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By Now Your Troubles Are Miles Away [The Single Most Important Thing I've Ever Heard]

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The dim light from the nearby lamp posts shine over the two friends walking down the dark, deserted streets of Stockholm, Sweden. It's lightly drizzling and there's a gentle breeze, it's September and oddly warm so the only thing lowering their body temperatures is the cool rain. If you saw these two kids walking, you'd think they were different. Not from each other, though. Different from everyone else.

The girl, Genevieve, has two different colored Converse, extremely worn. The right is yellow, the left is black. The yellow has doodles and writing on it from the boy. She didn't mind that there were holes in the sides from being worn too long; she didn't mind the worn soles either. She had two different colors on purpose--she likes it that way. She never bothers to retie them; she tied them the first time she got them and is too lazy to tie them again. So she results to shoving her feet in. These shoes help her stand out.

Just like any of the other goth/emo kids in town, she wore a pair of tight dark-wash skinny jeans that clung to her long legs like a second skin. A silver and black stud belt hangs loosely around her hips, just an accessory. The slim fit black short sleeve shirt she wears advertises some band no one has heard of except for her and her friend in, bold, in your face writing. Over that she wears a black hoodie that fits perfectly, partially zipped so the words on her shirt are still visible. Her black, red tipped hair is barely visible, poking out of her hood, fringe hanging over her right eye with red streaks.

Her eyes would have had the stereotypical heavy black eyeliner and eyeshadow, but because of her and the boy's long walk in the rain, it'd begun to wash away, running over her pale cheeks. She is very pale with alabaster skin. Her eyes are ice blue with specks of orange. From an adults, or even a peer's perspective, Genevieve wasn't a normal 17 year old.

The boy, Pete, doesn't look much different aside from his hair being shorter and some, rather obvious, features. Pete's hair is black with purple streaks. his fringe also hangs over his eyes similar to the way Genevieve wears hers. He too wears skinny jeans and converse, except his converse are both black. His eyes are a deep hazel brown with a lot of depth; you can tell he has a lot of emotions locked behind them. His jeans are the exact same as Genevieve's. Same color, model, brand, and size. Pete wears a studded belt, too. But his is there for a purpose, keeping his pants up. He is wearing a black t-shirt that fits perfectly with a red tie loosely around his neck. He is also pale. His nails, like Genevieve's are painted black and chipping. Perfectly.

And that's what this boy is. Perfect. At least in Genevieve's eyes. She's known Pete for around six and a half months exactly on this night. And she knows he's prefect. By the way he moves, and speaks. And the way he smiles like everything is perfect and nothing is wrong while his whole life is crashing down. Even the way he cries is perfect. The way he understands her is perfect, too. He can understand everything her friends can't. He understands why she hurts, why she cuts, why she cries, what she hates, and why she loves.

In return, she understands him. Genevieve understands everything his friends can't. She understands why he cries, cuts, hates, and most importantly, why he hurts. The one thing she can't understand, though, is why he loves. She gets his love for many different things. But she can't understand his love for her. The main source of pain in his life. His girlfriend.


And, no, his girlfriend was not Genevieve.

After walking in a moderate drizzle for over four hours, a person gets pretty wet. Genevieve and Peter's hair is now plastered to their faces and head, and water is dripping off their soaked clothing.

"Hey, Genevieve?" Pete asks slightly above a whisper, barely heard over the steady patter of the rain along the pavement.

"Hm?" She answers somewhat detached. They're the only two people outside. There's a cat sitting under a bakery awning farther ahead, but nothing else.

"It's getting chilly," he states, chuckling a little.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," she jokes, but continues nodding her head."Yeah, let's get going home," Genevieve says. Pete nods as a reply. Pete reaches out and takes Genevieve's hand. She smiles looking at him. He smiles too, looking down at her (he's an inch taller than her). He moves closer to her, closing the gap between them. He lets his arm fall around her waist. They keep walking, not bothering to rush.

They turn onto Genevieve's street headed toward her home... the place she lived. She can't stand calling that place home.

When they get there, none of the lights are on. No one is home. They were off visiting Grandma and Grandpa, which Genevieve refused to do. She didn't want to spend eight hours riding in a car with her annoying family members when she could be walking in the rain with Pete until they got cold.

Pete and Genevieve step inside and shake off some of the water from their clothes before slipping off their shoes and socks. She leads him into her room, a place in her home that he's never been. Genevieve picks out a pair of jeans a shirt and a hoodie for each of them. They don't mind sharing clothes. It rains a lot and they love walking in the rain. They often have to change at whoever's house they end up at. And that had always been Peter's.

When they are changed and into warmer clothes, Genevieve and Pete sit on the living room floor in the dark and gaze out the bay window at the now pouring rain. They're curled up under a cotton blanket close together. Closer than normal. Occasionally there is a lightning bolt or a crack of thunder. There are candles and incense lit on the coffee table beside them.

Pete looks outside the window as he sits curled up close to Genevieve. He doesn't jump when lightning strikes the ground just a few miles away. He doesn't cover his ears as the thunder rumbles. He loves every second of this storm. Just like every other storm to come through this town. It's beautiful.

It's beautiful how many people live in fear of storms, also. Genevieve agrees with Pete on this, like they agree on a lot of things.

"It's so pretty," she whispers, as if reading his thoughts. She stares out the window almost in awe. Pete nods absently, but it doesn't matter since she isn't looking.

After a while of watching the rain pour, Pete clears his throat.

"Have you ever thought about running away?" he asks quietly, still watching the sky, but keeping his concentration on Genevieve.

"All the time," she whispers glancing at him. Another silent moment fills the air around them for some time. Pete clears his throat again to speak, tearing his eyes away from the rain to focus them on Genevieve's face.

"I just want to pack some of my stuff and my guitar and go, just leave and get out of here. I'm sick of this town," he whispers. Genevieve glances at him.

"You can't leave, Pete," she tells him almost sadly. "If you disappear, who will I have?" She asks.

His eyes immediately shoot to her face. He shakes his head. "You're coming with me, of course!" He assures her. She blushes and looks down as he continues. "I'll take you to America and we'll become famous musicians like we've always wanted. And when we play our concerts, we'll tell everyone our story," he exclaims dramatically, taking one of her hands while smiling one of his genuine, award winning smiles,the ones that only seem to appear when he's with Genevieve, before his face takes on a soft expression as he looks at her.

"We'll be famous," she whispers with a half hearted smile. They move their eyes back to the sky without another word.

The storm keeps going. Thunder keeps cracking. Lightning keeps striking the ground. Rain keeps pattering sullenly upon the roof. Now they're both starting to get groggy. "Pete...?" Genevieve asks quietly. It takes a moment for him to respond, for he's caught up in the storm. Genevieve knows this and waits patiently. When he does look over, Genevieve's eyes drop to her hands. Pete tilts her chin so she's looking into his eyes.

"Yeah?" He asks softly. His eyes hold her gaze.

"If you ever want to run away, please tell me. In all seriousness, I'm going with you," she says quietly. "I wouldn't be able to let you go alone. We'd both be lonely. I wouldn't be able to take not seeing you... okay?" She murmurs softly.

"Of course," he leans over to hug her. She wraps her arms around him tight. He does the same for her. She leans into his chest, breathing in his comforting scent. He brings one of his hands to her face and cups her face in his hand. He presses his lips to hers softly. "You, me, and nobody else," he whispers.

"Nobody else... It's perfect," Genevieve murmurs. They snuggle under the blankets, almost asleep. "I love you, Peter," she mumbles. He's not sure if she's awake or not. "Marry me, Peter," her voice is a little unsteady. He's still not sure. She finds his hand in the darkness, squeezing his fingers. "Marry me, Peter," her voice is steady this time, "I love you." She isn't asleep.

"Of course I'll marry you, Genevieve. I love you," he whispers back. He sees her smile in the darkness.

"It's settled then, tomorrow we run away to America and get married," she says.

"Tomorrow we get married," he sighs dreamily with a grin. They were going to run away. They were going to be married. All their problems were solved once and for all. They are no longer subjected to the emotional torture they had in their past. They're in love... it's perfect.




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Deedee said...
Apr. 1, 2010 at 2:33 pm:
Awh, this is ADORABLE :)
 
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