Ch. 2

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Sorry for the long wait, but got absorbed by the other story I write, "Fire and Ice".

So here comes ch 2 and I hope you'll like it: let me know and please, pretty pretty please, vote comment and whatever you feel like! Thank you to read it!!

It's dedicated to fronno who game me the first vote here: thank you!

Pic of Alice on the right --> Nikki Reed

Hopefully I'll update more today!

Cheers



-EMMETT POV-

“That idiot” I hissed at myself, while watching my reflection in the mirror, which reflected back a red and painfully bruised cheek. “If I see him again, I’ll make sure to return the favour.”

I knew well I wouldn’t do it, what was the sense of taking it against a brat of what, 17 or 18 years? It was pointless and a major pain in the neck, nothing for me. And the less I got involved with people, the better. That punk had the typical troublemaker look and I didn’t like the way he smirked and checked me out. It sort of gave me creeps and his eyes were too restless and slinky.  

I washed my face with chilly water and then applied a balm, hoping to minimize the bruise. In school they are peculiar about marks and bruises on teacher faces and it’s pointless to explain them you got it while fucking playing some sport. Argh, what a pain in the ass. I shook my head in annoyance and marched in the living room.

My apartment was ok, nothing too fancy or too strange, a pretty normal apartment in the Docklands area of Dublin, where apartments were new and so didn’t have that stinky and old carpet on the floor or ridiculous dusty covered couches and curtains. I had to furnish it myself, what a pain, but I did it and I chose all simple pieces of furniture, easy to keep and to clean. Well, I got someone to help me with the cleaning, because I was hopeless there and given my lazy ass attitude I would live in a constant mess. I had the lady come over when I was in school, to avoid to meet her and have some boring and useless conversation on the weather and a cup of tea.

Oh my God, tea. Why they drank so much tea?

I was a coffee person, black long burning coffee.

Weren’t the Brits supposed to drink gallons of tea? Man, here they drank more tea than in England and for sure more beer. Fuck...way more than gallons of beer.

Well, they had a great beer, that was true. One night I was in a particular bad mood, let’s say worse and gloomier than usual, a sort of whiney and pitiful bad mood. Whatever, I just ran down into town and closed myself in a pub and got so blasted with just beer, and probably a couple of rounds of vodka before, that I don’t even remember how I managed to pay everything and got back home. I cursed myself the following day, because I spent the entire day in bed sick and throwing up in a plastic bag right there, too destroyed to walk to the bathroom. I got headaches for a couple of days after that.

Drunk for beer, not anymore. That was certain 150%.

I wondered what people thought of me when saw me wobbling like a old dude. Must had been some pathetic view.

Whatever.

I slumped on the couch, no alcohols anywhere near a mile, and turned on the DVD player. Yesterday I recorded a game between the Chicago Bulls and Los Angeles Lakers. I used to play for one of them, then I moved to another team and got that stellar contract and decided to fuck up everything.

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