Fix me|| HS

Chapter Six

Have you guys seen the movie The Age of Adaline? Omg I really love it. Such a loving and tragic story like jajjnasnjs

Anyways I hope you enjoy

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Violet

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I blushed, blinking a few times as I looked at the woman in shock. I didn't know how to respond-- I mean I'm in the middle of this woman having some fun with Harry.

I gulped as I felt my cheeks heat up even more as she smirked down to me with her arms crossed.

"You still a virgin?" She asked out of the blue.

"Excuse me?" I chocked out, and that made her smirk grow even more. Her eyebrows went up into a peak, as she scanned me from head to toe. I covered my chest with my jacket because of the uncomfortable look she's giving me.

I turned to my heels, and I started to walk away, but she stopped me by grabbing me by my forearm.

"Wait. Do you want to join us to make a threesome?" She bites her bottom lip, and I swear I almost slapped her.

"Eww no! Now leave me alone." I yanked my arm away from her grip.

I quickly walked towards my apartment door, and as soon as I heard footsteps behind me, I closed the door as I got in my place.

I pressed my back against the door; trying to progress what just happened. As seconds passed, I felt my heart regain its heartbeat back to normal.

"I need some coffee." I breathe out to myself, and I walked in the kitchen to prepare myself a cup. Black coffee always calms my nerves.

How am I going to face Harry at work tomorrow? I bet the girl is laughing about me with him right now.

How dare she ask me if I'm a virgin, and if I wanted to be part of a threesome! What if Harry heard everything? Dear lord I'm so embarrassed now.

I took long sips of my black coffee; the rich bean taste coated my tongue with a sharp- yet pleasurable- taste of bitterness.

I didn't always loved coffee, I actually despised it until I turned twelve. In my twelfth birthday my mom opened her very own coffee bean shop. She would sell all sorts of coffee beans from around the world. Beans that would come from Europe, Mexico, Brazil, and many other countries.

I remember having to open the shop at five in the morning sharp, not a second before or after that time. I loved hearing my mom tear open the sacks that the coffee beans would come in; the rich thick smell polluting the oxygen around us.

I loved digging my fingers in the sack, having my hands buried in the huge pool of coffee beans.

I grew up with the smell, and I grew up with my mom always having her black cup of coffee every morning; she never missed a day.

I once asked my mother why she only liked black coffee, she smiled and answered, if you like something then you have to like the actual thing, not the added flavors and fantasies in them.

I knew my mom meant that if you actually love coffee, then you should like it pure, and not turn it into crap by adding sugars and cream; what will be the point of coffee, if you're not completely drinking coffee? But sometimes I felt like her saying meant more than just some coffee, I think it had more meaning than that.

Then my mother changed. She sold the shop when I was twenty, and never told me why. At first I thought it was because my father's business started to get more successful, and she didn't have to work anymore, but it just didn't make sense that she gave up on what she loved.