Bad Boy Brad

1

I decided to change Armelle's character from Gigi to Jordyn to switch things up a little. I'm saving gigi for another story so sorry for any confusion.

P.S. This will probably be the longest chapter in this whole book so please don't expect the length of them to be over 2000 words x

published// Saturday 6th January 2016

edited// -

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»ONE«

Bad Boy Jake

Armelle:

"I'm so sorry but you're not the kind of tenant my husband and I are looking for." Said the old blonde lady who was sat in the seat opposite mine - or well, what could have been mine. Her brown eyes grazed over me, with distaste as she placed down the phone, on the glass dining table, which she had used to call her husband.

It's cause I'm black isn't it.

She probably thinks that I'm going to steal something, which I'll assure you I wasn't thinking of doing or planning on carrying out. Ughk, stereotypes.

"Is it cause she's black?" Asked the boy who sat beside me who was hesitantly dangling the keys to his new home on his pinky, as if he was ready to drop them if the lady replied yes. He got here before me and I didn't pay much attention to him as he appeared to be much older; not like the student I was expecting to meet. So I assumed that he had either finished uni or had dropped out - and this flat was supposed to only be for student accommodation, and didn't care to see if he was a threat.But seeing as he was basically sticking up for me, I turned to look at him to only notice how cute his was, he had a sharp jaw and golden locks of curls that scattered themselves across his forehead which were no longer than past the tops of his ears. Judging but how the lighting made his hair shimmer,  I'm guessing that his golden locks would probably tickle if you hugged him, which is what I wanted to do right now for sticking up for me. Normally in our area, racism would just be brushed of like the trash that the street cleaners picked up, so it was rather refreshing to see a person who is not of colour stick up for a person of colour.

The lady sat quiet, only to look down at her hands, but her face didn't seem to wear an expression of guiltiness or shock despite the accusation that was openly said. I knew it. Well, it wasn't like it was unusual to find a racist where I lived

"Well then I don't want to stay in a place where I know that my landlord is openly racist. You'll understand when you decide to grow up." He then lobbed the keys at the baffled old lady, who was still silent, and signaled for us to leave. At first I hesitated to leave, as he is a stranger and from when I was four and up until my mother's death "stranger danger" was beat (not literally) into my head (She'd always remind me that I was her only child), but then again... what good was it to stay here? So I got up and went to grab my coat and bounded out the door after him.

And I followed him down the stairs and to his car.

He took out a cigarette and began to smoke it, which surprised me at first since on first glance, he looked like when he was in school he did his homework and got good grades, but then as soon as he took of his jumper to replace it with the coat he got out from his car, I knew that he was anything but the goody two shoes that I had originally type cast him to be. I couldn't help but stereotype him which was the one thing I should have learnt by now to not do. His arms were laced in sleeves of ink, which probably shared a thousand and one different meanings and or interpretations. I couldn't help but stare in awe as I had always wanted one but a) grew up in a Christian family home which told me that tattoos weren't good and b) had never liked the sight of blood - one of the many reasons why I couldn't fulfill my childhood dream of becoming a nurse.