kiwi

two (james)

Her eyes are... indescribable. They look like they are trying to trust me, but at the same time, she wants to beat me up. Her eyeliner is pretty. I usually don't like girls like her. Gothic girls hadn't ever caught my eye the way that this girl had. 

However, when I turn my head to get another look at her, she's gone. Where could she have gone in twenty seconds? I was going to go and talk to her, but I actually couldn't bring myself to it. For the first three minutes that she was at her table, she was yelling at this guy into a phone. I felt bad for the guy. She clearly wanted nothing to do with him. 

I look on her table and she's left a mess. She left her to-go cup and a book. I didn't think girls like her had time to read books. I look out the front window to try and locate her, but she's nowhere to be seen. I rush away from my friends, to her table, and grab her book. As I run out of the door, I look around and I see her storming off to my right. Is she actually stomping down the street? 

"Hey! Girl! Hey, you left your book!" I yell behind her. I continue running and she finally stops and turns around. She's got a frown carved into her beautiful face. Did I just call her edgy face beautiful? No chance. 

"You... forgot your book," I pant as I finally catch up to her. I should probably be working out more. She looks like she could burst into laughter at any second. 

"And you are?" she inquires with that frown carved into her face. She's still looking him up and down. She's judging him. Suddenly, he feels self conscious. 

"James. James Pratt," I smile lightly at her. Her face is still studying my every action. I look down to her outfit. She's wearing a Led Zepplin shirt. She cut it. With scissors. She'd cut off the sleeves and made it come up to around her breasts. I'm staring at her boobs. Why?

"I'm Fleur," she says cooly. I look down to her super short black shorts. Underneath them, she's wearing a pair of fishnets that you can also see over her shorts. Fleur in French means flower... But she's nothing like a flower. She's cold, hard, and intimidating. 

"I feel bad for that guy in the cafe. Is he okay?" I smile at her. I'm trying to joke around with her but her cold face turns in revolt. 

"He'll be fucking fine," she spits at me. My eyes widen without my recognition. She whips around and keeps walking to the crosswalk. As she walks away, I can't help but look at her body. She's got a full hourglass shape. She's not skinny, but her tummy isn't chubby. She's perfect as whatever she is.