𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥

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Song: Human by Jon Bellion

"Abbozzo. (Paint.) The first dead colouring or first sketch of a picture, whether painted in monochrome or colour."

Rapping my knuckles against the door, a faint 'come in' answered me and I pushed it open

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Rapping my knuckles against the door, a faint 'come in' answered me and I pushed it open.

Inside, I found the receptionist, Ms Fawn bent over her desk, eyes down and typing away furiously.

"Take a seat," she instructed without looking up from her laptop.

I looked at my right briefly and found only one guy seated typing away at his phone.

It's so sad how our generation finds social interaction through technology instead of being with each other.

But... who was I to judge?

On lowering myself unto the seat, a sharp pain went up to my side and winced visibly, remembering the pain that Jaz caused me earlier, shifting it aside not wanting people to notice.

"Hello there."

I half-turned to the person that sat on my left and was greeted by a pair of icy blue eyes, with a smirk playing on his lips.

"Well, well," he mused and I took in his British accent. "I was right. The view is even better up close."

He said them with so much conviction, I was taken aback slightly at his blatant honesty, but, never the one to be swayed by flattery, no matter how handsome the stranger was, simply remained quiet.

He had this devilish look about him with his washy dark blond hair cut at the side, a long slender nose to match his thin and albeit pale face.

My eyes trailed down to his high cheekbones, not well jutted out but still prominent, and my eyes trailed down his body, I realized that indeed he was a looker.

Well, not as much as Jackson, or Jax now as he seemed to go by now but, still wasn't bad to look at.

He wore the same letterman jacket Jack did, except his was different with goggles embodied on the side instead of a basketball, which meant,

My jaw clenched tight almost painfully the realization that he was a swimmer. Which meant that he loved the water.

"Like what you see darlin'?"

The Brit asked, his voice cocky as he leaned back into his chair, lazily if I might add. "Because I certainly do."

With the movement, the smell of salt and chloroform assaulted my senses causing me to back away, hands curled into fists, the fingers starting to tremble with the tremor of memories about to resurface against my will.

His eyes widened and he made a move to come closer but, my hand went up stopping him, heart racing faster than usual forewarning me of an impending threat.

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