Opposites attract, they say. Although no one knows how when they collide, they might just end up combusting in a thousand flames.
[full summary inside]
Copyright 2021 | bookishbronte
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"THE FLIGHT TO AMDTERDAM scheduled to depart at 3:45 has been delayed." Of course it is. "We request the passengers to head back to gate six until the further call for boarding." Well, I'm not in the mood to abide by your so called request. "We regret any inconveniences caused." No, you don't.
Pulling my knees to my chest, I sip on my tepid latte while Princess Nokia's newest album plays on my air pods. Unabashed, I slurp the last of my drink and scratch away the red spots on my tan neck disguised by my six dollar crew neck, because a partially unemployed/ partially freelance content writer can't afford anything past Walmart's last of the best.
A vague yet painful reminder that all I– a phd in literature and apparently a best seller in Scottsdale Barnes and Noble stores– have written in the last six months, is a eulogy for my ex landlord's aunt.
He considered it as a compensation for two months' rent and kicked me out right after her wake, three days back. Homeless in Paris is not as pretty as an eighty's film would depict, and more when you've got to hide it from your overtly critical parents. Born ambassadors of Arizona, they bet five hundred dollars I would come running to them within a year of chasing after my juvenile dreams. I could really use that money, to be honest, but I have got more pride than that, surprisingly. Although, it's slipping away quickly and the only hinge holding it up and above is this trip to Barcelona.
A pleading look at the flight schedule only earns me a flashing 'delayed' in red block letters, and an exhausted sigh. Two exhausted sighs, I realise when I pay attention.
Discreetly averting my eyes from the embarrassing slouch of my jeans, I find what Paris could never deliver. Believe me, I've thoroughly looked out and around during my brief stay, and boy, have I been disappointed. Although, it seems the situation's rectified itself and how. Sleek jawline, thin frames on top of baby blue eyes, and messy noir hair falling on the forehead, he's got that hot intellectual look you only read in books about.
I gawk at him, and incessantly at that, until a certain scent shatters my rose glazed glasses.
What seems to be rum, contained in a transparent palm sized bottle, goes guzzling down his throat in a matter of seconds. Starry eyes turn into daggers, my huffing probably louder than the airport's announcements. One of his eyebrows quirks, his head slowly turning towards me while the bottle's still swinging in his hand.
"Do I know you?" I continue staring in sheer annoyance. "Cathleen? We met at Ryan's farewell on Saturday?" He's got the cockiest smirk plastered on his face, and I feel deep regret for all the Cathleens in his life. "No, wait, that was his bachelor party, and it was a month back. Maria!" Snapping his fingers, he presumes he's emerged victorious. "Wow, you're really unrecognisable out of that bunny rabbit costume. Although, to be fair, we didn't really spend much time looking, so-"
