Turning Sixteen

Chapter 1: The Meeting

Hello people!
I wrote this when I was verryyy young. So try ignoring my grammatical or any other errors :p

Have fun reading!!

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A black SUV pulled up in the street. I knew it was him. It had to be him. I knew why he was here. He wanted to talk about us breaking up. He could have done it on the phone or IM but he didn't want to hurt me. I peeped through the window as he got out of the car and stood there with his hands on his waist. He looked pretty handsome in his shabby chinos, tight skin hugging shirt and his all-time favourite black overcoat than he looked in his Peter England suit on our dates.

He came out of the car, the engine still in ignition. The engine was roaring, but he hardly cared. He got inside the car again, as if he didn't know who lived there. Like he just got out to have some air in. I felt inexplicable pain, deep down which was eating me up. He came out again, to my relief, but this time with a bunch of red and white roses. Why was he so sweet? Which boyfriend brings flowers to his girl before breaking up with her? Michael did. Then that I knew. The engine turned off, and everything fell silent again. For a moment, I felt like I didn't exist. I held my head in my hands, pressing it hard. I got up and walked towards the door, with my heart pounding hard. The bell screeched and I flung the door open.

"Hey!" Michael spoke.

"Hi." I spoke, heavily.

"Umm...Won't let me in?" he enquired, seeing me still like a statue. I smiled like a silly person because he knew me better.

And also because he had already walked in.

I bought two mugs of coffee and a cheesecake for him. He loved cheesecakes with coffee. He sat on the couch looking outside the window at the grass. He told me once, how he loved touching the fresh dew on the grass blades and that just even looking at it made him fill with joy. I sat on the bean bag, holding the warm mug in my hands with my eyes fixed on the hot vapours spreading up from my coffee but my mind wholly concentrated on Michael. I saw the roses, lying beside him.

"What are these roses for?" I asked quite intrigued.

"Oh these," he smiled uncomfortably "Just for someone, Special." His emphasis on the word 'Special' made my head spin. Thousands of questions swarmed in my mind, 'Who is this someone special?' 'Who can be rather more special to him than me?' but none I could answer.

We talked a while about ongoing theatres, Soaps and music concerts which was quite unusual for us. But then some things couldn't be helped, and he left. He left the roses behind, too. I don't know if he left them or just forgot them, I didn't bother to ask. Though I almost burst my head pondering about it.

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