Living in London

Black

3 Week Earlier-

The television screen was flickering with some crappy soccer (or 'football' as my foreign friends like to call it) match and I was bored. It wasn't England or Australia playing, so why should I show any interest. My hand itched towards my phone which was balancing on the armrest of the couch. Before I could think too much into it, I sent a simple message to Brandon.

'You might not remember, but you gave me your number the other day. I'm Ariadne. This is Brandon, right?'

My phone buzzed a few seconds later.

'Yeah, I remember. I'm working at the moment-come and visit me?'

My eyes drifted to the dull game on the screen and then back to my phone. The more fun option was obvious. I mentally shrugged and stood up, slipping my phone into my pocket. I was going to go see Brandon.

YOLO, guys. YOLO.

It was a quick walk to the Nook, and once I was inside I noticed it was much more busy than usual. There were at least seven other people, scattered around at tables and at the bar. Brandon looked up at me and smiled, hanging the dishcloth in his hand over his shoulder like a bartender. I smiled and waved.

Smile and wave, boys. Just smile and wave.

I seriously need to stop talking to myself in my head, people might start staring and then they be thinking I be cray cray.

And I need to stop talking like that. Actually, no-I don't. I'm going to keep talking like that and then I'm going to record my own debut rap album and my stage name will be Watermelondria Shaquisha. Mmmhhmm, that's right gurl, I be all up in da hood now and y-

"So what do you say?"

I stared blankly at Brandon's face. He was waiting for an answer of some description, but it seems I missed the question during my mental rant.

That is why I need to stop thinking. Or start thinking... but more like a person. A person who doesn't give mind-speeches or believe in the devil on one shoulder and the angel on the other and- holy crap, I'm doing it again.

"I'm sorry, what did you say? I can't hear you-it's louder than usual in here," I lied. Naturally, the whole cafe decided to go silent at that point.

Brandon raised his eyebrows but let it go. "I asked if you wanted a coffee or something. It's on the house."

"Oh, you don't have to do that..."

He shook his head. "Seriously, it's fine."

I shrugged. "Er, okay. In that case, can I have a chai latte please?"

"Chai latte coming right up," he said with a cute smile before going back behind the counter.

I dropped my bag on my favorite couch and slipped my phone out of my pocket and into my bag. Just as I put it back down, my bag vibrated as I received a message. With a sigh, I pulled it out and read it.

Number Withheld:

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Peek-a-bo, I see you.

I looked up quickly and my heart skipped a beat. Glancing around the cafe, I saw the majority of people were on their phones. Any one of them could be Number Withheld.

There was a guy with dark hair who had his back to me, texting away at his table. Brandon noticed me watching him at the bar and looked up from his phone with a small smile. A blonde guy and girl were sitting across from each other at a little round table, both messaging someone.

My phone buzzed again.

Number Withheld:

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Found me yet?