medicine {h.s}

01

Isabella Prescott

I was running through the streets of London. In my hand I held a cardboard box with a few plastic cups of coffee that I was supposed to deliver to my mother's company on time. My heart was pounding like crazy from the exertion. My white trainers rhythmically hit the pavement. I ran fast, but carefully. I preferred not to end up with my face on the pavement and spilled coffee.

I apologized to anyone I bumped into with a quick 'sorry' and kept running. I couldn't be late and show her that I don't even know how to come on time, which of course is true because I'm a latecomer.

I started to run out of air. I could feel my throat getting dry. I had to stop for at least a minute. I started to slow down and glanced at the watch on my hand. It was after three o'clock. I was late anyway, so I slowed down.

Staring at the tips of my shoes, I walked toward Linda Prescott's company. My heart still hadn't formed its rhythm. The hand in which I held my coffee shook slightly. I always got like this when I got tired or nervous. And now I was nervous about meeting my mother because, as she wrote in a message, she has a job offer for me and an idea to spread my wings. She claims that I am an angel who has not yet developed my wings. However, she will help me to spread them and fly to the stars.

My mother and her farmhands.

She has always planned my future. The daughter of the great Linda Prescott, singer and fashion designer, she should follow in her footsteps. Many people always told me they envied my mother, but when they spent more than an hour with her, they got a headache and changed their minds.

And what am I supposed to say when lately I've been spending more time with her than I should.

Still staring at the tops of my trainers, coffee in hand and head in the clouds, I bounced against something hard. The plastic coffee cups fell out of my hands, hitting the ground and spilling.

Just not that.

I lifted my gaze and was met with green irises. Those irises were magical and familiar, and angry at the same time. I immediately looked at something else. At the huge, brown, stain on his white shirt.

Fuck.

''Watch how you walk.'' He hissed, closing his eyes and raising his hands slightly in the air. He was from here. His English accent said so.

Green eyes stared angrily at me. The white shirt, which was now brown, was unbuttoned from the top, three buttons down, and rolled up at the sleeves. Tattoos were visible through the thin material, covering his torso, arms and even his hands. His brown hair was in total disarray, a few unruly curls falling across his forehead. Sharp facial features and a clenched jaw. I had a feeling that I'd just messed with the wrong type. But I recognised him from somewhere.

''I-iii...'' I stammered while looking into his eyes.

Those eyes are damn familiar.

''You what?'' He muttered with an audible sneer in his voice.

''I'm sorry. I'll pay you back...'' I started.

''Since when are we on a first-name?'' He raised his eyebrows and I felt a wave of heat hitting my face. I took a deep breath in and out. I clenched my teeth.

Oh no buddy. Now you've raised my blood pressure.

''I will give you the money back.'' I growled through my teeth with emphasis on the second word. The boy snorted and walked past me, hitting me with his shoulder. ''Asshole.'' I muttered under my breath.

I hoped he heard that.

I sighed and crouched down by what was left of the coffee. I threw the soaked cartons into the nearest bin and with a strenuous step, I headed towards my mother's company.