Living alone has some perks, let me tell you, but I must admit I think there are also many cons, one of which being that living in the cheapest apartment possible means having a broken door and dodgey neighbours, who have on multiple occasions tried to break in, which means constantly feeling unsafe and therefore means leaving at 6 every morning (which may I add, means I get to school hours early and have to occupy myself in the local bakery working when I'd much rather be asleep) as to not have to bump into anyone who might try and get in your house before you can make sure your door is securely closed and locked.
That leads to Tuesday morning, 6:05AM, balancing a coffee in my hand and attempting to slam the door shut as hard as possible and it still refusing to lock! This is driving me up the bloody wall. I am honestly on the verge of growling at this beastly thing - I mean, who makes their doors like this? 'Clearly someone looking for money who thought the job would be easier than it seemed,' I muttered to myself. And, for your information, no, I am not schizophrenic, I just happen to talk to myself on a regular occurrence.
'Need some help there?' A deep, attractive voice murmured behind me. I squealed and turned around, chucking my coffee at the person in the process, fully expecting to see one of the building's own pedophiles, but instead I came across a, now coffee soaked, beautiful, chocolate eyed boy who I recognised as Atlas Hawthorne, my sixth form college's known bad boy. 'Atlassss!' I sang, trying to come across as cool and like I, in fact, did not just lob my coffee at him.
Instead of answering me, he just peered down at me from his I'm better than you height (also known as very frickin' tall, he looked to be about 6'2, maybe 6'3?) and then looked back at his shirt, now wet and clinging to his gorgeous abs, and then back down to me. 'Whoops! I am so sorry! I thought you were going to try and take me away,' I admitted, trying to come across as reasonable, and then realising I probably sound like the creepy one for knowing his name when he definitely has no idea who I am.
He just stands there, glaring at me until he finally speaks, 'why the fuck would I want to take you?' Haha! My life story! 'You just spilt hot coffee all over my clothes, even if I had planned on 'taking you away' I wouldn't want to now anyway,' he huffed out.
Despite how harmful his words actually were I keep on smiling, not blaming him because if someone had chucked coffee on one of my many gorgeous clothing items I would most certainly be fuming and booming too.
'Again, I am so sorry, would you like to come in? Clean yourself up a bit? I mean you can have a shower if you'd like but then you'd smell like me which would probably be weird? Unless you enjoy smelling like hibiscus and peaches? Which is totally fine! I mean whatever floats your boat, amirite? My cousin once fell down a ditch and absolutely reeked of forest, but said he liked the smell. Who wants to smell like a forest? He also broke his ankle that day!' Atlas continues looking down at me, this time with a slight smirk as I realised I just rambled about him smelling like me, and then my cousin falling down a ditch. Dammit Olive be normal why don't you?
YOU ARE READING
Close To You
HumorOlive Matthews is an innocent, sweet and energetic 16 year old girl who lives alone, works at the bakery and reads in her free time. Atlas Hawthorne is the boy everybody knows for coming from the dark side of town, he is mysterious and only ever in...