The rain pattered down on the gray streets of London like tiny aquatic bullets. I gazed out the passenger's window of our dented black car, heart hammering faster than the repetitive splats of water against the pavement. The sky was dark and covered with sheets of foggy clouds, blocking out any sunlight. Thunder laced its long, spindly fingers through the atmosphere, adoring rumbles quickly following the flashes of light. People rushed in and out of the cobblestone buildings, collars of their soaking coats jerked up in an attempt to get some sort of protection from the bombarding downpour.

I looked away from the clear little circles and streams that adorned the glass and stared down at the phone in my lap, the black screen on the front glaring up at me like a large, judging eye.

“I-I can't do it...” I confessed, tearing my attention away from the small machine that would soon transmit the message to cause my demise. I glanced over at Justin, silently praying he would say I didn't have to tell her the news. He raked his fingers through his messy black hair, distorting it even further, and sighed. His long, dark mane flopped over his right eye as he pulled his hand away and faced me, resting it on my own. God, he was beautiful.

“Yes, you can,” he smiled reassuringly, and I swear it was even brighter than the electricity that broke the surface of the sky. Despite the fact that he had been in England for roughly five years, he'd never lost his slight New York accent. On the other hand, I'd picked up on the delicate manner of speaking within months of arriving. His warm brown eyes searched my blue ones for the courage to pick up that damn phone and just tell her what was happening. I shook my head, beginning to shake from the fear of having to utter three simple words to the person I dreaded most in the world.

“Yeah, I'm sure,” I started, my bottom lip quivering from both cold and fear. I snuggled down deeper into the scratchy Indian blanket that covered my shoulders, hating every moment we didn't have a vehicle with a non-temperamental heating system. “After three years of being ignored, the first message you want to receive from your daughter is; 'Hey! I'm getting married!'” My voice shook slightly on the last word and I felt the phone grow heavier, as if my mother's essence were occupying it.

Justin turned away, facing forward with a sigh. I let my eyes wander over his sculpted profile; arched eyebrows, ski-slope nose, and heart-shaped lips. It irked me how he was so tall and slim while I was barely scraping average and filled-out. He must have felt my admiration because he glanced over at me. He grinned cockily.

“Take a picture; it'll last longer,” he joked and I blushed a violent shade of red. Justin giggled and I glowed even brighter. He pulled his other hand off of the wheel of the car and reached over, tucking a lock of wild brown hair behind my ear. A slight shock jolted through me as his fingers brushed past my skin. After two and a half years, you'd think that little affect on me would've worn off. No such luck. Now, it was my turn to avert my gaze, focusing intently on the waterlogged street.

A little girl in a bright pink rain slicker and boots tromped beside her mother, stomping in every puddle she could find. Her blonde hair was plastered to her round, pink cheeks and she grinned like she was having the time of her life. A smile played at the corner of my mouth. Everything was an adventure at that age; before the pressure of school and then the cruelty of life. The girl's mother was tugging on her daughter's hand as if she had a meeting with the president she had to get to then and there. However, the child continued on her adventure. In a particularly large collection of water, she must have jumped too forcefully because a small tidal wave arched up and splashed the hem of her mother's cream pea coat. The woman's face already appeared to be stretched thin over her sharp bone structure, the resistance tight like a rubber band's, and it grew as she stuck out her jaw, turning to undoubtedly shout at her child.

I exhaled a loud breath, forming a circle of condensation on the glass, then faced Justin once again. He was staring out the front window, rolling a silver-plated ring back and forth along his knuckles; what would soon become his wedding band. The matching one that adorned the fourth finger of my left hand had practically attached itself to my skin after he'd proposed just moments ago, already becoming a part of me. I gazed down at it, already seeing a rusty color peeking through the metallic paint. Justin got them when he'd played some little gumball machine. True, it wasn't a diamond or anything, (nor any huge, hulking fake diva gemstone either, thankfully) but it was more than enough.

“I'm going to go give Azlyn her phone back,” I told my fiancee in a decisive voice, shrugging off the blanket. I picked up the cell in my hand, the dead weight never lessening, and reached for the handle to exit the car.

“Okay,” Justin said in an exasperated tone. I glanced back around to look at him. He was chewing on his short thumbnail, focusing outside, still deep in thought. He rubbed the ring like it was a magic lamp that would spit out a genie, allowing us to wish away this car-bound lifestyle. He flicked his attention over to me for a moment, eyes sympathetic but not pitying. “Nicole, you're still going to have to tell her, you know.”

“I will...” I trailed off, breaking his gaze. “Someday...” He moaned and I heard him slam his head into the padded steering wheel with a thud. “It's not the right time yet.”

“Will it ever be the right time?” I didn't answer him right away. Instead, I shoved the phone in my pocket pushed open the heavy door, entering the downpour. Icy beads bit through the thin material of my blue jacket, splotching the fabric with dots and chilling me to the bone almost instantaneously.

“I hope,” I admitted, swinging the door shut and starting my journey to Azlyn's apartment. Peering over my shoulder, I saw Justin hunched over the wheel in despair, streaks of rain that sliding down the glass like tears. I faced the long sidewalk and began trudging through the water, soaking my sneakers.

Azlyn lived about a block away from where Justin and I were currently living, which was the parking lot of an old super store that was simply called “The Super-Big Super Store!” Yes, there was an exclamation point added onto that ridiculous title. They must have been trying to make the run-down building seem like more of a cheery place. As if the peeling, pus-colored paint plastered over the weather-beaten bricks wasn't enough.

Azlyn had her own apartment in which Justin and I had taken up residence when we had first started dating seriously. I knew she wasn't too found of having us there. Maybe she thought she'd be kept up at night thanks to us gettin' down and gettin' funky on the couch. (Mind you, that never happened.) Azlyn was a gem, though. She never complained about me drinking all of her iced tea or Justin blowing up her microwave that one time with a malfunctioning cup of EasyMac. She was a kindred spirit that always wore librarian glasses, linty old blouses she'd found the second-hand thrift shop, and had her mousy hair tied up in a frizzy bun. Azlyn was one of those people that never had any confidence until she got drunk, which I had witnessed first-hand being that I was a bartender when we'd met. I'd saved her from extracting herpes from some old guy who was lovin' life at the fact that she was fawning all over him, too intoxicated to realize he resembled a walrus. (Mustache and everything, no joke.)

We'd been friends ever since I'd dragged her alcohol-fueled body home, accidentally banging her head into a trash can that had come out of nowhere and nearly giving her a concussion on the way.

She was the one person I had to tell I was engaged. As I remembered it, the ring on my finger became slightly more noticeable. Knowing her, Azlyn would most likely smile widely and hug me. Thank goodness she wasn't a squealer. I hated squealing. It reminded me of my mother.

Whenever she was happy- which was rarely ever caused by me being that in her eyes I was a huge disappointment- there was this fucking annoying EEEEEEEEK! that sounded like a cat being strangled. I hated it. I hated her. I hated what she wanted me to be; a glorified version of what she never was; someone she could brag about to her obnoxious sisters with their stupid wheat germ and weight loss programs. I don't get why they even bothered with that shit. At family reunions, all they did was sit around picnic tables and lazily wave their Bargain Bin fans in an attempt to cool off, eating double their weight's in chocolate cake.

They were the reason I'd bolted a day after I'd graduated from my gag-worthy high school. Everyone there was either a genius, cowgirl slut, or an athlete. I didn't fall into any of those categories. I was the punk weirdo who wore combat boots in summer and pierced her lip with an apple and a needle from her grandmother's sewing kit. Don't get me wrong, I'd passed though grade school without being majorly scathed and having a few friends, but there was nothing left for me in Maryland. As if there ever was.

Anyhow, that was why I'd applied for a college in London after my senior year had barely cracked open. It had been my best decision so far; leading me away from all the judgmental family, lackluster memories, and “Your-Dreams-Will-Never-Work-Out-Unless-You-Are-A-Neurosurgeon” bullshit. I'd pretended not to get my mother's calls for months and eventually they'd stopped all together, leaving me in peace. Plus, the fact that I didn't have a phone of my own now helped. So what if I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life and was living in a car with my boyfriend- excuse me, fiancee,- who'd been fired from his job at the Food Court? I was happy.

I scrunched my head lower, trying to shrink away from the rain, and stared at the flooding streets as I walked. There were worms inching along the cement, slimy brown bodies retracting in and out as they moved. I scrunched my nose. I hated worms.

Eww, I thought to myself as I tried to hop over and avoid as most of the creepy little demons as possible.

Suddenly, a big wall of person virtually materialized right in front of me. I rammed into he or she with a grunt and stumbled backwards, set off-balance by the contact and falling on my ass into the miniature rivers. Or, more importantly, the worm-infested miniature rivers.

I let out a not-so-little shriek and scrambled to my feet, careful not to touch any of the legless things that I believe are classified as insects. Lifting my eyes, I saw a man who seemed to be around my age on his hands and knees. He kept patting the ground as if he were searching for a lost item. Glasses, I concluded, leaning down to speak to him over the continuous downfall of liquid.

“Are you looking for your glasses?” I half-shouted over the noise and he raised his head to see who was speaking to him, light brown eyes squinting against the water as if he couldn't quite focus on me.

The man had an angular face, long, dirty blonde hair, and pink lips. He wore a puffy gray coat and black jeans. He was sopping wet and reminded me of a puppy out in the rain. The stranger was rather lanky. Given, he was indeed very handsome. What? I'm not allowed to think someone's attractive just because I'm engaged?

He blinked at me a few times as if he couldn't quite figure out I was there before speaking.

“Um, yeah,” he nodded with a few quick bobs of his head. “Do you mind helping me, er, find them? I'm basically legally blind...” I shrugged, even though I doubted that he could make it out and sat back on my haunches, scanning the sidewalk for the lost eye wear.

I caught sight of something small and white nearby and craned my neck to examine it closer. A pair of rectangular glasses. Bingo.

I reached over and plucked them up, careful not to touch any worms that were near and held them in front of the man.

“Here,” I told him and plopped the glasses into his hand. Putting them on- balancing precariously near the tip of his nose, which I found slightly ridiculous- he glanced at me and smiled sheepishly.

“Thanks,” he said, getting up and brushing off his knees. They sort of twisted in, making him resemble a duck. I grinned a little. Awkward knees, I giggled inwardly and stood.

“Anytime.” With that, we exchanged small smiles and set off in our opposite directions.

A word of advise; don't ever think that parting ways with someone means you'll never see them again.

Trust me, I know.

Notes

Sorry if I screwed up the description of London. Sadly, I've never been there and just figured the rain felt very London-esque. Did I use that right? Next chapter is better!