His version of love

Iris’s POV. “He’s dead!!” “Wasn’t it a dream?” The first thing I remembered was the blood. It wasn’t much just a thin red line running slowly across the white marble floor I stared at it without moving and for a moment I couldn’t understand what I was looking at then I heard a sound coming from the room ahead, a chair scraping against the floor, something breaking then silence “Hello?” My own voice sounded unfamiliar. I took one step forward then another the hallway was empty The lights above me flickered I stopped,Somewhere behind the closed door something hit the floor my hand moved towards the handle “I shouldn’t open this” Somehow I already knew that but I opened it anyway. What happened next would become one of the memories I would never be able to explain and as a matter of fact would never get the chance to *eleven months earlier People think London is always loud, it isn't. Sometimes it’s so quiet that you can hear the rain before you hear the people. That evening rain covered Camden with a soft gray mist. The streets were wet, the buses moved slowly and people hurried past with umbrellas held low against the wind. I stood under the small roof of a second hand bookshop holding a paper bag filled with books I could barely afford. I had spent almost all the money in my account again, I should have felt guilty but books had always been my weakness. I was eighteen years old and had just started my first year at Blackcrest University in north London. I was studying English literature and psychology because I wanted to become a writer one day, I kept telling myself that buying books was an investment in my future. It sounded better than saying I have no self control. The bookshop behind me was old and narrow. The shelves were packed so tightly that some books leaned sideways as if they were tired of standing. The owner knew me because I came almost every week. He always smiled when he saw me and always warned me not to spend all my money in one place I never listened. Old books felt different from new ones, they smelled of dust, coffee and places I have never been to, every page seemed to carry a memory that belonged to someone else. The bell above the shop door rang as another customer stepped outside. I moved aside, adjusted the bag in my arms and looked at the rain. I should have waited for it to stop instead I pulled my hood over my head and started walking. Camden looked beautiful in the rain the lights from cafe’s reflected on the wet pavement the smell of coffee mixed with the smell of old paper drifting from the bookshop behind me, a street musician packing away his guitar while a bus rolled slowly through a puddle and for the first time since moving to London I felt like I belonged somewhere. when I first arrived the city felt too big too fast too full of people who already knew where they were going, I was just a girl carrying too many dreams and never enough money. Blackcretz university had always seemed impossible to me I still remember reading my acceptance email three times before I believed it was real I wanted to become a writer not famous not rich I just wanted to write a story that someone would remember my phone buzzed it was a call from Maeve I answered immediately. “Where are you?” she asked “Camden” “You’re buying books again aren’t you” “I only bought a few” “You always say that” “This time I mean it” She laughed “how many” I looked into the paper bag “Five” “Iris” “They were used” “That doesn’t make it better” “It kind of does” Maeve sighed dramatically “you’re impossible” “I know” “Get home before it gets too late” “I will” “And don’t walk around with your head in a book”. “I’m not a child.” “You act like one sometimes.” “I’m hanging up” “Love you.” “Love you too.” I ended the call and slipped my phone into my pocket. Maeve was only twenty-two but she had spent most of her life looking after me after my parents died. she became the person who provided for me fed me and reminding me all the time to make good choices though buying five books in one evening did not count as a good choice. I laughed quietly and kept walking then a cold wind swept through the street, I held the bag tighter and turned the corner, that was when it happened someone walked into me from the opposite direction the paper bag slipped from my hands books scattered across the wet pavement “Oh I’m so sorry.” The voice was calm and warm I looked up the man standing in front of me was taller than I expected he wore a dark coat and drops of rain was caught in his short black hair, his skin was dark his features were sharp and his eyes were deep brown and those same eyes looked strangely calm for someone who just knocked a stranger’s books into the street. “I wasn’t looking where I was going” he said. “It was my fault too.” We both bent down at the same time and a small plastic card slid across the pavement with one of my books he picked it up before I could reach it “You dropped this” he said holding it out to me I took it quickly “My student ID!!!” “So I guessed.” I laughed softly “Thank you” His eyes gazed at the card for the briefest moment before I slipped it into my pocket. we reached for the same novel our hands touched we stopped he smiled “You can take it” “I think it was mine.” “That would make sense” I laughed, it was a small laugh that came easily he picked up the rest of the books and handed them to me one by one “You really like literature” he said glancing at the titles “Yes well I’m studying English literature and psychology” “At blackcretz?” I blinked, I figured he saw the name of my school on my ID “Yes” “That’s a good combination” “I hope so.” “So you want to write?” “Eventually” He looked at the books again “People who buy these usually want to become writers.” “Is it that obvious?” “A little” The rain became heavier and cars moved slowly past us for a moment neither of us spoke then he held out the last book “Im eric” he said. I took the book from his hand “Iris” He looked at me for a second longer than strangers usually do then he smiled again “Nice to meet you iris.” There was something strange about the way he said my name, not creepy, not romantic, almost as if he was trying to remember it. his phone rang and he glanced at the screen, something changed in his expression but only for a second “I have to take this” he said “It’s okay” He stepped back gave me a small nod and walked away into the rain. I watched him disappear through the crowd for some reason I stood there longer than I needed to then I looked down at the book still in my hands something was inside it, a small white card had slipped between the pages I pulled it out written in it was the name Eric Belmont I turned the card over and it said blackcretz literary foundation. his name felt strangely familiar I slipped the card into my pocket and continued walking home by the time I reached my flat the rain had become heavier Maeve was already asleep and the apartment was quiet except for the sound of water tapping against the windows I placed the books on my desk and pulled the card out one more time “Eric Belmont.” I opened the first book I had bought that evening and wrote a date on the inside cover something I always did whenever I started writing a new something as I liked to call it and wrote 17th October Camden I was about to close it when a folded piece of paper slipped out from between the last pages I frowned I had not noticed it before it was not a receipt not a bookmark someone had folded it carefully as if they wanted it to be found later. I unfolded it and there was only one sentence I felt my skin crawling as I read the words aloud “You’re right on time.”