Immersion

I don't think that anyone could make a food more 'sweet and sour'.
No one can manipulate a moment to come out so bittersweet.

This was the worst yet best thing to happen to me. Mostly worst, for it was not on my terms. I was not the one stalking, and neither was she (although I can dream...), instead this just happened to be one of those 'wrong place, wrong time' scenarios. Or 'Right place, right time'. I didn't really know.
I had always carried my camera around my neck, due to the start of the year ever since I became the paparazzi, so that was no issue. As for the film, I was at a photo shop, so I could just purchase some, no sweat. But I was afraid of her seeing me, and Friday afternoon was still wet paint on my skull walls. Us being in the same facility could not possibly be considered a coincidence to her, and she would only go tell the principal again and take my offense not as harassment at the school level, but to the city where they would issue a restraining order against me.It would certainly put a damper on my addiction.
Like putting taxes on cigarettes and alcohol.

My priorities had been automatically altered from just merely developing photos to developing photos and staying away from Adeline Meyers.
No matter how difficult it would be.

The light turned green, and Oli was soon taking a right into the parking lot. As far as the new information that I had just acquired, I would be keeping that to myself. Nothing positive could come out in telling my brother. I'm sure by this point you have a pretty good idea of the shit that he would throw down. He would walk up to her, without shame or a heart, and ask her if she wants to fuck me. And that's not my ego talking.

Then que me seeing my life flash before my eyes as she turns to look at who Oli's talking about; as she turns to look at me. Then he wouldn't have to be burdened with going to the photo shop ever again.

"Get outta my fuckin' ca- ow, what was that for?"

"Don't talk to your little brother that way." Jenni scoffed, leaving me and him behind.

Oli sighed, then looked at me saying,
"Why you always making me out to be an ass?"

I snorted.

"You do that yourself. And would you stop looking at hers?"

He was staring intently at her backside with that devilish smirk chiseled in place of his mouth.
"She's my lass, I can look all I want. You're just jealous."

Hardly.

I ended up ignoring his statement completely and caught up with Jenni.

"Wait, is that a yes?"

Idiot.

...[&&&]...

I expected to be welcomed in with the chime of the door, but got a CLICK instead, the doorknob popping as it was opened. Maybe it was better that way.
I was behind Oli and Jenni, who had laced fingers only seconds ago.

"Oohh...dodgy place, this is." he said.

The shop was pretty empty for a Sunday, but then again, it was pretty empty for any day of the week. No one ever came in, so imagine the state of emergency going on inside me as I realized she was there. I could almost feel a pulse creeping up my throat, like my heart was trying to make me puke. My conscience, a meteorologist, predicted a 90% chance of migraines, with a slight breeze of nausea.
I was so fucking stupid.

I kept remembering the way my mattress felt against my back, the freedom of boxers and a t-shirt, and now, the binding of jeans. They were clinging to my thighs to make them bleed sweat.
Suffocating trails of perspiration soaking up the denim, and my forehead home to other tiny, minuscule droplets that sizzled against my skillet of skin.
My surroundings passed my eyes in a frenzy; only making me dizzier.
Where's the fucking bathroom?

"Hey, you alright? You look pale."

I'm gonna be sick.

I shook my head around a bit to try to stop the madness, and for a moment, it worked. Signaling that I was okay, Oli shrugged and went back to paying attention to Jenni who was spinning around a rack of postcards. Hopefully, he'd be occupied sufficiently enough to where Adeline could simply brush past him and he wouldn't notice.
I sighed, but began treading down the aisle with my chin hung low.
If it were the Winter, or at least Fall, a hoodie would have cloaked me everywhere I went, and I could automatically maintain anonymity in said situations.

Too bad it was March.

Film and camera parts entangled me in a photographer's dream, lightly sprinkled in dim lighting. My mission was to get out as soon as humanly possible. It would take 60 mins for the process of developing, but I could always come back and pick them up.
No way was I overstaying my welcome in these circumstances.
The man at the counter had his elbow propped up on the marble surface, looking bored as hell as he daintily watched me approach. The wall clock's tick could be easily heard from behind him, which prompted me to whisper since I was so fearful of exposure.

"Um, excuse me, can I-"

"What?" the guy said boisterously.

I jumped nimbly as his voice projected through the plenary shop. I think he owned it or something, for I saw him every now and then. He never said much before, so I figured his level of irritability had risen today. I was intimidated, debating on whether or not I should speak again. My inner genius was illuminated when I settled for just holding out my film cartridges, the ones painted with the girl in the identical vicinity. He gave a short nod, and I poured them from my hands to his.

"Thank you." I breathed, quickly turning away and dashing off.

"You can pick them up in an hour!" he yelled.

So coming in contact with him through the year must have been spread over rare occasions, because he would have remembered me, no doubt, and know that I didn't need to be told the approximation of time. I slowed down, trying to jolt my eardrums to recognize the voice of my brother and his girlfriend.
There was only silence as I walked down the clearing; once a dream, and now darkness. Also past the shelves with novels named The Beauty of Photography, Zoom, and of course, Photography for Dummies.
I was hoping for it's fellow brother Finding Siblings for Dummies.

And again, there was only silence as I walked to the rack with the postcards that were printed with tropical images only seen in dreams, and hardly in reality. I had reason to believe they were still there as the rack was softly spinning, so I glanced to my left, and I glanced to my right. I chose the left, past all the ancient relics through the ages of photography, the blurs of Pentax parts, across the Kodak section, rejecting the bulletin of polaroids-

Laughter.

My heels were brakes against the linoleum.
I stared vertically down aisle 12: home of the newer dimension that is digital cameras. As the United States was considered the 'New World', so was LCD to classic methods of film. And right in the center of all this new-age shit was a brick of gold. A handful of diamonds.

Adeline Meyers.

I was merely a fly on the wall while I observed her examining a camera in her hand, completely captivated. It's in the thick of these moments that all my discretion gets thrown out the window.
I didn't care about getting caught. Part of me was pleading to be seen, but my more dominant, common-sensed neutralized it. Now it was the screaming of my colorful half.

In a vacant place, anyone could gain courage.

It was simple: just walk up and talk about the camera that was cradled in her palms. Then, move on to the broader subject of photography and ask what she takes pictures of. By that point, I should have gained decent momentum and witnessed the birth of a substantial conversation. She would most likely ask, somewhere in between, what I took photos of, but I could lie, or leave it out and say "people".
What is the terminology for that? Lying by omission?

All this overcrowded the screaming in my conscience; air drying that paint on my skull.
I was leaning deeply on the urge to trust my intuition and just go.
Until another boy beat me to it.