Iris Callum never fit into the constructs of society. Since she was a little girl, she was always known as an outsider, whether that be in school, at home, or in daily life. Even though it never really bothered her that she was different from everyo...
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***Matteo Marwood***
***Iris***
We still had a couple of hours before we would have to get to the concert's venue, when we walked into the small coffee shop just around the block labeled 'Coffee Casanova' in brown and white writing. Much like the former place the rustic wooden sign hung from above the door, the bell ringing as we entered.
We got a few looks from the people in the cafe as we passed by, nothing out of the ordinary considering where we were from.
Ignoring the looks of curiousity and disdain we got into line at the counter, ordering our ice coffee's before taking a seat at one of the tables in the back of the country-styled coffee shop.
"You don't think this is too much?" I asked her again, looking down at my dress as the cold met my legs from the brown leather seats.
"No. You worry too much." She giggled, taking a sip of her Ice Caramel Macchiato.
My back was faced away from the shop's front door, while Ginger was seating across from me. So, when another ring of the bell was heard, and Ginger almost choked on her drink at the same moment I whipped my head around.
Now, at the front of the line as he ordered a drink was a six-foot tall man with pale skin, adorned with a multitude of tattoos covering numerous patches of his body. His black attire dark brown hair and light blue eyes made him look almost ghostly as it contrasted against his ivory skin.
He was definitely good-looking, Ginger's type, but I had never seen her so flustered over anyone like this before. Her cheeks were pink as she starred at the man from afar, her mouth slightly agape.
"Do you know him?" I asked, looking in between the two.
She looked frantically in between the man and me frantically, stuttering out noncoherent sounds before finally answering. "You-you seriously don't know who that is?" She whispered, still staring at the man. I looked to her confused.
"That's Matteo Marwood." She was astounded that I wasn't yet putting the pieces together. But I know that I would have definitely remembered a name like that.
"He's the drummer for the Black Doves." It was apparent that her excitement was boiling under the surface. Now it all made sense. I recalled countless time of her going on and on about 'The Black Doves' drummer, as she had a minor obsession with them.
Despite listening to their music tirelessly, I had never seen what any of the band members looked like. They were a fairly new upcoming band, and for the past few months, besides for schoolwork I didn't have access to a computer or most of the internet.
My punishment for supposedly damaging my father's car, which really, I had nothing to do with. It was my stepbrother Carson who was really to blame. I ended up taking the fault because of endless threats that he had sent my way.
