Ok here's the new and improved version of Mattie's story. It's completely different from the original. I won't go into detail as to why I did this. All I'm asking is that you forget the other story line ever existed and I hopefully will never see the need to do something drastic like this again.
There is no sex in this Chapter. It's slow to build so you have been warned. Feedback and constructive criticism are always welcome and please remember to vote! Thank you for reading me!
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I screamed; a chilling sound that echoed throughout my tiny house. A sound no one would hear – thank god. It was a horror many women never wished to wake up to. I looked at the offending grey hair in the mirror, my horror morphing into outrage.
Roughly I pulled open my medicine cabinet nearly ripping the door off. I grabbed my tweezers and plucked the grey hair from my hairline. 'It can't be a grey hair,' I though to myself. Maybe it's a really light brown hair. I sometimes got them. Upon closer inspection I decided it was, indeed, a grey hair.
I threw the tweezers down with disgust and looked at myself in the mirror. A sleepy spinster resembling a woman named Elaine Mason looked back at me. My long dark brown hair was mussed from sleep, my light brown eyes could barely stay open, and the rest of me looked like death warmed over. I sighed, walked over to the tub, and turned on the shower. There was no use dwelling on the cruelties of life. I had to get ready for work.
At the age of thirty-one, I was still single. I've only dated a few times and many of those were the fickle dealings of adolescences. When I entered into high school, I was deemed too geeky to date. In college, I was too focused on my work, leaving all thoughts of boys to other female college students. By the time I finished my Masters degree, I had missed the ideal window of opportunity to bag a man.
I wasn't exactly ugly. If I tried hard enough, I would have been able to find Mr. Right. I was tall – five foot eleven inches – and within the ideal weight for my body stature. My complexion was blessedly clear and I had a beautiful luster to my hair.
Oddly enough, my single life didn't bother me. I pictured myself as a modern day Jane Austin who didn't bow to the pressures of society and marry, but made her own way in the world. After college, I lucked into a job at the library, which I loved and dedicated my life too. I had my friends to keep me company and I was co-owner of the town's most successful restaurant. While I could have played the matchmaking game after obtaining my financial success, I decided against it. The dating scene was complex and I didn't want to dedicate my precious time in solving the mystery.
I took a shower and readied myself for work. Within an hour I was dressed with a packed lunch and a change of clothes neatly pressed on a hanger. I leisurely walked out the door and drove to work. It was a routine I had six days a week, rarely was I spontaneous.
I walked into the town library and was greeted with glares from my staff and the sound of whispered gossip. This was routine as well. I had been appointed Director of the Library with the Mayor's personal recommendation. Before I showed up, the library had been ripe with nepotism – relatives hiring relatives. My status as a complete stranger was enough to cause resentment. My plan to bring the library into the twenty-first century elicited pure hatred. Not surprising, my staff hated change.
Tension was always high between the staff and me. I was often surprised they did their job without a fuss. Still, there were a few things they refused to do, and I would often stay after to complete the jobs left undone. Which is why I always brought a change of clothes with me. Unfortunately their Union kept me from firing the whole staff.
Despite the silent war my staff waged against me, I loved my job because of the books. Each book was a treasure trove of knowledge and I personally cared for all of them. The library was my life. My passion blinded me to what was missing most in my life: to love and be loved. Books couldn't love me back nor could they dispel the loneliness I felt.
I became aware of that little truth the day Matt walked through the doors of my library. He was six feet of lean muscle. His lavender eyes scanned the room around him. He ran his hand through short dark brown hair as confusion marred his classic good looks and his kissable lips frowned.
My nervousness overrode my duty to help him and I stayed in place, hidden away by the shelves of books. Marylyn eagerly went to his aid in that strange walk/run she had. She looked mousy with her drab blond hair, plain brown eyes, and pencil thin stature. She constantly wore dreary, unassuming colors like grey, beige, and olive green.
Marylyn and Matt spoke in low tones as he asked her questions. A few times he made her laugh. All of that I didn't mind. I encouraged my workers to be friendly to the patrons. It was the light touching I couldn't stand.
Every time they laughed, she put her hand on his arm. A few times she lightly ran an index finger down the front of his shirt. For a quiet woman ruled by her dominating mother – supervisor of the fiction wing – she was amazingly forthright. I looked around the room as far as my hiding spot would let me. It didn't seem like her mother was around. They finally walked off, and I growled a little. I snapped out of my strange emotions and realized I was biting a book. He came in twice a week after that, plenty of time to discover his name. A sense of familiarity would settle over me sometimes when I spied on him, a surety that I had met him before. I could never remember and I hoped it would come to me someday.
I put my lunch in the refrigerator with a little smile on my face. Today Matt would be visiting and picking up more books. The man was a voracious reader and he seemed to have no preference in genre judging by his unpredictable reading pattern.
To prepare for his arrival, I took a shelving cart beside the checkout counter. It was stacked high with books and I sorted them into alphabetical order. Some librarians disliked the task of shelving books because they found it monotonous. That's why it the task for me to do. I didn't mind, I found the job calming. It allowed my mind to wander.
I thought about the plans I made with my best friend to go shopping after work, the groceries I needed to pick up before going home, and the story line to my next novel. My alternate ego, R. K. Bishop, was a romance writer. It started out as a hobby in college and turned into another job. Much to the dismay of my fans, I only published one book a year because of my job and my business.
A hushed squeal caught my attention. I looked over in time to see Marylyn hurriedly fixing her hair and checking her make-up in a hand mirror. Rolling my eyes, I pushed over a few books on the shelf to create a peephole.
Matt stopped by the checkout desk giving Marylyn a charming smile as he talked with her. My eyes roved over his sculpted body. The tight fitting t-shirt left nothing to the imagination while the jeans were slightly baggy. How can a man look so good in casual clothes while I looked frumpy in my over sized t-shirt and jeans?
My knuckles turned white as they held onto the bookshelf because I was imagining his tight butt and wondering at the length and girth of his penis. While I had experienced these thoughts with other men, my imagination wasn't quite so active or so graphic as it was with Matt. Heat radiated from within my body, I could feel my natural juices flowing, and my breathing was becoming erratic.
He turned from the checkout counter and headed my way. That had never happened before; I didn't know what to do. I shoved the books over, effectively closing the makeshift peephole and picked up a few books on the cart.
My hands shook as I started putting them away and I tried desperately to fight the blush staining my cheeks. He walked down my isle paying attention to the call numbers on the side of the books. I'd never had a close-up view of him before. He passed me by easily sidestepping me in an absent minded fashion. Then he stopped and stared at a specific section.
I watched him out of the corner of my eye, still putting away books. Questions and anxieties bounced around in my mind. This was not the way I wanted our first meeting to go – assuming we have a first meeting. I wasn't prepared with witty sayings or plans for intelligent topics of conversation. My life lacked spontaneity because I was never good at it. Striking up a conversation with a stranger was definitely spontaneous no matter if I thought I knew him from my past.
He came up to me looking a little lost.
"Pardon me," he said.
I turned to him with – what I hoped – an expectant look on my face. I felt like a deer in the headlights.
"Yes?" My question was barely a whisper, but he still heard me.
He didn't say anything, just kept looking at me. The silence stretched between us. I was growing more nervous almost to the point of panic.
