day had become legendary.

Park. She could still hear him in her head. His touch still burned on her fingertips. 

Did she shake his hand? She thought she did. Everything had gone a little blurry. Maybe his fingers had just grazed her dress or something. 

Her dress. She’d gotten so caught up in Park that she’d forgotten she was even wearing clothes at all. 

She walked into her mother’s room. 

That was one of the things that had changed since she left; all of the doors were missing. Richie had been lenient enough to let a thin sheet hang over some of the empty doorframes, but the majority of them were hollow openings. She snorted to herself. That sounded like some pathetic metaphor for life. 

Richie would hate it if she’d said that. 

He’d probably buy doors for them just so she’d be wrong. 

park

He wondered if Eleanor was thinking about him. He was thinking about her. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. She made his eyes crawl and his skin twitch. He loved her. He was addicted to her. He was having terrible withdrawals from her. And this was probably why he didn’t talk to girls anymore; he didn’t want to have that kind of attachment to anyone else but Eleanor. 

He needed to stop being so damn cliché.