Jawbreaker ❆ Tom Kaulitz

[ 12 ] On the Clock

   

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12. On the Clock
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I'm not sure how five minutes dwindled into forty, nor do I know why I'm still waiting in this fucking library. Once again, I've found my eyes fixed on the entrance, eyes trailing each head that comes through the doors for those ridiculous inky braids. God, he needs a haircut badly.

My phone is pressed up against my ear while Alba comes up with a million different theories as to why he hasn't shown up yet — my personal favourite is the one where he's been hit by a bus. Even the mere thought brings a small smile to my face.

A girl can dream, right?

                "What if he's dead?" Alba gasps dramatically into the phone, and I roll my eyes in response even though she can't see me.

                "Then let us celebrate," I reply sharply, tapping my manicured fingers against the apple of my cheek, my elbows resting on the table in front of me as I keep my gaze locked on the front entrance.

                After a brief moment of silence, I mutter a quiet, "Godverdomme (Goddamn it), I'll drag him out of bed if I have to. See you later."

                I hang up the phone, snap my textbook shut with a quick bang (earning another very pointed look from the librarian) and shove it back into my bag, quickly packing up my things so I can go give that repugnant braided fuck a piece of my mind. "Asshole doesn't respect my time," I mutter to myself, swiftly pushing my chair away from the table and making my way out of the library.

                The heels of my knee-high boots click obnoxiously against the dampened pavement as I charge across campus and back towards the dorms. My unbridled rage charges the pace of my feet when I reach the door, shoving my key inside the lock with great force and turning it before marching up the stairs.

                Before I can even stop to think about what I'm doing, I find my feet firmly planted in front of Tom's room; fist raised, ready to knock the door of its hinges.

                Fuck being polite.

The door swings open and smacks against the wall and suddenly I'm yelling, throwing my arms up in the air. "Where the fuck have you been, huh? I was waiting for you! Do you have any respect at all?"

My blind fury fades as I hear a high-pitched squeal followed by a loud thump and my eyes snap towards the source — a girl wrapped up in a navy blue bedsheet, blonde hair dishevelled, lying in an incredibly awkward position on the floor beside the bed.

                I drag my eyes upwards towards the bed and they're met with Tom's — like a deer in headlights, and he actually looks frightened. I'd be proud of myself if I wasn't so pissed.

                I simultaneously realise that this is the first time I've actually seen his room (let alone been inside it), and it looks just like I expected; clothes strewn across the floor, dirty dishes on the desk, at least six empty plastic water bottles dumped on the bedside table.