Every String Attached | GirlxGirl

Chapter One

Shawn pushed her glasses further up her nose. With thick frames like hers, she'd expected they wouldn't fall down as often. But, just like every other pair she'd worn in the past twenty years, they slid down the bridge of her freckled nose until resting at the very edge.

"You need one of those bead necklaces," Chance said. "That thing that librarians wear."

Rolling her eyes, Shawn refrained from voicing the retort that sat on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she closed her laptop with a frustrating sigh. She needed to finish editing this book by next week, yet no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't bring herself to focus. There was something about the busy atmosphere of the Starbucks that she and Chance sat in that was distracting. Generally, she did her best work in a loud environment. Something about this room, however, was off.

"I can't focus," she stated, shrugging the grey cardigan off of her shoulders.

"You need more coffee," Chance replied. She lifted Shawn's cup, swirling it in a slow circle, ensuring it was empty.

Shawn frowned; her nose forming wrinkles that only made her glasses fall down once again. But Chance wasn't wrong, and she didn't disagree.

She ran her thumb over the rim of the cup, smudging the pink lipstick that stained the white paper, and sighed once more. Shawn waited for a barista to pass their booth before calling out, requesting a refill. But, much to her surprise, she was completely, without a single doubt, ignored.

Shawn's eyes followed the blonde as she rounded the front of the restaurant, a warm smile plastered on her face. Even as her mouth fell open, her gaze remained glued to the employee.

"If you could stop drooling, please."

Shawn scowled at Chance. "I wasn't drooling."

Chance winked in return.

"I don't go for blondes," Shawn stated, though remaining fixated on the barista as she spoke. She added, "Or girls with front bangs."

"So in other words, you don't go for pretty girls."

"Shut up," Shawn snapped. "I'm staring at her because I asked her a question and she walked right by me. She didn't even look at me."

"Poor you," Chance said, tease evident in her tone. "I know it's hard, having girls walk by you and not notice you—"

When Shawn's eyelids narrowed, her expression growing cold, Chance knew it was time to stop. She was joking—she was always joking, especially with Shawn—but she had apparently crossed a line.

"I'm going to ask one of the other baristas," Shawn announced. Her hip bumped the table, jolting their laptops and Chance's overbearing stack of papers. As she winced, she quickly made sure the girl who'd ignored her hadn't been watching. But of course, her eyes were roaming the restaurant instead, looking at everyone except Shawn.

Shawn approached the counter, asking a middle aged woman dressed in a green apron for another coffee. She paid, barely counting out the change she handed her as she watched the other barista in awe.

Blonde hair, front bangs, brown eyes. She hadn't lied when she told Chance that she didn't usually go for girls like that. She was tall, too, nearly matching Shawn's 5'8 height. And even with Shawn's reflective brown eyes on her, the barista still didn't notice her.

"Thank you," Shawn said, taking the steaming coffee in her hand and returning to the booth across the counter. She slid inside, setting the cup on the table, careful not to spill on any of Chance's schoolwork.

Chance was completing her final year at Boston University, studying business. The two had met when Shawn had just began her second year, on the verge of turning nineteen, and Chance was already twenty one. She'd had a late start to school, and was now finishing her degree—which was a year more than Shawn's program, meaning she graduated all of two years prior—as Shawn began her exciting career as a novel editor.

"Seriously, Shawn, if she hasn't noticed you by now, she's not going to." After a harsh glance from Shawn, Chance closed her textbook, organizing her papers and asking Shawn if she wanted to stay or go.

It didn't appear that Shawn had a choice, and anyway, she wasn't making any progress on the edit. Taking her laptop in one hand and fresh cup of coffee in the other, she exited Starbucks, risking one last look at the barista.

She was looking at Shawn now, her eyebrows creased, her lower lip held in a frown. Shawn shrugged as she pushed the door open further and walked out.

-

The screen of Shawn's laptop illuminated her bedroom as it powered on. A moment ago, she'd been surrounded in darkness, other than the sliver of light beneath the door and floor, indicating Chance was still awake. Studying, most likely.

As the screen came alive and Shawn entered her password, she reminded herself once again—aka, for the millionth time—that she needed to change her background.

Hunter Murphy was no longer a part of her life.

Once, Shawn had met another girl with a boy's name. Once, Shawn had fallen for her. And once, Shawn had been an idiot—the biggest idiot in the world, according to both Shawn herself, as well as Chance—and she had let Hunter go.

She'd barely given herself time to comprehend what had happened before she boarded a plane, left Chicago, and not returned since. She remained in Boston, meeting girls with girl's names, and in seven years, had not changed the background of her ancient laptop.

Shawn now found herself face to face with her seventeen year old self. All she could see were the horrendous glasses she'd worn every day for three years straight. Unlike hers now, they were small: half-moons, making her look much younger than she was. And her hair wasn't its natural dark blonde, the colour it was now, that enticing mixture of yellow verging on the edge of brown. It was bright blonde, the feature that stood out the most in the photo, indicating that it was taken sometime in late August.

She longed for the heat against her face now. She wanted the sun to brighten her hair again, for her freckles to become darker and noticeable, for her smile to grow larger. It was November, just weeks before she would turn twenty four, and yet there was no snow. It wasn't cold, yet the nights were filled with freezing rain that tapped against her window like a polite intruder, keeping her awake until midnight when she should've already been asleep.

Remembering this, Shawn shut her laptop—she wasn't even sure why she'd powered it on in the first place. She placed it on her bedside table, perched beside her glasses.

Nearly blind now, she blinked through the darkness, knowing that she wouldn't be able to see anything anyways. Pulling her blanket up to her neck, her hair tickle the bare skin of her back, and she closed her eyes.

It was hours before she fell asleep.

Shawn dreams of castles nearly every night. She isn't sure why, and she has never told anyone about it.

Sometimes it takes place in a different castle. Some nights she's in one she's already been to before.

Sometimes it's scary, and sometimes it's happy.

Tonight, it was neither. Tonight, Shawn was in a castle she'd never seen.

With grey walls made of bricks and concrete, and huge windows allowing blaring light inside, Shawn passed shadowed figurines, her fingers roaming the rough surface of the walls as she roamed the hallways.

Something was different tonight. Shawn was usually alone in these dreams, but now, there were footsteps behind her, and when she turned, she found none other than the barista from Starbucks.

Unsurprisingly, her eyes were not on Shawn, but out the window, through the metal bars, looking at a view that was apparently much more interesting than Shawn was.

When Shawn woke, suddenly feeling the desire that the barista had been wearing a name tag, she was shocked that her bed wasn't covered in sweat. She was not shaking, not trembling. Her cheeks were dry—she had not been crying.

Her head was light, her eyes were open. The room was bright.

And her heart was pounding inside of her chest.