All Aurora ever wanted, was a new life.
A life, where she was able to escape her old world, run from her past self and... Dare I say, fall in love with someone good.
But... As we know, a new life still has its obstacles.
Especially, when it invol...
"I wanted to feel it all; The pain. The heart break. The torture. I wanted to know it all; The touch. The taste. The emotions... Because, I wanted to know what it was like to be you." -Author
*Aurora's POV*
I look back at the door.
A glimpse of Atticus's head with his dark hair hovering downwards and another cigarette between his lips.
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There's not a calm bone in his body... Yet, I keep getting this urge to know more.
Why is he like this... Filled with so much anger and rage?
Glancing at the Principal, I see she's on the phone again and completely induced in her own world.
Is there really going to be another meeting, seeing how this one went?
I sigh, walking up to Atticus and I realise he's deep in his own world, too... Staring down at his boots with a small frown.
God, his face.
Whatever happened must've been really intense. It couldn't have been a petty fight like someone breathing on him... Because, then I wouldn't be alive right now.
My eyes trace down to his lips... The blood trickling down his jaw and damping his white shirt.
He hasn't moved an inch, but he can feel it righ--
Oh wait, I've got a tissue packet.
I fiddle with my back pocket as I try to fish it out.
But, my bag suddenly slips off, causing my hair to get caught in the strap, and I suck in a breath at the pain.
Of course, this happens when you have long hair and a heavy bag on your shoulder.
I grip onto my strap, pushing it upwards.
But, I instantly feel fingers tug on mine, causing me to cringe at the contact.
Obviously, it's Atticus though, with his eyes on my shoulder and the cigarette hanging from his lips.
He's helping again... After, acting like he hated me.
"18 years and you still don't know how to wear a fucking bag." He snaps, roughly pushing my hair back, and he stares into my eyes, as unclear emotions run through them as usual.
Okay, I expected that one.
His fingers grip onto my bag, securing it on my shoulder and I can't help but look up at the blood on his jaw.
"18 years and you still can't speak politely." I mumble under my breath and ignore the harsh words by placing the tissue packet in front of him.
He observes it for a second, before looking at me and takes a step away.
