And then, she laughs.
A beautifully melodic sound of amusement that bubbles from her lips.
As she bares her sharp teeth, the corners of her pink lips quirk on either side of her flushed cheeks.
The usual dark forest in her eyes brightens with warmth...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Nathan Cole
The sky was looking its finest with the pink-orange tints. Golden rays of sunshine peak through the clouds, shining in on the mundane city. Daybreak was my favourite time of the day; peaceful and serene.
Loud, shattered glass, alcoholics, and anything but serenity.
Rubbing my jaw, I push away the vision before walking over to the booth and unlocking the door. My eyes narrow when I notice the parchment on the floor, turn it over in my fingers, and realise it's an envelope.
The track never gets mail apart from invites, fanmail, and weird stalkers.
I switch the lights on, the warmth of the lamp lighting up the room as I open the letter.
A funeral invite.
I let out a heavy sigh at the stupidity of spam mail we get and I'm about to toss it in the bin when a name catches my eye.
Amelia Gates italicised and in a bolded font.
The girl whom I used to work as a bodyguard for and the girl who died in the shooting just a few days ago.
Amelia was anything but mean; nice, warm-hearted, and practically the Princess Diana of our generation. Her beauty was blindingly beautiful: olive eyes and freckles splattered across her pale skin. Hazel curls that sat on her head, always untamed, but gorgeous.
As a bodyguard, you can't get involved in their personal life. But then again, I'm glad it's that way.
I wouldn't want the heartless monster that lives in me to crush her heart.
"Nathan, you're early."
I turn my head, noticing my sister standing in the doorway.
"Cora." A warm smile ghosts my lips as she walks over to me. "You know that girl who I used to work for? Amelia? The one who died recently."
She nods, her sharp eyes narrowing, and looking at the card in my hands.
"We've been invited to her funeral. I don't know why, I was never that close to her. Besides, Parker was accused of her murder."
"Parker." My sister scoffs, rolling her eyes and leaning against the table. "God, if only somebody framed her and she actually would be jailed. That would be a miracle."
I smirk slightly, raising my brows in surprise. "She has a whole ton of nerve."
Cora laughs, nodding her head in agreement. "It's hilarious. Thinks she's bad just 'cause she knows the Chief Constable."
The mahogany in her eyes, the soft lips that always rest in a tired smile, or the wooden hair that cascades down her shoulders. That glimmer of innocence that rims the pupils of her doe eyes. The scar curls around her collarbone like a snake.
