Chance | b.w.s

Chapter six

It took me a while to collect myself after the mini heart attack I received upon reading those numbers. Luckily I had found them in the presence of just myself because I was not prepared to explain what had happened to neither my mum nor Millie.

It had been about twenty minutes, every second consisting of me wondering over and over about what I should do. I haven't told a single soul meaning I have no aid or opinion on whether I should ring it or not.

If it is brads number then he would have given it to me to use, right? It wouldn't have been an accidental action, it was purposeful.

Maybe it was someone playing a trick on me, maybe Mia had somehow for some reason while I was sleeping, slipped the piece of paper out of my jean pocket and wrote a random phone number down. No. Mia would never do something like that, even for her-that's too far.

I closed my eyes and willed myself to calm down. My heart was beating at a vigorously concerning pace and the adrenaline coursing through my body was beginning to tire me. I felt over the moon but simultaneously worn out. All these events taking place was too much to handle in such a short space of time, but believe me, I was certainly not complaining.

My fingers held a steady shake as I stared down intently at the piece of paper that had single-handedly allowed my dreams to come true. What should I do?

I felt an uneasiness in my stomach and knew I wouldn't be able to carry through a phone call to brad, just imaging the beeps signalling the dialling would be enough to make me put the phone down, never mind hearing his thick voice at the other end.

This was no doubt one of the most compelling yet indecisive situations I'd ever been in, I knew what I wanted to do but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. If he answered what would I say,

Oh hi I'm the fan you gave your number to

Great conversation starter.

But instead of thinking about what I'd do with the phone number, my mind wondered over to why I had it in the first place. Does he give his phone number to every girl, or just the ones that swear a lot in front of him. Maybe he thinks I'm pretty. Of course he doesn't, maybe he felt sorry for me.

Either way, I don't mind what went through his mind when he began writing his number down, all I care about is that it's in my hands and I have the power to reach him.

I, a simple old boring fan, have the access to call Bradley Will Simpson, and I've never felt so powerful...

**

It was just reaching an hour now and I was still lying in the same exact spot on my bed, with the note still held gently in my hand.

Despite the length of time I'd been sat taking in the overwhelming situation I was currently in, it seemed with every passing second a new butterfly was gently allowed into my stomach, talking it's turn in fluttering around delicately.

I put my head in my hands, careful to keep the note safe and not screw it up, before letting out an almighty sigh followed by a giggle. I'd never felt like this before. My emotions were so messed up they were nearly impossible to read. I felt nervous, anxious even, my mentality not liking the huge decisions I've been having to make recently due to huge actions that have willingly taken place, but I also felt giddy, a thrill of excitement and child like happiness on a constant course through my veins. It was exhausting yet exhilarating, I questioned whether I was close to passing out.

There was never a time where the focus of my mind was not on the number. Thousands and thousands of questions were flooding my thoughts, each individual desperately trying to be the centre of attention in order to get answered. But there was no point trying, none of them could be answered seeing as in order for the correct response to be given it would've had to be given by him. Bradley.