The Sticky Note Chronicles

Ever woken yourself up before because you made a noise? Like talking in your sleeping, or letting out a groan or such?
This happened, but on a much fuller scale.
A full out sentence flew from Norah’s mouth as she was awoken by the sound of her own voice, heavy with sleep.
“Don’t make me forget!”
Blink.
What was that? She looked around, pressing her cool hand to her forehead. An odd amount of nausea in her stomach as she leaned back down.
The repeated the words in a whisper – why she was whispering, she didn’t know.
… She also couldn’t remember the dream for the life of her.
She was drawing blanks – but it was probably something about Andrew. It made sense, yeah?
A pause… It just didn’t feel right to her.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

A sluggish, groggy haze surrounded her form as the redhead tried desperately to get to the kitchen and find something to eat.
She hadn’t the slightest idea to why she felt so very worn and weighted down. There was nothing incredibly straining she had done the past few days. Maybe it was just a weird night of sleep.
Yeah that was it.
Dragging herself into the tiled room, and practically throwing open the refrigerator with more-than-needed effort. Green eyes scanning the cold shelves with mild interest. Laying rest upon the containers she had seen on the counter after she returned last night.
Norah’s hand reached out to snatch the top container – in an almost hesitant way, she opened the lid and peaked at the contents inside.
The trademark smell of rich Italian food filled her sense as she looked at the huge amount of pasta inside the white-lidded container.
An uneasy settling in her stomach. It looked delicious.
A solemn look on her pretty features as she turned back around. Eyes reached the thin square of brightly coloured paper on the counter.
Where were you?
Mel
Norah couldn’t shake this feeling. It gnawed at her stomach and her chest, filling them with this pooling weight that held her down, pulled her back, like greedy children trying to find sweets.
“The truth, uhm… Yes, the truth, I need to tell the truth,” She muttered to herself, finding another sticky note in the drawer.
She poised her pen above the small square of paper… And yet, she couldn’t mark it down.
Her forehead pinched in annoyance and aggravation, putting the pen’s tip to the paper and scrawling out,
I was with
She paused…
… Paused still…
Letting out a frustrated noise she threw the pen viciously at the couch in the other room.
“What the hell is wrong with me?!” She yelled at the top of her lungs and flumped down onto the kitchen floor unceremoniously.
Head cradled in her hands, deep breaths as she tried unsuccessfully to find out why she had so much anxiety.
The bile of anger in the pit of her stomach, towards what, or whom, she could not tell.
It was all just so confusing.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Pinpricks beneath her skin, spreading like sand over muscles to cause a familiar racketing shiver to move up her spine. She shook violently, the warm sand feeling remaining beneath her skin, a cool sort of sweat on her neck.
Mel had experienced this before, this exact feeling – but it had been a while since it was quite so prominent.
She glanced back at the scrawl on the sticky note;
I was with my boyfriend.
Do you have one?
We could double date.
-Norah
Awkward, was the word that popped into head. Mel scratched the back of her neck and sighed.
Eyes trailing towards the refrigerator, resting upon the photograph hung against the silver door.

Cold air lingered, sinking through the fabric of multiple layers of clothing, past the epidermis and straight into the very fibers of everyone outside. She could feel the shivers of the girl she held close to her – her own body heat had long ago dropped in temperature. She snuggled against the girl, inhaling the familiar scent of cigarettes and lilac, breathing into the reddish purple hair.
An airy laugh came from the girl, “That tickles,” She claimed with a grin, another shiver going through her body.
Mel grinned, “That’s the point, now isn’t it?” The Italian slur prominent in her speech; blowing into the girl’s ear, hearing her squeal and twist in her arms.
They faced each other, a light pink tinting the shorter girl’s face. The tall brunette’s smile was calm, as always. “You’re so beautiful,” She whispered to the petite woman.
Her face snuggled into the bare crook of her neck; the fabric of her jacket didn’t cover a triangle of her upper chest. The breath against her skin caused goose bumps to rise above the surface and dot it.
“Let’s take a picture!” She exclaimed, Mel’s eyebrows shooting up.
“Really? I look terrible.” Laughing, but subsiding at the girl’s playfully stern look.
Hands moving to her waist from behind, grabbing her tickle spot and causing the shorter girl to erupt with laughter – this made the Italian laugh as well, as the camera clicked in front of them.
“Eww, how do you always look so good? I look so bad when I laugh!” She stuck her tongue out; Mel pecked her forehead.
“You’re gorgeous, all the time.” She whispered, holding the girl to her.
The feeling of a smile against her skin, the head radiating from her face.
“I love you,”

A sigh falling from her lips, rubbing her eyes tiredly.
“She’d find out eventually,” Mel muttered - the accent now quite a bit less noticeable in her voice, as she hadn’t been back to her birthplace in over six years now.
A fresh blank sticky note, pen poised above the square, a small sigh, and she wrote her soul away.

No, I’m single. I broke up
with my girlfriend a few
months ago. That’s who’s
in the picture with me.
Mel

She placed the square of green paper over the photograph on the fridge. A sadness gnawing away on her stomach, running her hand over her short hair.
“So silly to fall for someone you’ve never spoken to before.” She whispered, sauntering towards her bedroom, where she would fall unconscious for a few hours, until a certain redhead walked through the door.
The clenching feeling she would feel in the pit of her stomach as silence enclosed the apartment, knowing very well that the girl was reading the note she left.
She would hear a very light gasp from the Irish woman, and bury her head in her pillow.
But what she wouldn’t know, as she laid less than fifteen feet from Norah, is that the girl would be a jumble of mixed emotions.
And a smile would appear on her pleasant face, a real smile that she couldn’t help, couldn’t hold away; but she wouldn’t know why she was smiling, for a bit more time.