Seventeen-year-old Rachel Adams had it all. Wealth, popularity, brains, beauty, the school's hottest boyfriend, everlasting friends and loving parents. Sadly, one tragic incident on the 1st September of 2017 turned her whole world upside down. The s...
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RACHEL
That evening, I found the hot shithead waiting for me in the library. Dressed in a simple pair of black jeans and a wine red t-shirt, he sat on a blue couch in a corner of the enormous library.
He hadn't seemed to notice me when I walked up to him because he was busy digging through the pile of books on the table before him as if he was searching for something.
Noticing the book was lying on the floor by my feet, I sighed before rolling my eyes. Reluctantly, I picked up the book and dropped it on the table, leading his gaze to instantly shoot up to meet mine.
His dark brown eyes met mine and I took a small step back.
Surprised, he raised his eyebrows before smiling. His eyes wrinkled in an annoyingly cute way making me quickly look away.
Still surprised, he continued to smile. "You actually came."
"Had no other choice. Aunt Bella would've dragged me out of my dorm anyway as irritating as she is," I muttered before I plopped down in the couch, sitting across from him.
"I'm staying an hour and then I'm out," I added, absentmindedly fiddling with my black painted nails.
"But Mrs Wilson said three hours everyday," he argued.
"She convinced me to come. That's all she'll ever convince me of," I snapped.
"But," he begun, his smooth voice the slightest of annoying to my ears.
"No buts or else I'm leaving," I interrupted, irritated by him already.
Elliot shot me a "are you serious?" look before sighing.
"Let's start with history. The American history," he informed, picking up the history book and skimming through the pages to find the right chapter.
"I hate history," I muttered, frustrated.
I used love all the subjects before, but now all my motivation had died in just one blink. Getting up from bed was the hardest thing nowadays.
"What's your name? Shouldn't you start by that or should I continue to call you shithead?" I questioned, grabbing a pen and drawing on my hand with it.
"Elliot Waters," he said before standing up and sitting down next to me.
Not very close, but so close that it definitely made me want to smack him. His presence next to me made me feel the slightest of uncomfortable. Okay, very uncomfortable.
