Title : Mismatched – Chapter 1/? - Part 1/2
Author : Emy (thefrenchgirl2 )
Pairing : Orlijah (for the moment), but with up-coming Monaboyd
Rating : R (this part)
Disclaimer : You know, I love making hot Hollywood-boys kiss each other, and then put them into angsty situations, but seriously… who’d believe this has happened in real life? (We never know, my name could be Lucy, and I could still have the taped proof that… ‘Say no more’ – ‘I can say no more’)
Summary : ‘It’s a creepy thing to think there are people in the world that know a lot more about you than you know about them. It’s an even creepier thing to think you are in possession of a big part of someone else’s life without them even knowing it.’
A/N : You could consider this story as an AR, because original fictional characters are introduced and end up being major protagonists in the development of the action.
If you want a little background soundtrack, this goes really nicely with it.
I'm sorry for all who have already read this part, but I had a few misunderstandings with my wonderful beta, moit. So here's the new and final version of this first chapter!
Feedback is like chocolate (
and sex). Enjoy!
Baggage claim –
It is a crazy thing to think approximately half a million people have the same piece of clothing you have. Maybe at this moment, someone is wearing the same combination of that particular shirt and that particular pair of too tight jeans you are wearing right here and now – although the chances are pretty low.
It is an even crazier thing to think maybe a few people are meditating on the same subject as you are – but who would try to deal with such existential questions at this time of day?
And that’s when you decide you should pay a bit more attention to these human beings surrounding you. Happy families, friends, lovers – and there’s that air-hostess again, who you plainly ignore; and there, a bit further, you recognize your sleepy flight-neighbour.
You see hugs, kisses, bright smiles exchanged – but you still have to wait a few hours before your next short flight to
You check your cell, and there’s a message from Elijah – says he will come to pick you up when you get in. You twist your wrist; take a look at the time as your cell phone regains the right pocket (this time) of your too tight jeans. Your wedding ring drops with a clatter to the tiled floor. You fail to grab it in time and it escapes, rolling its way through the crowd of feet, cart wheels, suitcases and excited toddlers. It takes longer than necessary finding it again.
It is when you raise from the floor, ring held tightly in the palm of your hand that you see… her…all smiles and colourful laughter as she walks past you, arm wound around that tall blonde’s – her friend, probably. And you wonder how some stranger could seem so familiar to you. Her long, curly red hair bounces at the pace of her strides and that raspy giggle, bursting out from her mouth, floats in the air, as if everything had gone into slow motion.
As time regains normal speed, you wonder if this young woman is aware of the attention she gets from half the people she passes by. You consider maybe five thousand, sixty hundred and thirty-seven strangers are in knowledge of her existence.
It is a crazy thing to think a
And as she disappears through the glass doors, into the sunny New Zealand morning, you slip your wedding ring back into the right pocket of your too tight jeans and drag your bony-little-self to the conveyer belt – it’s also a crazier thing how much weight you have lost these past few months.
Where the fuck is my luggage? Ah. There.
It was of an average size, this sort of light brown leathery colour… well, it was just the most banal of suitcases really, and after a twelve-hour flight, attention isn’t quite focused on whether it is just the right shade of brown, if it has the right scrape in the right place, or if the leather is worn out on the corner whatsoever.
It was picked up by an unfamiliar hand – too-feminine – and lead through the airport, out into the sweetly familiar
The Mount – Tauranga, NZ – 12p.m.
She hasn’t slept for the past twenty-four hours or so and the familiar scent of her own bed is very welcome, at last. She laughs. It’s really good to feel at home again, after a few months abroad. She needs a shower – wash the smell of travelling off her. In the end, she opts for a bath, and how enjoyable that is.
It is when she leaves the steamy bathroom, a towel wrapped around herself, and enters the bedroom that she notices something she could classify as odd. The suitcase is quietly lying on the wooden floor, silently pleading to be opened. Nothing is different really, but she doesn’t remember it as looking that old and battered.
“I got the wrong suitcase.”
“Lucy? What do you mean you got the wrong suitcase?”
“I don’t know! I haven’t opened it yet, but I’m pretty fucking sure I got the wrong suitcase!”
“You mean, you mistook your suitcase for another and took the wrong one?”
“Yes! Oh God, what am I going to do?”
“Luce… seriously, how did you manage that?”
“I don’t know! It’s the right size, the right shape, the right colour…”
“Must be yours then! Why don’t you think so?”
“It’s just… it’s just… it didn’t seem that… um… injured… when I left.”
“You’re too paranoid.”
“The more I look at it, the more it feels like it isn’t mine, Jess! I don’t know what to do… It scares me... so fucking much.”
“Open it! Don’t be so paranoid! It’s not going to eat you! And then you can be sure if it’s not the right one.”
“But what if… what if-”
“Lucy. You are not – going to find – a bomb – or whatever else you are thinking of right now – in it.”
“I never said-”
“I know you well enough. Open it.”
“But, it doesn’t feel right! It’s like peeking into another person’s life, a stranger’s life!”
“Oh, come on! It’s not as if it were Orlando-fucking-Bloom’s suitcase!”
“Okay… I’ll… I’ll open it… eventually.”
“Good. I’ll see you around seven, then? Party on the beach, in Papamoa.”
“Uh…Come pick me up?”
“Yeah, sure. And open that suitcase! If it ends up not being yours, I’ll return it when I’m back in
“Um, o-okay. Oh, and thanks. Thanks, Jessie.”
Wellington airport, NZ – 2p.m.
“Can I have a puff?”
“You don’t smoke anymore, Orli.”
“Yeah, you’re right… Flight was too long. It’s just, it can be appealing sometimes, man, you know?”
“I know… I know.”
“Oi! Don’t blow smoke on me, my hair’s going to smell all… clove-y.”
“Funny, you already smell all ‘clove-y’ just by hanging with me.”
“It’s good to see you, Elijah.”
“Yeah, it’s good to see you too, dude.”
“It’s your choice, man.”
“Yeah… Yeah, it is my choice now.”
The Mount – Tauranga, NZ
A second… A minute… An hour…
She couldn’t stop pacing, drawing an oval path around the curious, increasingly unfamiliar object. She’d leave the room sometimes, but she always stopped suddenly after a few steps, rotating and peeking back in – as if she had hoped it would disappear that way. It was still there though, it hadn’t moved in the least.
Two hours…. Three hours…
She had finally gotten around to touching it. At first, she had hesitated, fearing something might happen, but with an unsure hand, her eyes tightly closed, she came in contact with the smooth leather. And eventually, it wasn’t that bad, was it? It was the first step. She sighed with relief – then remembered she had already held it long before she’d decided it may not be one of her belongings.
Three hours, twenty-three minutes…
She discovered a small brand label on the side of the suitcase. No, that is definitely not mine, indeed.
Three hours, twenty-five minutes…
Okay, Lucy, enough of this.
She grabbed it with two hands, pivoting it in the air until it violently hit the bed.
Definitely heavier than mine.
And it was opened…