False Start [#1]

O 4

C H A P T E R  O 4
sausages and tequila for the win

I want to be alone, without feeling lonely.

I want everything, and nothing at all.

I want to feel full, but can't help the thought of missing the emptiness.

These are the shitty kind of things I think about while standing at my kitchen island, eating a sausage I just cooked, straight from the baking tray.

No cutlery to eat with or dish to eat off, necessary.

My Tequila on ice is still freezing, and delicious beside me. The undercounter lights are dimly lit, and the night sky is my view for the evening, along with a sountrack being the crazy New York traffic.

I roll my eyes when there's an insessive knocking at my apartment door. Storming forward, I make sure to check who's there through the spy hole before grunting with an attitude when I swing it open.

"What're you doing here?" I demand instead of greet.

Huxley stands there, sopping wet from the autumn showers we've been graced with tonight, blankly staring at me with those mesmerising blue eyes.

My heart begins to pound against my ribs, and my fingers on the door tremble a little.

"Hellloo?"

Instead of answering, he frowns, wiping away the droplets from his forehead before slanting his body to slide around mine, and sauntering into my apartment.

"Hey!" I yell, going after him. "You can't just barge in here, I could've had company."

Hux stops in my little kitchen, looking around the cooked meal - that's not dished out - the condensation wrapped glass of Tequila, and the quietness that comes hand in hand with the lack of lighting, all before he drags his eyes, studying me, from my birds nest of a bun, sitting on the top of my head, to my basic girl leggings, Lane's Giants hoodie that basically buries me, and my one ankle sock clad foot, a stark contrast from my other one that's bare, and thankfully is looking pretty with freshly manicured toes.

I still want to die.

So much for dressing like I have my shit together.

"Yeah, looks like you've got your hands full, Mallie." He drawls sarcastically. "Drinking, and eating alone?"

Pushing forward, I begin to clean away my mess as I grumble out a snarky, "No shit, Nancy Drew."

There's a heavy footstep behind me before cold, wet heat hits my back, sending the hairs to stand on end. Goosebumps prickle my arms, and shivers run down my spine.

I should've kicked him out already. I never should've let him in, I could've screamed, yelled, demanded someone call the police because he's trespassing.