Park Benches (EDITING)

eight

eight

 

Charlotte POV

 

            It had been an entire two weeks.

            Twenty-one whole days.

           Louis had not even attempted to contact me in any way. There had been no texts, no calls, or e-mails. (Even though I hadn’t given him my e-mail address. I still expected something!) I know that there was a standard 72 hour before you called them. Or is that only if you wanna go on a date? I never completely understood that rule. Although, I highly doubted there was weeks wait to contact that girl you ran into at the park.

           I could hardly believe it had been two weeks; I had done absolutely nothing. Well, I wouldn’t say anything. There were less blank pages in my journal than before; I had also begun to decorate my bland flat into something more fit to my style. There were picture frames everywhere, but with poems I adored and possibly even written inside.

        The flat was spiced up and romanticized by little white Christmas tree lights. They practically floated around the room, falling from every angle and dancing around any object that crossed their paths. During the night, when the sun was sinking and the moon was rising, there was a brief moment of breathtaking beauty. The sky was lit with an array of colors from the sunset while the little white lights danced largely against the walls. To me it seemed magical. That was my favorite time to write. 

           Unfortunately, I wouldn’t be around to see that tonight. Tonight was the night Aunt Erin was supposed to check up on me. She was my mother’s sister and she would keep her word, but she kept it more casual. This was more of a meet up than a checkup. We would catch up during some sightseeing in London; on the phone she’d told me I had to actually see the city. After that I’d return to her house for dinner, apparently she’s making my favorite. I had no idea what she thought my favorite food was, but I didn’t care. A home cooked meal would be heaven now; I’d been having frozen foods for days.

           It was almost time to leave; I had to catch the subway this time. Actually, I believe they called it “The Tube.” I always found the translations rather interesting. Using American words made me feel so distasteful and foreign here. Whenever the chance came to use new words I jumped at the chance. Of course, I watched my tongue, not wanting to make a fool of myself.

           The Tube station was fairly farther than the bus stop was, but I didn’t mind. The weather was bearable today; the sun was shining at full blast yet there was still chilly breezes pushing through the streets. My cardigan was hanging lightly over my bag, waiting in case of an unforeseen wind gust.

           The Tube station was unfamiliar and a tad bit scary; everything was thunderous in my ears. Everyone was in a hurry and lively, while I was a lost little girl looking for her mum. I found the train with no trouble, since I had written the route number on my palm. A minuscule mob pushed onto the train, pulling me with it. The car was emptier than I thought it would be; I actually had a seat. There were two people near me, a worn out old woman and a business man. Neither of them paid me any attention, so I took the liberty to write. My hand pulled the journal from my bag, being careful of my cardigan. The book fell open to the ripped page, but I skipped to the next fresh page.

            His eyes darted around with an artificial smile plastered on his face. Where was she? She was already twelve minutes late! “Brian!” A high-pitched squeal pierced my ears from behind; my hand stiffened against the glass cup as I circled on my heels. Surprisingly, a rather exquisite red head stood before me with a devious smirk on her face.