You and I (prologue and Chapter One)

This is the prologue and first chapter of an idea of a new novel I had in mind. There will be a flashback later after ever chapter, but I thought it would be too much to post it along with the first chapter. It's called you and I though because every present chapter will be told in third person about her (you) and then every flashback will be told in first person for what he though he knew (I). Anyways let me know if it's interesting and you want me to post more of it because I don't want to go on posting chapter if no one is going to keep up with them. Also the I know I looked over it more than one, but knowing me there probably is still grammar issues that need to be dealt with :p

You and I

Prologue

Her lips moved violently around his: a butterfly resting in the worn out palms of a soldier’s hand. He could feel the warmth of her limp body resting against his chest, igniting the blood in his system. Every movement of every particle was made real, something no one believed to ever be palpable. Words were stolen, but conflict battled between their eyes. Waves of the bubbling ocean jumped through hers as the moonlight caught her delicate hair, falling over his arms, as they kept her body, a sidelong figure, tightly pressed against his.

He held her small hands inside his giant fingers as he posed the role of her protector, her hero, never letting go. But what everyone knew is that he would never be the one to play the part. However, lying down inside his arms, her head perfectly fitted alongside his midsection, she felt comfort as she had when she was five years old with bruises and welts hiding beneath her summer dress. He pressed his mouth lightly against the stains on her gentle white skin, tears following the kiss for the bad guys he knew he would never be able to kill. She was a damsel in distress, and if he could never be her knight in shining armor, then who would?

She rolled over to her stomach. Hovering over his flat hulk like body, she leaned over to kiss him once more, tasting the sweet and sour in his throat. He stole her ever breath as if it were his own. As they were hiding underneath the infuriated rolling washing machine, rumbling into the empty laundry-mat as darkness revealed itself through the screen door; no one knew that they were doing any more than washing old clothes. No one knew this night would be their first real kiss and no one knew it would be their last. As the icy concrete moved beneath them the lights dimming out, he knew things were already more complicated than when they were younger. They were living in the bodies of spiteful, fist throwing monsters, but in the hearts of innocent children.

As she became weak and fatigued fell over her, he watched with soothing eyes for what he wished could be his forever. And as the sun brought end to his dreams, he made a promise to himself that would soon be broken. Only seconds left of the night, he kept careful notice of her breathing for what would become the last time.

You

The washing machine vibrating against his back, busy at work, Nash closed his eyes, tired of seeing the same white-washed walls he had been starring at for the past three hours. His clutch, holding his cell phone, clamped so tightly around the curving edges that his hand was left numb. The gullible device had not spoke nor shaken in the past twenty-four hours although he had the anxiety as if it would come out of hiding and surprise him any moment now, brining his thoughts out of the empty virtue that had left his head spinning in nothing but a hallow atmosphere for the past two weeks. A handful of golden blond hair falling against the center of his face, Nash guarded his own laundry, which had over the time, become so wrinkly and mildew smelling that he might as well spend the money washing them again. His faded out torn up jean, he was at the time wearing, stretched out on the concrete into the center of the walking area as the sun soaked in what was left of the color.

He tried to plant pictures in his mind from the last night he was with her; the sound of her sleeping along his chest and the feeling of her warmth as it moved straight from her body to his. The laundry-mat was filled with running machines, heels clicking about on the concrete, eighties music wheezing, and children wailing. As soon as she came across him, she faded away somewhere; a place where Nash would never be able to find.

He had carried her out of the laundry-mat that night, allowed her to sleep in his truck until morning was up, and let her off home two blocks away so her father wouldn’t catch her with him. The next morning, she was gone. Disappeared without notice or any evidence to where she was going and all Nash could do was sit and rot in guilt of what he had never done. He could still see her broken smile every time he blinked as well as the bruises and welts that painted her pearly white skin. These were part of her, self exclamatory to her story. A story Nash was never capable of bring to an end, now feeling like the skimpy side-kick than the hero. However, that night he had reached the first step of his long term rescue plan. He had never been able to kiss her wherever, touch her without her making the action, or give her any sheer comment as calling her beautiful until the other night. He had felt closer to her than ever before, so close he felt he would lose breath completely and now he was so far away he could he hardly breathe at all.

Nash flipped open his Sprint and directly flicked to her last text. The last contact she had given him. “I’m sorry I fell asleep. I didn’t get to tell you that I love you,” Nash repeated to himself. “Dessy, January 29th 5:45 am.” He had scanned those fifteen words twenty-one times in the day, but couldn’t seem to find the meaning to them other than what they were in the past. Above her text, he had responded, “I love you too.” The two messages didn’t seem to be anymore than a few pieces of history, rotting inside his inbox, but for some reason Nash couldn’t find a moment when he wasn’t re-reading them after the millionth time. However, each time read, the letters seemed to be farther distinct than they were once before.

Without thinking, Nash pressed the talk button on his cell and placed it to his ear as the ringing started up. He waited to hear her voice, but he didn’t expect it. When the last ring let off and the answering lady began calling off numbers in her impassive tone, Nash snapped his phone shut and let it drop on his jeans, keeping his eyes distant from it and back to the white-washed walls. What would he do now? What could he do? He couldn’t go to her house because he didn’t know where exactly she lived. The last time he was at her house he was almost caught by her father and she had told him they moved several times after that. No one had a clue why she left and where she had gone to and frankly enough he was the only one who cared. It was up to him to find out, but Nash couldn’t seem to decide whether it was selfish of him to report her missing or inhumane not to.

As the day was moving into a standstill, Nash could feel the emptiness in stomach, yelling at him in agony. He wasn’t making any use sitting alongside the crowded laundry-mat as people stepped over him like an intimated object. Nash pulled himself out of the crease he had made in the floor, making way to his 1995 industrious truck with his mildew clothes swinging in a black trash bag over his sholder. The engine awake and ready to run, musk lingered about the small compartment. School books, wadded up paper from work, and leftover Burger King, sat in the passenger seat beside him. The seat would have usually been taken by her and her joy giving smile, but today as well as the past two weeks it had been taken by his junk.

Trudging alongside the sober atmosphere, he drove through another Burger King to fill him up before heading over towards Green Day High. “I need the contact number for the guardian of Desirea Clemmings,” Nash told the four eyed lady at the help desk.

“Miss Clemmings discharged her placement at this school weeks ago,” she replied, looking over her pointed glasses, her tone questioning, but without sympathy.

“I know that. I want the number of her guardian.”

Rolling her eyes at the kid’s orderly directness¸ the help lady turned back to her paperwork. “I’m afraid that information is classified with the school. You’re going to have to get it from someone else.”

Nash ran his fingers through his sharply cut blond hair, pacing himself with aspire and irritation. “Please,” he started out with a more passion in his voice, “she was my friend and I just want to talk to her.”

She copied his face for a moment. As if trying to figure out if he really owned any innocence. Finally she dialed up a number off of her desk phone and handed it over to Nash. “Here, talk to her,” she snapped, “but don’t take too long; I’ve got more important things I need to take care of.”

The phone ringing unconsciously, Nash could feel his heart begin to work up a sweat as he randomly twisted his fingers around the black curly cord, leashing the phone to its base. He hadn’t really thought out what he would say when he reached her father, not really expecting to even get this far in the plan. However, as the rings dwelled onward to whatever his fate was leading up to, Nash could feel the anxiety clenching up a rash knot in his chest.

“We’re sorry you have reached Auto service of Arlington. We are busy at the moment, but if you leave us your name and number we will get back to you as soon as we can.” Nash felt his heart collide with the fast-food inside the pit of his stomach, hearing the automatic tone of an unrealistic man. Her father had placed down a phony number, of course. What else should he have expected?

Nash hooked the phone back in place. “They didn’t pick up,” he lied, keeping his glance hidden at his feet. The lady said no more as Nash had hoped, leaving without anymore need to be said.