𝐷𝑜𝑝𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒, 𝑆𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑛, 𝑂𝑥𝑦𝑡𝑜𝑐𝑖𝑛- 𝑅𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒

𝐹𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑦 𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑒- 𝑆𝑎𝑚 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐽𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠

Just like usual, the Hawkins Library was unexceptionally quiet. Barely anyone lurked behind the bookshelves or slouched over the couches. It was just how Robin liked it.

There was absolutely nothing to disturb her apart from her own mind- which was normal, she knew that. The doubts were normal, the intrusive thoughts were normal, and her constant battles against it were normal.

Buckley had escaped from her shift at Family Video as soon as the working day was over. Steve had questioned her early absence, but didn't think too much upon her scarily concerning actions. He wasn't aware of the destination, but at least one person knew where the woman was heading- and that person was herself.

Strangely, her morning had been spent perching upon her stool and wishing that she had a book. It wasn't too foreign of a request, since books were normally her go to when needing to escape from reality for a bit, but Robin hadn't ventured into the centre of town for a small while now.

On that day, though, pages upon pages of story seemed just fitting- since her own was on a cooldown. The beginning was over, the conflict of her sexuality had roared, the climax had ventured and the fall was appearing again. It was downhill from there on out.

Deflation was and always had been one of the many steps in a story. The moment after the big high where the characters descended into calm, into confidence. The trauma is over, and all is well again.

Robin knew that she was in fact not a character in a book, but if she thought too deeply about it, an obvious structure in her life would often appear in her mind- especially if she thought too deeply about her own journey of discovery.

The beginning; the confusion, the feelings, the dread of what could possibly be.

The build-up; the thought of what was. Could Robin Buckley really be one of them?

Yes, she thinks that she could be.

The climax; verging on acceptance, living through an experience which probably shouldn't of been.

And Robin had no idea what the resolution or the ending was going to be- but she knew for a fact that she was going to have to fight for it. It wasn't unknown that her mind was yet again battling to claim and invite the doubt back through the doors.

The first week or two of cool-down from the event went well... supposedly. The woman had tried to block it out, had tried to forget that it ever happened... but, of course, it did, and therefore Robin couldn't forget. The stent of acceptance had drawn to a close just like the freedom of keeping her secret had.

The coarse, ragged material of the library's couch sat uncomfortably underneath her thick corduroy trousers. She didn't like how it felt beneath her, but still continued the stay, crossing over her legs in an attempted state of relaxation.

The pages of the book in her hand moved to the side. It was an interesting novel- a fair choice to be made- however, it was slightly inconvenient. Just typically to the scenario, the genre was of course a romance. It wasn't that she chose it on purpose, and it was quite unfortunate that she did, but there was a slight reason for it, she supposed.

It wasn't a rare occurrence for Robin Buckley to be deep into five or more books at a time, being able to decipher between the stories and pick them up as she went along- and it was also very easy to add more onto the ongoing pile- but what wasn't possible for her was to completely abandon a story all together before finishing.

And annoyingly, the only book that they had in base that day was one of the romances that she'd been reading.

So therefore, Robin continued.

She scrolled over the words, pressing her fingers against the lines of letters and trailing over the ink as the words processed through her mind.

There was a man in it, a man called James- and even though Buckley once swore that she could never find herself relating to a man, she found herself relating to him.

It wasn't that it was a simple issue- like sometimes he didn't like how he looked, or sometimes he was insecure about himself even though a man's job was to be tough, to not show emotion... but no, Robin related to the fact that his book shouldn't of even been classed as a romance at all.

She'd been with his story for a while, thinking upon and reading between the lines, but it hadn't clicked before then.
James was a lot more similar to her than she had initially thought.

She read onwards, rising up to the sentence that would answer her question once and for all.

James slumped himself down onto the chair in front of the dressing table. His eyes looked lifeless, but somehow still welling with unseen emotion.

"I've had it." He spoke, slightly tilting his head. "I am completely useless."

Robin thought back to the chapter before. He had been set up on a date by his best friend, Sam.

Sam had been convincing him for years to find a partner- but one had never arrived.
Funnily enough, the story seemed quite like Steve's, too.

"C'mon, don't say that- you'll find someone, I'm sure of it! Perhaps she was just not your type."

James looked to his friend, emotion spreading deeper.
"But she was perfect. Why can't I of just... liked her?"

A pause.

"I don't know."

Another.

"I fear that I shall never find anyone, Sam. I fear that I shall never even love at all."

And then Robin knew.

It hit her like a brick.

James was just like her.