ANGIE
✧ ✦ ✧
One can only imagine the sleep I'd gotten that night, or lack thereof. Every time I closed my eyes, I'd think of the look on my mother's face when I'd dropped my bomb. Then I'd think of the conversation I had with Oliver and the niggling I got in my chest.
All in all, it was a long, restless night.
So it came as no surprise that I woke up late the next morning. Any other day, I'd see no problem with waking up at 12:56 in the afternoon. However, on this particular day, I happened to have a scheduled meeting with none other than Oliver Harding.
For 1 pm.
I flew up, but I did it with such a start that I flew right off the bed, banging my knee on the hardwood floor. There was no time to stop and dwell on the pain since the fall had already taken a solid ten seconds away from my nonexistent time.
I grabbed my toothbrush and started brushing as aggressively as I could. While that happened, I scoured the mess that was my closet. Quickly I realized that I was only wasting time because my brain couldn't process any of my clothes.
A glance at my clock told me that I wasted two whole minutes in my closet and I immediately decided that I had no time to bathe.
I showered late last night, after that dreadful dinner, but that also posed a serious problem since my hair accidentally got wet. So, it was now a frizzy disaster and I had absolutely no time to straighten it.
Halfway through gargling water in my mouth to wash away the toothpaste, I remembered that I still hadn't packed my bag.
Having spit out the water into the sink, I ran back to my bedroom, picked up my bag and dumped all of my books on the floor.
I let out a groan to the ceiling when I realized that my bag already had my FACS book in it. Begrudgingly, I picked up the book and stuffed it in, aggressively zipping up the bag.
My time had run out, so, I grabbed the first thing I saw in my closet, which happened to be a hideous blue jumper that my mum had bought me when we moved here.
I shuddered but pulled it over my silk nightie nonetheless. After picking something so tasteless, I reached for a pair of gorgeous blue chelsea boots.
With my bag in one hand and the shoes in the other, I raced through my house. Ignoring the calls of my parents, I rushed out of the front door. Hopping on one foot on the sidewalk, I tried to put my shoes on.
I cringed, hating to have to wear my boots without socks but that was the least of my troubles.
Taking a deep breath, I started sprinting to the right. Oliver said that he lived two minutes away from me and he'd be waiting on the sidewalk.
I tried to breathe a sigh of relief when I saw Oliver in the distance, but my lungs chose to wheeze instead.
I finally reached him but collapsed on the concrete. I lay spread starfish, doing my very best to bring air into my lungs.
"Angie?" Came Oliver's confused voice.
"No, Shakespeare!" I panted, trying to get to my feet. "Obviously it's Angie."
With one hand on my hip and the other trying to get my hair out of my face, I stood facing Oliver.
"You have no idea what just happened to me. I literally woke up four minutes ago, I think I bruised my gum brushing my teeth and I didn't even shower. Ugh, I feel disgusting."
I huffed, rolling my eyes heavenward as I finally acknowledged what I was wearing.
Realizing that Oliver hadn't said a word yet, I looked up at him only to find his eyes fixated on my face.
I cocked my hip to the side and folded my arms, now realizing that I had to tilt my head a bit to look up at him. I've always been in some sort of heeled boot around him, and now that I wasn't, the height difference- whilst not drastic- was still noticeable.
"I know that I'm not up to my usual standards but there's no need to look so horrified."
There was no discernible expression on his face and I knew I looked bad, but to render Oliver Harding speechless...
I snapped my fingers in front of his face and he jumped. His confusion drew a giggle out of me as I pushed my hair behind my ear once again. This is why I straighten it all the time. I simply couldn't control it in its natural state.
And since I dyed it such a light colour yesterday, there was no mistaking just how messy it was.
"You know this is all your fault, right? I only look like this because I wanted to be early. Showing up late wouldn't exactly show my dedication to our new friendship, no?"
"Uh, no? Wait yes- uh..."
"I'm sorry, did you just wake up too?" I laughed, basking in the fact that for once, Oliver is the fumbling one.
He placed his fingers against his forehead, looking to the ground with a sigh. Finally, I took in his attire and of course, he was fully put together.
He wore a cream jumper over a collared white shirt and black chinos. It was simple enough but with the white, designer trainers on his feet, the look elevated.
"Why are you so dressed up?" I asked when I realized I'd been staring at him for too long.
"Why are you so dressed down?" He countered and I had to roll my eyes, though the smile on my face dulled the impact.
"Good afternoon Angie," he greeted properly, as he offered to take my bag and then slung it over his shoulder.
"Good after- my goodness is that your house?" I gaped, tilting my head back to take in the architectural masterpiece.
"Well I am standing in front of it," he stated sarcastically.
"Now there's the Oliver I know, I almost missed him for a second there," I laughed aloud, following his lead up the pathway to his house. "Really though, your house is spectacular."
It was one of the larger ones in our neighbourhood, though not the biggest. However, it was most definitely one of the more beautiful ones.
The contrast between the grey stones, the black paint and the massive glass windows was simplistic but beautiful, and well complemented by the overall design of the house.
"Do I have to take off my shoes?" I asked as we reached his front door but started doing so nonetheless. He'd pushed the all-glass pivot door open, and I kept my excitement in.
I was a sucker for modern technology, and from what I've seen so far from the doorway alone, his house was full of it. My admiration was cut short when his mum approached us, looking as graceful as ever in a pair of well-fitted wide-legged trousers and a sleeveless, mock-neck top.
"Hi Angie," she said, pulling me into a hug. "I'm so glad you made it. Might I just say, you look absolutely adorable in that slip dress."
It's my nightie but if queen Lorelei says it's adorable, it's adorable.
"Hello Ms Harding, it's nice to see you again."
She slung her arm around my shoulder and led me further into the house.
"Darling please, call me Lori."
I tried to keep the gaping to a minimum as I took in the interior of his home. The dark theme of the exterior followed through inside, coupled with extremely minimalist finishings. Towering curtains were pulled back, allowing streams of light to pour in through massive glass windows.
Even then, the house was barely lit and still felt sombre. So I could only imagine what it looked like with the curtains closed.
The floor plan was completely open and I loved how it all meshed so well together. And even though everything in the house was dark and seemingly bare, there was a warmth to it.
As though the house was well lived in, if that made sense. It wasn't just for show.
"I hope you're hungry," she announced, pulling me past the plush grey couches and to the dining table. "I made brunch."
There wasn't an inch on the table that wasn't covered in some sort of platter of food. Now I knew where that fantastic scent was coming from.
"Well, I woke up six minutes ago so I guess I could eat," I answered, trying to keep my inner cavewoman at bay.
She giggled skipping over to the seat that Oliver had pulled out for her. I was about to sit down but he came over and pulled out a chair for me too.
I thanked him quietly, not used to such chivalry, from Oliver of all people.
They bowed their heads and said grace and I sat respectfully, waiting for them to finish.
As soon as they did, Lorelei started filling my plate with as much food as it could hold.
"Forgive her, she's been up all morning cooking," Oliver whispered to me as he leaned over to grab a croissant.
Flattered that someone had taken so much time to prepare something just for me, I allowed her to put a mountain of food on my plate.
I didn't know which would be ruder; the fact that I could eat all of it, or if I chose not to gobble down all of it like a starved woman.
Apparently, Lorelei owned a few restaurants so I listened attentively as she talked about the food she prepared and the food served in her restaurants.
It was honestly the best food I'd ever eaten in my life and I made sure she knew that. My dad could cook but he couldn't hold a candle to Lorelei. Harsh, but oh so factual.
I told her that I was now a regular at all of her restaurants and she dismissed me, saying that I could just come over whenever and get it right from the source.
I was halfway through my second croissant when Lorelei addressed the elephant in the room.
"I'm truly sorry about Oliver's behaviour with you this last week, Angie." She shot him a nasty glare and I fidgeted in my seat as he bowed his head sheepishly. "Please, find it in your heart to forgive him."
"It's fine, Ms Harding. I'm sorry for throwing noodles on your son and for uh... my behaviour last night," I apologized, my cheeks growing red as I remembered how I acted in front of her less than twenty-four hours ago.
"It's Lori, dear. And no need to apologize. Oliver deserved it. Plus, no offence, but your mother is quite the character."
I snickered as I took another bite of the heavenly, custard-filled croissant. At least I wasn't the only one who saw that the woman was nuts.
"How about we try to forget about everything that happened? We need a clean slate, yes?"
Oliver nodded immediately as she turned to him and then her stare fell on me.
Can I forget how disrespectful Oliver was to me? No, never. Do I want to move forward and try to build a friendship with him, all for the sake of his mother's croissants?
"I'd love that, Lori," I grinned, contented at the excited smile that grew on her face.
"Umm, mom? Angie and I should get started on our project. May we be excused?" Oliver spoke up, after clearing his throat loudly. I'd never seen him so nervous before and it was clear that his mother had him on tight reigns.
She narrowed her eyes at him for a couple of seconds before turning back to me with a broad smile. "I'll package up some food for you. Don't forget to take it when you leave, alright."
I wondered briefly if she had a split personality with how quick she went from looking like she wanted to kill her son, to exuding nothing but warmth.
"Yes, thank you Ms- Lori," I corrected, and her smile only grew larger as she stood up. She shot Oliver another glare as she walked away from us, disappearing down the hall.
Oliver's shoulders slumped as he pushed his chair back and stood up.
"Is she still angry at you?" I asked, treading lightly.
"I don't want to talk about it," he answered immediately. It wasn't gruff or rude, he just didn't want to talk about it and that was fine with me.
"No problem, sorry for prying," I replied before finishing off my croissant in two bites. I grabbed two sandwiches as Oliver went to get my bag on the couch and then nodded for me to follow him.
Walking a few paces behind him, I marvelled at the simplicity and functionality of his home. There was absolutely no clutter, nothing was there for decoration and it all served a purpose.
"Your house is absolutely beautiful," I told him, meaning every word.
He muttered a thank you before he pushed open a sliding glass door and ushered me in.
What awaited me was nothing short of a student's fantasy. An entire wall was covered in shelves from the floor to the ceiling and filled to the brim with everything a student could need. It was so tall, there was a sliding ladder attached to the structure.
From textbooks to thesauruses to glitter glue, he had everything.
It made what I brought, a broken pencil and a notebook, look highly insignificant.
Much like the rest of the house, the room was extremely minimalistic. It held a certain appeal and it was all because it held so many different ambiences that seemed to mesh so well together.
In one corner, there was a conventional desk and chair. In the middle of the room, there was a hanging, wooden swing. There was a wooden bench etched into the wall, with a matching desk in front of it. There were even beanbag chairs on a fluffy grey carpet.
For every mood and every mode of study, this room had the setting for it, and I could see Oliver hard at work in any one of them. Even the swing.
I imagined his lanky self sitting on it, swinging slowly as he plotted his next range of insults.
"This room is perfection," I finally said, wandering further in as I finished my last sandwich. I plopped down on the massive bean bag chair and I giggled aloud, feeling as though it swallowed me whole.
"Thank you, I designed it myself," he answered, walking over to the curtains on the other side of the room. He pulled it open and bathed the room in natural light.
The bean bags were sat right in front of the massive windows and it was almost as if I'd transported. Now I felt like I was outside in his garden, relaxing on a cool summer's day.
"You designed it impeccably," I complimented, truly impressed by what he'd accomplished with this room. I settled into the bean bag further, closing my eyes as I basked in the sunlight.
"Well I needed a haven to do my work and my bedroom just wouldn't do. So my mom gave me this room and let me renovate and design it. After all, I am the studying type."
I peeked one eye open.
"Was that a joke?"
"Why? Did you laugh?" He replied, a smirk on his lips.
I bit my lip to keep my snicker in. Oliver told jokes now.
"So, where do you want to sit and work?" Oliver asked, pulling out some things from his shelf of wonders.
"I'm already here mate," I sighed, rolling over onto my stomach as I got even more comfortable. I imagined every surface of Oliver's house felt as comfortable as this bean bag.
"If you say so, but do know, I call this spot the Procrastination Zone," he said, plopping down on the one next to me.
He placed down a laptop, a notebook, a pen and my bag on the carpet.
"I'll take my chances," I replied, though the sound was muffled by the grey fur. I thought I heard him laugh, but ignored it.
"So, where the hell do we start?"
I begrudgingly got off the bean bag and sat in front of him on the carpet, grabbing my bag and pulling out my FACS notebook.
We began discussing the specifics of the assignment and what could be the best course of action.
Quickly, we realized that he wouldn't be too helpful in the research aspect since he claimed he wouldn't know where to start. After he showed me his notes from class, I understood why.
Luckily for us, I'd been sketching up a lot of ideas. I was embarrassed to show him my notes after seeing how immaculate he wrote and organized his. He barely had anything useful, but the little he had was impeccably written.
On the other hand, my notes looked like chicken scratches and you could see that my mind was all over the place as I wrote.
My biggest problem has always been organizing my thoughts and knowledge. Everything is right there in my brain, I just have a hard time comprehending and relaying it.
"You write like a four-year-old," he said as soon as he opened the book. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment and I coughed awkwardly, holding my hand against my forehead.
"I'm sorry. That was mean, wasn't it? It's a cute four-year-old, I swear."
His frantic apology had me giggling uncontrollably.
"You don't have to walk on eggshells around me, you know. I can take whatever you dish out," I responded, folding my legs Indian style.
"Oh yeah? The last time I dished, I ended up with teriyaki sauce on my favourite shirt," he reminded me as he rose a single eyebrow.
"Right... I forgot about that," I sighed, acting as though I really did forget. Without realizing it, I found myself staring at his face, a silly grin on my lips. He returned it.
Catching on to what I was doing, I cleared my throat and brought our attention back to the task at hand.
He spent some time trying to read through the sloppy mess that was my handwriting and when he finally got through it, he said that my ideas were really good.
I shouldn't have felt as great as I did because that came from someone who couldn't care less about the subject. But the validation was welcomed.
Finally, we decided on a birthday party for a fifty-year-old aristocrat as our event.
Next, we had to choose a manner to present our work. Oliver claimed to be good with computers so we agreed on a PowerPoint.
My job was to give him ideas, tell him everything we needed to do and he would organize it and turn it into our PowerPoint.
To do that, we brought out his whiteboard and I would write down what I knew and Oliver would translate it into something sensible.
I was genuinely surprised by how well we worked with each other. I'd have my halfway idea and I'd scribble it on the board, feeling frustrated at my inability to communicate. But Oliver would somehow understand what I was trying to say and it was so incredibly refreshing.
So, for the next hour, that's how we worked.
He quickly proved himself right, Oliver was a master on a laptop. His fingers moved swiftly and fluidly over the keyboard and I learnt that he knew all the functions, so he hardly even needed to use the touchpad.
It was fascinating to watch him work. He was laser-focused, never once getting distracted or straying away from the task at hand.
I brought up the fact that we still had to learn all of this work since Mr Holden technically didn't teach us any of this, he only gave the assignment. Oliver just called the man a waste of space and then claimed that he'd already memorized all of the information whilst typing.
Some of us didn't have his abilities so I started trying my hardest to learn it whilst we worked as well. It's a hard world to live in when you're an idiot like myself.
I'd already finished my tasks and Oliver had the bulk of the work completed. Now, he was just doing the finishing touches by adding pictures and animations as well as improving the graphics of the presentation.
My brain was fried from trying to absorb all of that information so quickly and the mere thought of all the homework I still had to complete when I got back home.
So, I laid down on the fluffy rug and stared out of the window. I filled my mind with useless thoughts, trying to steer myself away from the pending headache.
From where I lay, I could make out an impressive treehouse, cleverly woven between the branches of a tree and my mind filled with images of a young Oliver, letting his imagination run wild up there.
It was hard to envision Oliver as a child
The sun hit me square in the face as I pushed my hair behind my ear. It kept coming loose, so I sat up and began braiding it.
Halfway done with it and my fingers starting to cramp, I looked up to find Oliver's ever-inquisitive eyes on me.
I was unable to look away from him, caught up in a trance maybe. With no makeup, no fishnets, no boots and my hair in a French braid, I sat in front of Oliver refusing to look away from him.
I sat bare and vulnerable in front of him, and in a way, he was too. Without his uniform, without his sweater vests and his signature glare, Oliver sat bare in front of me.
We were unabashedly taking the time to look at each other, really look at each other and I wondered what he saw.
"What do you see?" I asked without fear.
"What?"
"What do you see right now? First I was Barbie, and then I was Mother Gothel. So tell me, what do you see right now?" I clarified, and he laughed, leaning back as he brought his hand to his chin.
The action was so simply seductive that I forced myself to avert my eyes.
"I see Angie, the real Angie," he answered.
"How could you be so sure?" I wanted to ask. I didn't even know who the real Angie was. How could he claim to see her? But he sounded so sure of himself, that a part of me had no choice but to believe.
"I'm finished, come see," he said, sparing me from having to come up with a reply. He patted the spot next to him on his bean chair and of course, my heart stuttered.
The chair was more than big enough for two people so I didn't understand why my mind was making such a big deal out of this.
I sat down, my entire left side plastered against him and I chose to ignore the thumping in my ear.
He scrolled through the presentation and I was unable to hold back my commendation. For the first time, I felt pleased to have Oliver as a partner. He was skilled, I couldn't take that away from him.
"Oliver this is amazing," I praised, leaning over his arm to click the next slide.
Suddenly, Oliver's hand wrapped around my knee and my breath hitched at the explosive concoction of pleasure and pain that erupted.
I looked up at him immediately, only to see that his eyes weren't on me at all.
"What happened to your knee?"
"My knee- oh," I whispered, now seeing the massive, blue-black bruise on my knee. I also saw the sharp contrast of his cocoa skin against my milky complexion and I could physically feel myself grow lightheaded.
"What happened to your knee, Angie?" He repeated sternly, not exactly helping my hazy brain.
"Fell, I-uh... fell, yes. I fell," I stammered, remembering my little accident this morning with the bed and my floor.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure," I said firmly, finally regathering my bearings. "I was rushing to get here and as soon as I woke up, I tripped and fell on my knee."
Looking up from the ugly bruise, I found his face mere inches from mine and just like that, I lost my bearings again.
Being so close to him, I could truly appreciate just how brown his eyes were. There was no hint of hazel, no black, just a ring of milky chocolate.
Coupled with the sunlight that fell on his face, his eyes were like pools of the darkest honey and I'd fallen right into that sticky, saccharine trap.
"Stay here, I'm going to go get the first aid kit and an ice pack." I could only nod as he spoke, his breath hitting my lips. I could still smell the strawberries on his breath, the ones that he had during brunch.
Delicately, he rubbed his thumb over my bruise and stood up, his face tight with concern.
I melted into the chair as he left, unable to comprehend what'd just happened.
I didn't know who this Oliver was but one thing was for certain.
I didn't trust him one bit.
✧ ✦ ✧
major aesthetics dump for this one...
firstly, oliver's house
oliver's outfit...
and the rest of angie's outfit...
^the blue in the nightie was off so I couldn't use it
anyways guys, heyyyy
I feel like I kind of have bad news today but it's not really bad news at the same time
I plan to hold off on publishing for a while so I can edit more chapters
And no, the book isn't on hold, or on hiatus or discontinued... I literally have up to chapter 37 written and there are about 45 chapters sooo...
It's going to be completed lol
It's just that all those chapters are unedited first drafts and I figured, the more I can edit, the more frequently I can publish
So it's all for you guys in the end and who knows? If I manage to edit a load this week, we can be up and running by next week
I love you loads and please have a great, safe week!
❣︎
DORIS