The Exchange Student, the Pop Prince and the Raffle Tickets

Chapter Thirty Six: Never joke about free cocktails..

I know I've been away for a while but I have a couple of chapters written down and fingers crossed you won't be disappointed.

Thanks for sticking by me..!

Lauren =D

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Chapter Thirty six 

Thinking of them being in someone else’s arms hurts my soul

 But I know it can’t be helped…

 My soul will forever hurt, forever burn

 It will never mend…

Kristen lent against the doorframe while I tried to ignore her and concentrate on Bindi’s notebook.

“She doesn’t want to be found. It happens. This woman left her three kids behind one day and didn’t return. It was on ‘Who do you think you are’…”

“That’s really not helping.” I spoke slowly re-reading Bindi’s passage. Red swirls and underlines were all over the photocopied paper.

I hated reading what Bindi was going through without me even noticing it. I should have noticed it.

“You’ve looked in America, you’ve looked all over London, your room is a mess and you look even worse. Please, don’t take this the wrong way but, I just don’t want you to get your hopes up. She’s gone.”

Kristin was talking so much bullshit I was about to punch her.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m about to punch you.” I growled at her.

“Fine but when she turns up in a cemetery…”

“GET OUT!” I threw the plate I had lying about at the door where she disappeared.

I hadn’t even thought of death certificates. I had decided that if I didn’t find her in the next week I would go to the police even if they already had her in file.

Kristen poked her head around the door. “Look, the reason why I’m even here is because it’s your bloody birthday next week and we have a tradition to uphold. TGI’s at eight.”

I stared at Kristen thinking she was joking. When I asked her if she was in fact joking she laughed at me. She would never joke about getting free cocktails from the TGI barman she replied.

 *

After I finished my early shift, I took the train up to London trying to find some way of getting hold of death certificates for homeless people. Police or the council had been my first thought but as I still wandered London streets, it didn’t seem like Bindi was dead. There was something inside of me that said she was alive. And in London.

I had spent another day looking for someone who just didn’t want to be found. But I was going to find her.

I wandered the back streets of London thinking that somehow I would stumble upon her just by luck.

I saw a crowd gathering around something that I couldn’t make out. So I jogged towards them, my heart racing thinking that what I was about to see was some sort of sign from above.

I excused myself into the heart of the crowd only to see everyone look up on a wall that had been graphitised. I studied the graffiti closely, it was a ‘Banksy’. There in front of me upon a wall was a drawing of a boy graffiting and underneath him was an oblivious policeman. Everyone was laughing, commenting and enjoying the art work. I smiled a little to myself seeing the first thing in what seemed like months that bought hope back into my heart.