Stone Cold.

Chapter 4: Unwelcome and unexpected guests.

Chapter 4: Unwelcome and unexpected guests.
Song: Strangers- Sigrid.

A muted light colours the inside of my eyelids, doing very little to stir my motivation. Prying my tired eyes open, I become face to face with a thunderous, grey cloud looming over the skies. I push myself up onto my elbow to catch a better look at the weather: the entirety of the sky is dark, masses of clouds varying in shades of grey slowly rolling towards the north, a few aeroplanes litter the sky along with flocks of pigeons and crows. The perfect indication for the perfect weather.

Suddenly, small translucent droplets tap against the window, making little sound. The liquefied crystals make their way down the window in a non-specific formation and collecting other droplets it it's wake.

Looks like a day in the apartment- it's not like I planned to anyway considering I have no leads to follow or a social life. I mean how can I have a social life on the run and know only a small amount of french.

I reach onto the bed side table and tap on my phone. After typing out my password I go onto Spotify and press shuffle on my favourite playlist and immediately Strangers by Sigrid fills the air.

🎶 Strangers, perfect pretenders🎶

I peel back the covers and stand on the bed, using my phone as a microphone. I sing along with the lyrics, swinging my hips from side to side in a fast pace and my hand thrown in the air.

🎶 We're falling head over heels for something that ain't real. It can never be us. Ey, just you and I...🎶

As the chorus ends and the song becomes slower, I sink down so I'm kneeling, and facing an imaginary crowd. I sing into the phone and make simple hand gestures and body movements that indicate the lyrics. Leaning down, I pull my hand to my chest and allow my bedraggled hair to cascade over my shoulder.

🎶When the curtain drops, our touch is just a touch. Not like in the movies. Our story after the end like Strangers...🎶

The song speeds back into the chorus and I continue to dance around the tiny room.

After a good 45 minutes or so of continuous dancing to my playlist of pop songs, I look towards the clock on the wall above the wardrobe door: 9: 29 am. Now is a good a time as any to get dressed, I trot into the bathroom, phone in hand. Usually whilst getting ready I listen to music, watch American Horror Story or the Dolan Twins (A/N true fact 😋🤣). I set my phone up against the side of the sink and take out my facial cleansers whilst watching Evan Peters do his thing as Tate Langdon. I love American Horror Story, there's something about the gore and the overall tragedy of every chapter. My favourite season has to be either Murder House or Coven: mostly due to Evan Peters working with Taissa Farmiga.

After taking care of my skin and brushing my teeth, I venture to my wardrobe and pull out the large suitcase that is tucked neatly under my beloved murder board. Unzipping the case I look down at the folded rows of different materials. I decide on a simple pair of black, skinny high waisted jeans, a pink knit jumper and a Gucci belt. Slipping into the outfit, I take a brief glance out the blurry window and notice a black Range Rover SUV with blacked out windows parked down the street behind a small red Ford fiesta.

Looks like we've gained new neighbours. Mrs. Rosette used to live in the apartment complex opposite mine when I briefly visited Paris 3 years ago, I would often see her watering the flowers on her window or knitting by the window, her husband along side her. Mr Rosette died two years ago from a heart attack, I recall her telling me something about how he'd suffered heart problems for years. For the little while I was here I would pass her on the street and we'd talk. Ever since she'd passed away the apartment had been up for sale and by the new car and the lamp which is on some nights, someone might of finally bought it.