dimples (wyatt oleff)

CHAPTER FOUR

( CHAPTER 4 )

" all your intentions ! "

I sulk around for the next week. My Aunt has asked me what was wrong a total of three times.

The first, when I met her at the shopping alcove, my tears mixing with the rain water that had soaked me to the bone. "What happened, darling?", her manicured hand to her chest as she pulled my shaking body to hers. I was shaking too much to answer.

We rode to her home in silence, her Jeep turning sharply on the hilly roads. I was too tired by the time we got there to take in the little house, with it's yellow walls and front porch. Too tired to take in the little kitchen and tabby cat running behind the sofa. I was tired enough to fall into the guest bed, soaking wet, as I closed my eyes. I just wanted that dreadful day to be over.

The second, when my Aunt took me out to shop for the guest room. She sent me off to find a bed spread as she strolled away with the cart. I wandered down the aisles, my hand drifting across the plastic coverings of bedspreads and blankets, zoning out. I hit the end of the aisle and turn into the next, my feet pattering on the floor. I stop once I turn, my breath catching in my throat.

My eyes focus on his hair. The curls, the same brown curls that left me heartbroken. I saw them shift, my brain processing in slow motion. My eyes widen as I realize he's turning towards me, my feet moving fast to pull me back into the other aisle. Before I lose him from my sight completely, my blue eyes connect with his hazel orbs. I see them flash in recognition before I turn around completely and run down the aisle.

"Layla!", I hear him yell my name, but the wind rushing by my ears soften the sound. I run through the maze of aisles and displays, my hair whipping around as I dodge other customers. I don't stop running until I hit the double doors at the front, pushing through them. The tears fall as I stop to catch my breath. "Layla?", I hear a distorted voice through my pain, "Layla, what's wrong"? A hand touches my shoulder, scaring me. I whip around to see who was behind me and come face to face with my Aunt. Her face immediately softens at my tear stained cheeks. We left without another word.

The last time, she found me sitting on the porch with the tabby cat. The porch swing being propelled by my sock-covered feet. I stare into the distance, watching the rolling hills of lower Hollywood, my hand rhythmically stroking Oliver, his tiny mews bringing a smile to my face. I felt the swing shift a bit as Aunt Jean sits beside me. I feel a soft hand on my shoulder.

"Layla, dear. Are you ok?", she asks softly. I turn to face her concerned eyes. I give her a weak smile as I nod. "I'm just homesick", I murmur, looking back down at Oliver. We sit together until the sun set.

Of those three times, I never once told her the true reason. Always, "I'm just homesick", or "I don't know". But never the truth. Never that it was a curly haired boy with hazel eyes and a dimple. Never that it was because of someone I'd known for a total of three hours. The true reason.

My mood soon rose. The day I had been waiting for had come. I was going to attend the set of the film I was writing a soundtrack for. I had been so excited when I first arrived, now I wasn't as sure. I was hoping it would take my mind off a certain...someone.

On that morning, I got up to the shrill beeping of my alarm, and get dressed. I ate breakfast and actually attempted to put a smile on my face. I grabbed my songbook and my bag and stepped out the door feeling liberated. I was ready to pour my heart into what I loved. My Aunt gave me a quick pat and her car keys. She waved at me as I hopped into the Jeep. I smile as I drove down the winding roads to the movie set.

I finally reach the tall gates of the film property. I show my badge to the security and pull in to see two large warehouses beside a grassy area with four staged houses. I look at my text messages from my agent. She told me what my schedule is for today. I am going to get to know the cast a bit and watch some scenes to get a feel of what the soundtrack's theme should be like.

I step inside the nearest warehouse to see a few different sets. I walk through the maze of rooms until I reach a little office near the back. The sign on the door reads 'Director', so I knock. "Come in" a gruff voice responds. I step inside and close the door behind me. A desk is in front of me, with a computer and stacks of paper. Two chairs sit in front of the desk, and a row of file cabinets adorn the back wall.

"Hello", Martin McDonagh, the director, says, "Nice to properly meet you Layla". He sticks his hand out to shake, and I accept. "Pleasure is all mine, sir. I was a big fan of your previous work, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri" I say with a smile. "Well, I'm quite a fan of your work" he says before sitting back down. "Now, let me just print you a schedule of what scenes we are doing and a rough outline of the movie plot", he mumbles, his computer keys clacking. The printer behind him starts to whir.

I am about to ask where I could put my stuff, when a knock sounds on the door. "Come in" Martin says, turning to grab my stuff from the printer. I turn as the door starts to open.

"Yeah, I was just wond-" a familiar voice rings through the room. The door opens fully to show a boy with curly hair and hazel eyes. His face is mirroring mine, shock, and a little bit of hurt.

"Wyatt"?

06•07•18
authors note |
             hello! can't believe wyatt
              turns 15 a week from
              the day this was written

update: yo i'm posting these for anyone who still loves this lol wassup

status | rewritten
unedited