amsterdam ( central cee )

5

I'm convinced my feet are bleeding right now. My toenails are probably hanging on by a thin piece of skin and it's all my own damn fault. I knew I shouldn't have worn those heels.

Alexia had ditched me after cocktails for the block party. The party I was seemingly too overdressed for. I didn't mind not going, because my feet were crying for help and rest.

The walk from the bus stop to my flat is twenty minutes. I should've thought about that before I left. It's currently two at night, London is still as busy but I don't care if anyone thinks I'm a crackhead right now. I hold myself against a wall and peel off my shoes. No more Milf heels for me.

Somehow the cold of the pavement is comforting. It feels like I can breathe again. Slow and uncomfortable steps carry me past a kebab shop. The fluorescent lights of the opening sign flicker. I sigh. I could go for a good doner box right now. I look at my bare feet and doubt hovers above my thinking. I'm really hungry. But I'll look like a crackhead. Annoyed, I throw the heels back on the ground and wiggle my feet in them.

I nearly cry when I walk inside and I'm relieved to fucking sit. I order my doner and scroll a bit on Twitter, ignoring the lingering feeling of someone staring at me. It's the silhouette on the table to the left of me. I noticed it when I had come in but I'm a little too tipsy to pay it any mind. The urge to look is growing, even when I pretend to be busy. When I finally do look, a spark shoots through me and I smile drunkenly.

"Done pretending ya haven't noticed me, now?" Cench's little brother smiles at me. I'm much warmer than I was before when I let out a breathy laugh.

"I'm sorry-- I didn't see ya." My English comes out rocky. I hate when that happens.

"No worries, you're alright," he says, poking at his fires with his plastic white fork. I join him at his table and he places his phone on the table. When I sit I let out a shallow breath of relief.

I hitch my feet up the chair and kick the heels right off.

"Hurting?" He asks, with a smile like my pain is funny.

I nod desperately. "I'll throw them away the second I'm home." I huff again he laughs like it's funny.

"You're alright?" I've learned that this is the way to ask one how they are doing in this country.

"Yeah, just had some drinks with my friend." My food is set on the table and I could cry happy tears. I grab the white plastic fork and begin to stuff my face. "But she ditched me for another party and honestly I don't mind."

Bushybrow is looking at me from beneath his lashes, his face stuck in a mask that almost looks at me mockingly. I don't mind. Actually, I don't care... I'm eating good and that's all that matters.

"Imma get sum' to drink. You need some?"

I peek my head to look over the counters at the fridge that stored all the drinks. "Can I get a Fusetea with the yellow cap please?"

He grins like he knows more than he should and gets our drinks. I'm stabbing into the box catching fries and pieces of meat and thank him for the drink. I grab my purse for some money but he shakes his head.

"You good." He sits back down and leans against the wall and kicks up his feet on the empty chair beside him.

"What's up with you people not accepting money," I say with my mouth full, probably very unappealing cuz he chuckles.

"I can live with a pound less in my life," he shrugs. "Not a big deal."

I think as I chew, maybe a little too loud. "Your brother is the same way. A little too generous if you ask me."