- Thread starter
- #21
Re: A Little Bit of Good (3)
So this is awkward, right? I spent a lot of time churning this out for a story that no one was reading but myself. Alas, I figured I would post this to kind of revamp the fanfic. This chapter takes a much lighter look at Grimsley, as my theme for the chapter was "transformation." I hope you enjoy.
Chapter 5- A Little Bit of Good
SUNDAY:
Yes! She said yes! Oh sweet Arceus or Buddha or Mohammad or whatever! The lady must be mad, but that’s enough for me. Somewhere a fine painting is missing its radiant leading girl and that is Caitlin. I swear, I thought I would die sitting there eating my corned beef sandwich reading Moliere. I don’t know why I asked her, maybe it was because of the awful fluorescent lighting that makes everyone look like they’re practically dead or maybe it was the tea that wasn’t settling well in my stomach, but I was just
“Hey, we should go out tomorrow.”
and she was just
“Yes.”
And I just
what.
You’re in the money, Grimsley. You best not screw this up because she is your only chance at being happy and who even cares if she has a disorder that causes her to cry on cue or the fact that she doesn’t have a male sex organ. She could be yours.
I love love.
MONDAY:
It’s Monday. It’s Monday. We went out. We went out. I like her. I like her! Repetition, ahoy! Good golly, Grimsley, you are a pathetic putrid mess of romantic Jell-O that no one wants to pick up and you’ll eventually sink into the floor.
It’s Monday, bad day, but good day for us. You ordered coffee, I ordered…wine. You said you liked my scarf and I told you it was designer made and then I felt funny so I stopped talking about me.
Good god I babble too much when I journal. I hope no one ever reads this. Not even after I die some tragic death. The truth is too mushy and romantic comedies play on our real lives way more then they actually should. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. Cait, you make me feel like fireworks. Do you like that analogy? That’s not even and analogy. That’s a simile. That’s how gelatinous you make me feel, but the good kind of gelatinous, the sexy kind.
You wouldn’t let me kiss you goodnight. You’re my kind of girl, Cait.
TUESDAY:
I called you thrice. Ignored me straight voice mail. I thought I had done something wrong, Cait. I felt like shit. I felt like my father. And I hated myself for it. For twenty three and a half minutes I felt like everything I loved and cherished had burned tragically in a fire and I know it seems likes I’m exaggerating but I’m really not. I felt so scared.
You texted me saying, “I play hard to get.”
Um Cait, what?
I got so depressed by your test. It’s so unlike you, Cait. It’s like this is a whole new side of you. Play hard to get? What, so you’ve been around the bush a few times?
Ready, set:
You wouldn’t let me see you Tuesday or let me kiss you on Monday. And I know that the hopeless romantic stalker that I am cannot handle your ruthless shtick.
Still, I think you’re the best. I guess I’m just so juvenile, but I just want to be with you.
WEDNESDAY:
Cold coffee. Some talking. Clean touching.
Wednesday’s my hump day, but we just held hands. And drank coffee.
That’s right. All we did was got coffee and touch hands for a measly 25 seconds. I swear, Cait if you’re trying to tell me something you’re doing a really bad job at it.
You wouldn’t let me take you out for the day, you told me you had to stay home. So I spent the day exploring museums and admiring art, pretending we were standing together. And yeah, maybe I’ve gone too far and I’m just saying this out of spite, but my love for you is like a radiant shore, a whispering candle burning through the night.
See that rhyme? I wrote that for you, Cait!! And what, you’ve always given an inch of your time for me. I’ve always managed to take a mile.
THURSDAY:
Like Tuesday. Time spent away from me.
FRIDAY:
You’re busy.
SATURDAY:
What’s up with you?
You don’t want to kiss me, or see me, or even let me take you out.
So why don’t you just let me go? Spare me the misery of another week like this. But then you called me. Out of nowhere you called me.
You said, “I need you to know that you are cute, but juvenile.”
I assumed was what I expected. I thought you were breaking up with me, and I mean, what a way to do it. Over the phone, and all. I thought I’d tried too hard, that I had cared too much. Every cliché in the book had hit me in the face. I felt restlessness.
Then you said, “The greatest love takes the longest time.”
Why wait, Cait? We haven’t got much time. Life is lonely, rotten, and thankfully short. But the one thing that I need in life is you and I’ve loved you for the longest time and I know I sound like a lunatic right now but without you I can’t be whole.
“Please be patient for our one day. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I don’t have anything more to say.
SUNDAY:
You let me kiss you. You let me kiss you. You let me kiss you.
Be still your foolish, “Please be patient for our one day.”
Look, Caitlin. Tis Sunday.
You made this week of hell worth it. You smiled as we descended the stairs and you laughed when I told joke and you made me feel like I was doing everything right. Everything about you is amazing and Grimsley is a new person. A new person who suddenly talks in the third person. I would keep writing but I have to kiss you now.
Til Monday.
So this is awkward, right? I spent a lot of time churning this out for a story that no one was reading but myself. Alas, I figured I would post this to kind of revamp the fanfic. This chapter takes a much lighter look at Grimsley, as my theme for the chapter was "transformation." I hope you enjoy.
Chapter 5- A Little Bit of Good
SUNDAY:
Yes! She said yes! Oh sweet Arceus or Buddha or Mohammad or whatever! The lady must be mad, but that’s enough for me. Somewhere a fine painting is missing its radiant leading girl and that is Caitlin. I swear, I thought I would die sitting there eating my corned beef sandwich reading Moliere. I don’t know why I asked her, maybe it was because of the awful fluorescent lighting that makes everyone look like they’re practically dead or maybe it was the tea that wasn’t settling well in my stomach, but I was just
“Hey, we should go out tomorrow.”
and she was just
“Yes.”
And I just
what.
You’re in the money, Grimsley. You best not screw this up because she is your only chance at being happy and who even cares if she has a disorder that causes her to cry on cue or the fact that she doesn’t have a male sex organ. She could be yours.
I love love.
MONDAY:
It’s Monday. It’s Monday. We went out. We went out. I like her. I like her! Repetition, ahoy! Good golly, Grimsley, you are a pathetic putrid mess of romantic Jell-O that no one wants to pick up and you’ll eventually sink into the floor.
It’s Monday, bad day, but good day for us. You ordered coffee, I ordered…wine. You said you liked my scarf and I told you it was designer made and then I felt funny so I stopped talking about me.
Good god I babble too much when I journal. I hope no one ever reads this. Not even after I die some tragic death. The truth is too mushy and romantic comedies play on our real lives way more then they actually should. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. Cait, you make me feel like fireworks. Do you like that analogy? That’s not even and analogy. That’s a simile. That’s how gelatinous you make me feel, but the good kind of gelatinous, the sexy kind.
You wouldn’t let me kiss you goodnight. You’re my kind of girl, Cait.
TUESDAY:
I called you thrice. Ignored me straight voice mail. I thought I had done something wrong, Cait. I felt like shit. I felt like my father. And I hated myself for it. For twenty three and a half minutes I felt like everything I loved and cherished had burned tragically in a fire and I know it seems likes I’m exaggerating but I’m really not. I felt so scared.
You texted me saying, “I play hard to get.”
Um Cait, what?
I got so depressed by your test. It’s so unlike you, Cait. It’s like this is a whole new side of you. Play hard to get? What, so you’ve been around the bush a few times?
Ready, set:
You wouldn’t let me see you Tuesday or let me kiss you on Monday. And I know that the hopeless romantic stalker that I am cannot handle your ruthless shtick.
Still, I think you’re the best. I guess I’m just so juvenile, but I just want to be with you.
WEDNESDAY:
Cold coffee. Some talking. Clean touching.
Wednesday’s my hump day, but we just held hands. And drank coffee.
That’s right. All we did was got coffee and touch hands for a measly 25 seconds. I swear, Cait if you’re trying to tell me something you’re doing a really bad job at it.
You wouldn’t let me take you out for the day, you told me you had to stay home. So I spent the day exploring museums and admiring art, pretending we were standing together. And yeah, maybe I’ve gone too far and I’m just saying this out of spite, but my love for you is like a radiant shore, a whispering candle burning through the night.
See that rhyme? I wrote that for you, Cait!! And what, you’ve always given an inch of your time for me. I’ve always managed to take a mile.
THURSDAY:
Like Tuesday. Time spent away from me.
FRIDAY:
You’re busy.
SATURDAY:
What’s up with you?
You don’t want to kiss me, or see me, or even let me take you out.
So why don’t you just let me go? Spare me the misery of another week like this. But then you called me. Out of nowhere you called me.
You said, “I need you to know that you are cute, but juvenile.”
I assumed was what I expected. I thought you were breaking up with me, and I mean, what a way to do it. Over the phone, and all. I thought I’d tried too hard, that I had cared too much. Every cliché in the book had hit me in the face. I felt restlessness.
Then you said, “The greatest love takes the longest time.”
Why wait, Cait? We haven’t got much time. Life is lonely, rotten, and thankfully short. But the one thing that I need in life is you and I’ve loved you for the longest time and I know I sound like a lunatic right now but without you I can’t be whole.
“Please be patient for our one day. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I don’t have anything more to say.
SUNDAY:
You let me kiss you. You let me kiss you. You let me kiss you.
Be still your foolish, “Please be patient for our one day.”
Look, Caitlin. Tis Sunday.
You made this week of hell worth it. You smiled as we descended the stairs and you laughed when I told joke and you made me feel like I was doing everything right. Everything about you is amazing and Grimsley is a new person. A new person who suddenly talks in the third person. I would keep writing but I have to kiss you now.
Til Monday.
