Unlonely Nights- GeorgeNotFound x OC

Chapter 1

"Why do you think about it?" George spoke only to me even though he stared out into the rough waves that looked delicious stretching out into the horizon, starting its sweet trail in front of the rocks that were under me. "Hell, I could even go out on a limb and say that you're thinking about it now."

"George from London, why do you talk to me?" I asked, finally peeling my eyes from the ocean. I willingly tore myself from the pretty sight to face a significantly less appealing thing. "I could go out on a limb and say you're talking to me now." I mocked him.

"That doesn't make sense." He stopped short of his sentence and ended it there. The way he raised pitch at the end indicated he wanted to say something else. But he didn't. And I was perfectly content with it staying that way.

George finally stopped talking to me, instead staring into the sunset, not unlike what I was doing. He didn't tap the rails in a rhythm like he usually did. He didn't click his tongue, even after five agonizingly boring minutes, like he usually did. And he didn't bite his nails whenever the wind whistled a little too loud for him, like he usually did. This surprised me.

"I don't care." I breathed out, leaning dangerously more over the railing.

"What?" George looked startled that I was speaking. I don't blame him. I startled myself too.

"I tend to make sense a lot. So if you say I don't make sense, I could care less. I don't know who you are." I spat out. "Your name is George and my name is Marlowe. You're British and I'm American. You live in Florida and I live in Florida. I like the beach. And you like me liking the beach. I don't know who you are."

"Your name is Marlowe?" he asked and I let out a little sigh, disappointed in myself for saying so.

"Does that not make sense to you George?"

"That's a pretty name."

"I agree." I hummed. Deciding to be mean, I added a little, "George isn't a pretty name."

I heard a little laugh behind me and immediately swallowed down any temptation to smile at the sound of it. "I know right? Very basic if you ask me. But you haven't my friends, they're worse than me."

"Hm," I let out a little sound of acknowledgement before I lean on my other arm. My right elbow was getting tired while my vision seeked the same goal as it always did: find why I am so drawn to this water. After two weeks, I hadn't come any closer to finding out why than when I had actually touched the waves.

I haven't.

"I'm going to leave ocean girl." He doesn't catch his mistake until later. He's almost in his car when he turns around and comes close to me once more. "My apologies. I am going to leave now, Miss Marlowe."

Only when I know he is fully gone, do I smile.

Miss Marlowe, it's a change. It's as if some personal part of me serves a purpose. My name serves a purpose in British boys' vocabulary.

I'm not sure whether I like it or not.

But regardless, it has a purpose.