Chapter Text
9:06 AM
All the regular bad decisions had been said and done: Gabi pierced her nose, and then she chopped her previously mid-back-length hair down to a chin-length bob, and then she dyed pink streaks in it. She even went a little crazy and gave herself a stick-and-poke tattoo of a swirl on her wrist.
So really, she was out of the stupid choices people usually make when everything is falling apart. It's not her fault. She shouldn't have had internet access at one in the morning anyway, and her mother really should've known better than to give her a debit card with €1000 for emergencies. And how many times did she insist that she didn't want to get her driver's license?
Anyway, she's in Manchester now, stumbling through the airport with nothing but wired earbuds, her phone, and her wallet.
Wait, she forgot her charger. Shit.
She checks her battery as she stands outside the airport, rude busybodies pushing past her shoulders. She makes the tight, screwed up face she sometimes makes when she's thinking about saying something but ends up holding her tongue. Sure, she'd heard that London was one of those bustling cities that never sleeps, but Manchester?
Actually, that's New York. What's London again? The city of sex?
Her phone is at 82%, which isn't bad. She'll just have to make it last 'til tomorrow morning.
She takes in a deep breath and sucks up the courage, rushing past the sea of people taller than her toward the edge of the sidewalk outside the airport and hails down a cab. She's climbing into the backseat and pulling her seatbelt on when the driver asks her where to. "Um, Chorley, please," she says.
Chorley is one of those towns Gabi had never heard of, but in all fairness, she's from a city most people have never heard of. She'd chosen Chorley the night before completely by accident. She just opened up a map of England on her laptop in the middle of the night and, through bleary eyes and slightly shaking fingers, sleepily pointed to a town at random.
She really shouldn't have been driving last night.
The driver nods, switching back into drive. "Anywhere specific?"
"Um, anywhere's fine." She says "um" a lot, a habit she just can't seem to shake. Gabi looks up at the driver once her seatbelt has been clicked in, and instinctively her eyes cut up to the left. But she's in the UK now. She blinks in surprise, and her eyes promptly follow to the right. "Like a park, I guess?"
The English are so weird.
–
Her lip feels weird from sucking it in between her teeth and chewing on it so much. She's used up another 10% of her phone battery on the 40-odd minute drive down from the airport to avoid real human contact with the driver, even though she figured this middle aged man probably wasn't banking too hard on making small talk with the nervous teenage tourist in the backseat.
The car pulls to a stop on the curb in front of a park in a quaint little town. "50 quid," the driver says.
She pockets her phone for the time being and pulls out her wallet. "Oh, yeah. Do you accept debit?" she asks, fishing her card out. From here, she can very well see the built in card payment device on the dashboard.
The driver reaches over and taps the screen rather roughly. "Sorry, it's broken. Cash only."
Her face falls, and she feels the coil of nausea instantly tightening in her gut. "Oh." She searches her wallet frantically, even picking at the tight corners where 2 cent coins normally get lost as if she'll magically find pounds despite having never step foot outside of the EU. "I'm assuming you don't accept euros?" she laughs nervously.
"No," the driver replies gruffly.
It's not like she has enough money even if he did, anyway. She's got 10 euros and 47 cents. She doesn't know the exact conversion rate from pounds to euros, but she's pretty damn certain 50 pounds is more than 10 euros and 47 cents.
She bounces her leg anxiously, black ballet flats with the little bows at the top tapping incessantly against the car floor. She gulps, followed by an awkward laugh, "Is there an ATM nearby? I—I swear I'll be back, I just need to withdraw the money."
The driver isn't amused. He sighs heavily, pointing out the windshield. "There's an ATM over there. Take a right, between those two buildings."
She nods, unclasping her seatbelt. "Yeah, ok—" She's reaching for the door handle when the driver holds up a hand to stop her.
"Leave your phone. Collateral," he orders, placing his palm out flat between the front seats.
She huffs, slapping her phone into his hand. "Yeah, whatever." She climbs out of the car.
There's a cool October nip to the air now, even though the sun's out and it's nearly 10 in the morning. She's heard all about how England is always cold and grey and gloomy, so she isn't too surprised. She's dressed as weather-appropriately as she managed at one in the morning, running on assumptions gathered from internet comments and coffee she doesn't like to keep her awake. She stuffs her hands into her pockets and pulls her puffy brown leather jacket closer together over her white, lacy babydoll top.
She hops over a puddle, the hard soles of her flats clanking against the ground. The road is rain-slicked, gentle sunlight catching in between grooves in the gravel, shimmering. She walks up, glancing between every building she passes. She's biting her lip again.
If she's being honest, Gabi didn't actually understand the directions the driver gave her. She didn't catch where he pointed, or the buildings he was on about. She has no idea how far she's supposed to go before she takes a right, and there's loads of little walkways between all these buildings, but she's too embarrassed to go back and ask. It's already bad enough that she wasn't prepared to pay, but going back and admitting that she didn't pay proper attention when he was giving her directions? Absolutely not.
When she figures she's walked up far enough—which really just means, when she's gotten embarrassed enough about the driver watching her from the car—she takes a right and wanders in between a corner store and an apartment block.
She's stumbling around a street of pavers now. She stands in the middle, glancing from one wall to the other. She . . . doesn't see an ATM. She spins around, almost tripping on her own two feet. Nope, no ATM on this side either. Um . . . what the fuck? Is it farther up the road? Farther down?
She glances across the street to the either side. Maybe it's over there. Did he say left or right? Right, he said take a right. Or maybe left. Or maybe he said take a right but he really meant take a left. Or maybe right and left are different in England—
"Excuse me?"
The voice comes from behind her.
Gabi jumps, twirling around on instinct. There's a boy standing there. Light brown skin, thick black hair, dark eyes, and he's looking at her like he's confused, eyebrows raised.
"Are you lost?" he asks. His British accent is thick. "You look lost."
She blinks. Gulps. "Um, yeah. I was looking for an ATM and there's one nearby—well . . . I don't know that there's one nearby but the driver said there was, and I need to withdraw money to pay because the card machine is broken and—"
The wide-eyed, lips-parted look he's giving her makes her rambling stop short, and she retreats into her big jacket. "Do you know where the ATM is?" he asks slowly, pulling her lips into a tight line.
The boy takes in a deep breath, as if absorbing the information. Honestly, he was kind of distracted by how pretty she is. "There's an ATM around here, yeah. Just not on this road, unless you go all the way up—" He twists his upper body to look behind him and point all the way up the street, then turns back to her. He juts his chin out toward the road. "The closest one here is a bit further down."
Gabi's face is prickling with heat for no reason in particular. It's embarrassing that she has to ask a second stranger for directions, she thinks, no matter how illogical. Most social situations are embarrassing for her.
She doesn't ask for clarification on how much further down "a bit further down" is. No, she sucks it up and accepts her faith to wander around aimlessly in a Chorley neighborhood in pursuit of The Lost ATM™ until she's inevitably arrested for theft, or evading payment, or whatever the legal term is. "Oh, ok. Thanks," she says. She turns on her right foot and starts up the street.
"Do you want me to show you?" he asks, making her stop mid-step. He laughs softly. "You just . . . still seem a bit lost."
She doesn't turn to look at him, and she drops her eyes to the ground. "Um, yes please," she admits quietly.
"Yeah, alright." He touches her elbow as he comes up behind her, making her finally break her stare away from the floor and up at him. He cocks his head forward. "Come on," he says, She follows him out.
It turns out the ATM is only three buildings down. The walk is short but quiet. Gabi keeps looking away, the boy keeps looking at her. When she hops up on the little platform and sticks her card in, he stands off the side and watches her side profile. The way the light catches in her glasses, and the way her pink and brown hair fans in front of her face. The slope of her nose, and the curve of her lives. She's really pretty.
She accepts the conversion rate, collects her money, and steps down as she's putting it all away in her wallet.
The boy steps forward and gives her his best smile. "Hey—"
"Thanks," she says quickly and all but runs away, keeping her head down.
He watches after he, doesn't make a move to follow her, even though he really wants her number.