Author's Note: I've been itching to write this story ever since I heard a certain song. Everyone interprets things in different ways. This is how I pictured this song. You're probably wondering what song I'm talking about. It's called "Hoppipolla" by the Icelandic band Sigur Ros. If you haven't heard it before, check it out. It will change your life. Happy Reading, Sienna Hawthorne.
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The rain fell heavily onto the pavement, the sound slapping loudly in the silence of the ever darkening sky. There was movement everywhere; people scrambled to their cars to avoid the weighty downpour; the green trees surrounding the rapidly emptying parking lot whipped in the wind, leaves swirling intricately in the summer storm. The water pounded a rhythm, varying from fast and heavy to fast and light. It was not going to be a quick storm.
Despite the movement and the surrounding chaos, one figure remained absolutely still. His face was tilted to the overcast sky, the red of his hair deepened by the downpour and plastered to his scalp.
No coat, no umbrella in hand. The green t-shirt he wore clung heavily to his lithe frame and his blue jeans began to drag from the weight of the water now filling his pockets. Yet he stood, head back to the sky, his body paying homage to the sky.
He suddenly realized he was standing in the middle of the parking lot as a car whizzed by, nearly missing him. The driver slammed on his horn before zooming out the lot, the bleat an angry sound that piercing the roaring rain.
Chuckling softly, he pushed his sopping red locks from his eyes and turned. Before he had gotten caught up in the storm, he had had a mission. And then the panic returned, the dread creeping back into his heart. He knew what had to be done, yet it was killing him. His fingers itched to grab for the emergency cigarette hidden in his back pocket but that clearly wasn't an option. It was definitely waterlogged by now.
He sighed, a sound that seemed almost laughingly thunderous in the midst of the storm still in progress. Gathering up his slowly fading courage, he walked towards the red brick building. It was rather sad looking in the gray light of the sudden storm. By the time he got to the front door, he was already shivering, the slight chill reminding him of his stupidity.
The glass doors opened automatically and he brushed past the small group of people huddling in the foyer who were trying to wait out the storm. He blinked rapidly, his eyes struggling to adjust to the fluorescent lighting. He ignored the curious stares of the customers, the people wondering why the hell the rain-soaked boy invaded their coffee-scented existence.
With his wet fists balled in his damp pockets, he walked swiftly, past the shelves and rows of books to the dimly lit area in the back of the store. His heart fluttered when he saw her, wearing her tiny black apron and matching visor. Her head was bent down as she stacked paper cups and plastic straws.
As he approached, she looked up. The frown on her face was almost enough to make him stop in his tracks but he continued on. She pretended to busy herself, organizing the coffee sticks.
His brown flip flops clacked loudly on the linoleum as he walked up and rested his palms on the dark stone counter. She stared at him hard, her hazel eyes practically glaring at him.
"What are you doing here, Aiden?"
He gulped audibly. The words tried to come out, but his lips held them prisoner.
Her full lips pursed in irritation. "Did he send you to do his dirty work for him? He say to make it extra embarrassing?" She scoffed. "Well you can tell him to go to hell, you hear me?" She slung a used cup into the trash before turning her back to him.
Aiden could see her shoulders shaking. She was pretty pissed.
"Bryn," he croaked. She turned around slowly, her once happy hazel eyes now red-rimmed.
"Just go," she whispered. "Please."
Aiden turned to leave, his pace picking up until he broke out into a slight jog. His feet slid across the floor, made slick by tracked-in water and his soggy sandals. He didn't slow his pace even after he hit the front door until he was back outside under the bookstore's awning.
There was another man there, casually smoking a cigarette. Before he threw out the butt to leave, Aiden bummed a stick and light from him. He took a slow drag, breathing in the nicotine slowly. His heart slowed down considerably and at once the shame of his actions washed over him.
He smoked silently and watched the rain, still pouring down. It would have to let up soon. He had walked five blocks to get here, all the way from his apartment he shared with Jonas.
Jonas. That asshole. Making him do his dirty work. He had been at home less than an hour ago when Jonas messaged him from Elin's house. Elin was his new girl. Pity he didn't seem to have the courtesy to let his old one go first. Aiden was the audience for the soap opera that was Jonas' life.
Since junior high, Jonas had been the popular one, the heartbreaker. Aiden was the slightly less popular one, the nicer one, they called him. It was code for he basically did Jonas' bidding. He was his errand boy, and he knew it. That's why Jonas sent him to end things with Bryn.
Sweet Bryndis. She was the best thing that had ever happened to Jonas. And now he'd gone and fucked it up. Correction: he had sent Aiden to do it.
He flicked the cigarette out into the heavy rain, the glowing embers dying quickly. Aiden leaned against the brick front of the bookstore. Part of him wanted to leave. Bryn knew the score now. Technically he had fulfilled his mission.
That asshole thought quickly dissipated. Aiden Duffy, all around Nice Guy. Pfft. Grade-A patsy was more like it. Jonas could talk him into anything, especially if it involved Bryn. He'd do anything for her.
He snorted. Tragic, wasn't it? In love with his best friend's girl, the girl his best friend was practically throwing away.
Fucking tragic.
He couldn't leave her, especially in her current state. Jonas could move on easily, but Aiden couldn't bear to leave her behind. He waited for her, standing outside under the bright blue awning until the heavy rains gradually died down, until the storm was barely a shadow of its former self. He was itching for another cigarette, but stuck to chewing the nail on his thumb.
Every so often he would push back his chin-length auburn hair, the shaggy skater-boy mass now matting up considerably. It was going to be a pain to get a comb through it now.
Aiden felt around his pants pockets and realized he must have left his cell phone at home. When Jonas had called him, in a daze he left the apartment, barely remembering to take his keys. Now he didn't even know the time. It felt like he'd been standing out in front for hours. He wasn't even sure what time she got off work. All he knew was he wasn't going anywhere.
The sky, once almost dark, was now a steely gray. He was about to head back home when the automatic doors eased open and she stepped out under the blue awning. Her black apron was gone, probably stuffed into her large black purse. She had changed out of her uniform of black on black and was now wearing a dark denim skirt, white tee and black flip-flops. Her shiny black hair was pulled back into a messy bun. She pushed the black frame glasses further up on her nose and looked out at the watery dull world before her.
Aiden cleared his throat softly and she jumped.
"Fuck," she cursed. "You're still here?"
"I wasn't going to let you leave like that."
She sucked her teeth loudly. "Whatever. Don't act like you're not his messenger boy." Her hazel eyes gave him the once over, taking in his disheveled appearance. "You look like a drowned rat," she remarked. "How long were you out in the rain?"
Aiden shrugged. "Dunno. Lost track of time." He turned to look at her, his eyes perusing her features; it was something he'd been doing a lot of lately. His eyes drank her in. He simply couldn't get enough of her: the smooth hazelnut skin, thoughtful eyes, slender hips, long legs, perfectly round ass. She was Freya incarnate, with the sharpness of a Valkyrie. How the hell could Jonas just treat her like garbage?
"Well, what are you still doing here? Shouldn't you be off having a laugh with your friend?"
He could hear the hurt in her voice and it pierced through him like a lance.
