duh duh duh
i should shut up now
but i can't!
I'm so confused as to how I can have
a whole bunch of reads on one chapter,
then the next one half that many,
then a whole bunch again the next chapter.
ALSO! Wattpad just deleted half of this chapter... god damn it.
anyway, love you. L. XXX. X.
I opened the door to my flat. Well Harry and Lou's. It was mighty friggid today. I shut the door, went to my room, and randomly chucked things in my bag. The rain was pounding against the window, making the world look magical. And dreary. I grabbed a raincoat, and was at the door, but turned around and decided to leave a note.
I'll be off visiting my mum for the weekend.
Lots of Love,
That should do it. I swung my bag on my arm and set off. I did the city walk down to the station. Head down, jacket and bag pulled close.
I hailed a cab.
I sat down.
I checked my phone.
I looked out the window.
I stared at the range rover next to me.
The window was down and the driver was jamming out.
I looked closer.
It was Harry.
I leaned to the other side of the car.
I pulled up to the station. I payed the cabbie.
I got my bag from the boot.
I walked in.
I stood in a que.
I flashed the lady my ticket.
I walked to the station.
I sat on a bench next to a homeless man.
He got up.
A few minutes later a business man sat down.
The train pulled up.
I got on.
I found my seat.
I put my bag up top.
I popped my Ipod buds into my ears. I put the script on. Before the worst started telling me that it's been a while since Danny O'Donahue and I have talked. I checked my phone. No messages. I guess they've missed my note.
I turned my phone off and slipped into the pocket of my rain coat. I stared out the window, watching london whizz by to be replaced by the green english countryside dotted with sheep.
I love looking out the window on trips. You can't really do it on airplanes, because it gives you no sense of direction, but in car trips and train trips it's fun to see the rest of the world. Finally, the doors swung open. I popped up to grab my bag, and ran out. I was at Dover proiry.
I bought myself a turkey sandwhich and shoved it in my face. I was starving. Jeez. After I've finally chomped down on the last piece of rye bread, I was ready to face the worst. I got on a bus. I sat down. Yay. I turned my phone on again and checked it. 26 messages, 5 calls. Did they even find the note? I got to my stop and hopped off.
This is it. I took my bag and strode up the block of townhouses sandwhiched together. This was my neighborhood growing up. I stode up to a very familiar pale yellow grey one. I reached for the key off my key ring. I stuck it in the lock, turn, swung the door open.
The house was of course void of people. My mum would be at work as a lawyer, and my dad would be at uni, giving a lecture. I stode into the livingroom which would have needed a good dusting if my mom didn't hire a maid to come every tuesday.. The white carpet, after twenty something years still white, not out of extreme caution but of lack of use. The sofa, cream colored and plush, where my dad slept some nights, when my mom was actually home. Two busy bodies.
They had hired a nanny for when I was little, Amanda was her name. Then they fired her when she was ten and sent me to boarding school in the year and camp all summer long. I only saw them for a few odd weeks here and there, and holidays. I flicked the lights on so It wouldn't feel so cold in here, even if the boiler was working it's tail end off to heat an empty home.
I put my coat on the rack. I trode into the kitchen, and opened the fridge. There were... a full loaf of bread, a jar of pickles, and some tonic, surely paired by my dad with gin. I took some pickles, and crunched on them, feeling the coldness of it burn my teeth, the sourness tease my tounge. I opened some curtains. Make it look like someone lives here. I used to. My parents used to. I think.
I took the trash out, even though nothing except some plastic cups were in it. Out back, in the alley, is where John Daley first kissed me. I smiled. That was when I was on a school break. I guess it was kinda wierd to the kids on the block to have me be gone, get tall, narrow, muscular.
Some were fascinated by my "Dedication", Iike moths are just begging to know if fire is edible, they tried to corrispond with me during the year. John was one. He was pretty cute. I wonder if he still is... then I remembered the undread messsages, wieghing down my pocket like a rock.
I walked inside, choosing to ignore them. I went upstairs, feeling the abandonedness of the floral wallpaper screaming at me, begging me to stay with it, asking why everyone leaves it. I feel like telling it that this hasn't been my home since I was ten. That they can blame my parents for that. But then I'd be talking to wallpaper. I finally walked into my cringingly white room. The white bed, made as if from a 5 star hotel. The white dresser, who's sole obect to bear was a vase full of wilting white roses. The empty white closet. The small white rug, and flowy white curtains. The only color radiating from this room was the so-pale-it's-practically-off-white pink walls, and the deep dark brown floorboards. I threw my bag on the bed, and flung the curtains open, revealing the street, so full of life and color, and decided I couldn't, just can't, deal with this anymore.
I ran to grab my coat, flung it on. I ran out the front door, and the pouring rain attacking my hair with heavyness, as if to show it, it show me, you can't escape everything.
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