Exchange / H.S

4 / Black Streaks

KACEY'S POV:

I wake up to my jet-black hair sticking to my night-old lip gloss remnants and my eyelashes sticking together. As soon as I open my mouth I'm braced with a stale alcohol and morning breath concotion that would frighten even the dead. "Ughhhhhhhhh." I groan and swing my legs off the side of the bed. As soon as I'm on my feet I fall right back onto my ass. Sitting up, I look down at my feet only to see that they're still in the huge heels from last night. My hands immediately raise to my face as I rub and rub at my eyes with a sigh. Re-positioning myself on the edge of the bed I bend over to remove my uncomfortable shoes. Once I'm barefoot, I drag my hands across the wall and dodge my clutter on the way to the bathroom. I twist the glass doorknob to the right and use all of my strength to budge open the sticky door. I make a mental note to buy some WD-40 the next time that I was at the store, but I know it's inevitable that I'll forget.

Walking over to the shower first, I turn the dial to hot and begin to run the water. I peel off my dress that, yes I slept in, and look over into the mirror. I'm full-er than most girls but I'm no larger than a size 5 and I love my body. However I'm most self concious about my legs. I've got a pretty huge bum, and I have legs to accomodate it, but I'm 5'1, making my legs a little beefier than I would like.

I step into the shower, the steaming water encasing my body, making me roll my shoulders in an attempt to relieve some of the things on my mind. Harry being the main one. Of course I feel bad for just abandoning him at night, in the middle of a sidewalk but I just couldn't have him beginning to think that I had any liking towards him whatsoever. I can't give myself a good reason not to like him but I'm just too different than him. He's like a cupcake, I mean the boy works at a bakery for crying out loud. I'm pretty sure his life has no problems, I mean I could just imagine that he calls his mum every night before he goes to bed underneath his tucked in sheets. That of course being that the boy even lives alone. I could totally see him still shacked up with the 'rents. We couldn't be more different. My parents have basically been absent since the second I was out of the womb. They were not abusive but they were so focused on their own lives, that the inconvience of a child like me was only a waste of their time, leaving me to be the only kid they have and ever will have. I grew up with my grandmum due to their lack of presence. I had almost no social life under that roof, leading me to an excess of speeding through home-school. I was done with my highschool at age 16, allowing me to convince my grandmum to let me live with my parents for two years as I waited to become normal freshman age for university, I of course lied straight through my teeth and began the search to live on my own. At first I thought that I could get a job and live alone and was soon discouraged after seeing the prices of rent. I went to my second and only other option- to find a roommate. That's when I met Pam. She's three years older than me and was only asking 400 a month without first and last. I could manage that even without a job. 1800 a month child support has it's benefits but it's terminated at 18 and still I wanted a way to focus my time, Which is when I first got into tattooing. I'm not all that great but for lack of a better term, it pays the bills. I do mostly simple pieces- I'm a novice at detail but a master at perfection and steadiness with lettering and basic shapes. Not bad for a just-turned 17 year old.

* * *

After I had finished my shower and all the hot water, I looked in the mirror chuckling to myself at the black streaks down my cheeks. I grabbed a makeup remover wipe and scrubbed at my eyes and face. I pulled out my tweezers and perfected my eyebrows before bringing a pencil to them for added thickness and shape. I applied a plum blusher to my cheeks and pulled out a blue tube. I swiped on the last coats of mascara when I heard my cell phone ringing. Yanking the fluffy towel tighter around my body, I began to jog downstairs in search of my phone.

"Pam, my cell, have you seen it?" I hollered in no specific direction. Raking my hand through my soaking hair.

"Uh I think it was on the hall floor outside your bedroom door kinda." She answered with some food in her mouth. I must've missed it on my way out. Ugh. I literally booked it upstairs and lunged for my black phone laying face down on the floor.

"Yes?" I picked up on the last ring.

''Hello, is this Kacey Evans?" A strange voice asked.

"The one and only," I coughed. "Can I Help You?" I was starting to get nervous. I only gave my cell phone number to people I really knew the only recent exception being Harry. Why would this person, let alone this man have it? Did I give it out drunk last night? What if he was a rapist or an identity thief? I shuddered.

"Yes, actually you can. I was hoping to get a tatt from you." I felt a huge weight lift off my shoulders as my heart rate began to slow back to normal.

"Listen I 'ppreciate what you're saying but I'm not supposed to do business for the shop on this phone. My phone, but I'd be happy to give you the shop's number and you can make an appointment with me."

"Of course, okay I'm terribly sorry."

"Do you need the shop's number," "Sir" I added as an after note.

"Uh, no I've got a phonebook here, but thank you I'll leave you now."

"Wait up a second," I hummed "How'd you get this number?"

"A Friend"

"Does this friend have a name?"

"Uhm y-yes, yes."

I paused in anticipation for my reply. "Harry, Harry Styles." and with that he hung up.