Sweaters, Libraries, and the Guardian of the Fictional World.

We're back at the restaurant and he's laughing at something I said. Our hands graze against each other, and we lock eyes. Time holds still as his gaze holds mine. That's when I decide to label his eye color as green. I mean, I had to take my time to decipher them because they may seem grey, but when you look closely, I'm positive they are green-the lightest shade of green I've ever seen. A wave of cedar and dewy morning grass crashes against me, reminding me of how good his sweater smelled.

Someone knocks on the door, forcing us to break eye contact. Who even knocks on an old, forgotten diner?

Reality washes over me like an ice-bucket pouring over me. My eyes snap open and I gasp for air. I did not just dream that. The blankets slide down my body, a cold rush producing shivers along my arms. But the smell of his sweater felt so real. I frown and my eyes flicker to one side of my bed and the other, and I freeze when I spot the cobalt blue sweater tangled in the fabric of my bedding sheets.

My forehead slams against my right hand. Regret sits heavy at the bottom of my heart, causing my throat to shrink.

I shove the sweater off my bed.

"Ugh." I grumble to the void around me.

The aftermath of an anxiety attack tastes like regret, like a heavy ball of hair stuck in the middle of my throat. I regret so many things. The feeling is so immensely big that I may explode with sadness.

I rub my hands together. Then, I try to feel the coldness of the bedding sheets.

Focus on the senses, Sunset.

I take a deep breath, hugging my knees against my chest.

The decisions I regret start playing in my mind, a juggling mess of knives, sweaters, burgers, and kisses. I grumble again, stepping out of my bed.

As I get dressed, the events start flashing in my head: Me stabbing-trying to stab-my brother's tires and openly failing at doing that in front of no other than Lukah. We had dinner together. That wasn't so bad. I whine when I remember the kiss on the cheek. Damn, I shouldn't have done that. And I kept his sweater and slept next to it-like a creep.

And he drove me home, and he didn't freak out with my anxiety attack, instead, he just drove me home. That's really sweet.

I snatch his sweater up, taking the fabric to the edge of my nostrils. My eyes feather shut as I relish the same scent from last night.

Ugh. Stop right there. I mentally scold myself.

This sweater needs to be returned. I slide my legs in my baggy jeans to finish dressing for my first day at work...or whatever that library is. Putting my plaid shirt jacket on, I kick Lukah's sweater under my undone bed. I'll see how to deal with that later.

When I get downstairs, I smile to myself. Everyone has left so I don't have to answer any annoying questions. Raiden-maybe he never got back from Lukah's party. Dad works at a publishing house, where mum used to work. But he's not an author, he just does administrative work-I think. Dawn, my little sister, always leaves for school with him.

This means I can safely embark on my mission for today which is finding out where Raiden hid the cameras in that old, hidden library.

🔸🔸🔸

There was no way in hell, I was driving again-not after last night.

I tuck my corn yellow beanie as I step down the bus. I still can't believe Raiden took so much trouble in doing this. He has always had this weird way of showing love to me. He claims he makes me laugh.

Whatever. This has gone too far-and I'm not laughing.

It's almost midday by the time I storm into the cafe and unlock the door that leads me to the basement. Traffic is crazy in Toronto.

Dust erupts below the soles of my black Vans with every step I take downstairs. I reach the bottom of the basement-library, placing my hands on either side of my upper waist and I look around.

Now, where are the cameras?

I focus on every corner of the room, which is not bigger than my family's living room in Toronto.

Glancing to my left, the desk I saw last time catches my attention. The books are closed, not opened as I left them. And it's tidy, so tidy I can actually see the wooden surface and little, old-fashioned drawers cluttering the upper section of the desk.

I bend, my eyes adjusting to grasp the meaning of the askew labels stuck at the center of each drawer.

"Knock, knock!" A female voice chants from the door upstairs.

"Um, yes?" I look up, puzzled.

The lady looks as old-fashioned as the desk. She takes the stairs and I see her grey, short hair bobbing up and down below the tilted capeline that sits at the top of her head. The tips of her boots sneak out of her long dress as she takes one step at a time.

"Well, Sunset Williams. I'm glad you decided to take the job." She stands before me, her limp, wrinkled fingers interlocked before her.

I chuckle. "Okay. Raiden!" I shout to the walls around. "This is it! You'll go viral with this stunt. Yay for you." I take a turn, still exploring the room for any signs of cameras or microphones.

"Now, cut the crap," I bark loudly, "and drop the whole act because I'm getting really damn angry at everyone involved in this. This!" I shout pointing my finger around me, "this is borderline bullying, and I will revenge the fuck out of you!"

Blood runs thick with anger, coursing through my veins.

My eyes make contact with the lady. Her mouth hangs open and her hand is glued to her chest.

"Mss. Williams," she calls me in an accusing tone. "Your range of vocabulary is much more... straightforward than that of your mother's." A pronounced scowl forms in between her grey brows.

"How do you know my mother?" I ask, shocked that she mentioned her.

"We all belong to the Guild of Authors. She is an author, so am I, and I brought you your first check." She extends her hand offering it to me. A tight smile plastered on her face.

I grab it almost instantly because it's money and when you're in college while also doing other courses, you need a lot of money.

A thousand dollars.

"Yesterday the Bridgerton guys told me that they would pay me five hundred a week." I blink several times. "Like who is the boss here?"

Her cold hand grasps my wrist, but then she quickly lightens the lock and lets her hand drop. "We will pay you one thousand dollars per week if you only follow my instructions and not theirs."

"Okay..." I trail off, frowning. "So, this isn't a prank video?"

"Young lady, my name is Mrs. Woolf. I am a renowned author who is looking for a reliable human being to keep this library and its contents in the order they were left, are you available for this position or not?"

"Yes," I blurt out but only because I'm thinking of the photography course I'll be able to take with this money. So, I will frankly believe anything she may say right now.

"I'm glad to hear that. Now, make sure you respect the rules that were given to you. Your first job is to put all the books in the bookcases, I do not care for any kind of categorization as long as each book is closed in its place. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Mrs. Woolf." I can't help but smile at the books around me, enthusiasm kindling my traumatized soul. My mum would love to know I got a job like this. Dad-well, I'm not so sure he would understand.

She turns to leave and I look around me.

"Sunset?" she calls me, worried.

I look up at her.

"You are not allowed to take any of these books out of these walls, and whatever you may witness here, stays here, that's the only way we can keep the fictional world in order. Is that clear to you?" she remarks.

I gulp.

Am I like a guardian of the fictional world now?

This chick is nuts.

"Yes, ma'am." I salute her as if I was a soldier with the tip of my fingers at my temple.

She grumbles loudly and stomps the rest of the way until I hear the door slamming shut.