Star ; Bastille

Star ; 1

01/10/18

London. Home sweet home. Or as I should say home away from home. Not a single day passes where I don't experience something new. For a city that does sleep...it sure does have it's quirks. The first quirk of London is it's gangs, London is not as glamorous as Hollywood made it out to be. There are people who want to kill you for no actual reason, but people instead of feeling threatened and scared just get on with it like the violence is normal. God knows how many psychopaths and murderers I walk past every single damn day. The second quirk is my man, Dan Smith, needless to say I don't think I can sum that man up. Dan is...Dan.

Me on the other hand am not a quirk, in fact I'm nothing to do with London. I'm just living here because America doesn't feel like my home anymore, not since Trump and other things. But I've gotten used to London's surprises. Plus Dan's a pretty streetwise guy, he tells me to keep my head low and look back over my shoulder every now and again. I mean...he probably has saved me a bunch of times like 'cross the street if you think someone is following you and walk through a busy place'. I know that's common sense but it's been burned into my memory.

Other than that I walk with my arms tightly crossed above my mid-trimester bump. I cross my arms in a position where I rest both of my hands over it protectively. It's only a few seconds later I go to cross the road at the zebra crossing when I'm forced to jump back (either that or get ran over) when a car appears out of nowhere. I think one of the stoner passengers in the weed smelling vehicle sees me and decides to put Eminem on full volume. I hear the lowlifes laugh which makes me shake my head in disgust. "Fucking moron!" I shout over the music holding my middle finger up in the air at the car which fades away into the distance.

Everyone in London either loves you, want to be you, thinks your weird or want to kill you. There's no in between. I know that could go for anywhere in the world, but my part of California was safe...I mean...not entirely safe because there was a rapist living on my block, but it was pretty safe once that fucker was tagged and put on house arrest. The rapist only got away with it because he is a Hollywood agent and apparently 'best' at his game according to the judge in his sentencing that day. Fucking pigs.

I cross the road after I go back to weary mode. I hate when I have to see my girlfriends. Even though they all boast about having the best cars that money can buy-they never fucking use them. They know that I hate walking alone in the dark without Dan or someone I know and trust, but they do fuck all about it. Sometimes I think my girlfriends aren't really my girlfriends but a bunch of users. What type of girl would leave their pregnant friend to walk home alone through a shitty part of London? I would never.

Dan is staying at home because of our little boy, Grayson. I mean I hope they are at home, last time I came home and they left a note saying Dan took him to the cinema to see The Incredibles 2. I'm not complaining or anything, I don't think I can sit through another Disney Pixar movie for a lifetime. Gray is addicted to them! God knows how this one is going to turn out. I find solace and comfort in thinking about my babies so I don't stop.

I mean, when I get home I suppose I better put a late night wash on. I need to clean his school top, the only reason why he has just one is because the teacher didn't tell parents that the paint they use stains. So I sent him in class in his normal uniform only to be called up two hours later saying that he is covered in black paint. It's like that freaky dude from Twenty One Pilot's neck...but only that neck paint was everywhere on Gray. I can understand why people say having kids is the worst thing ever. But then again they're missing out on their enternal love and support. No one better dare treat me like shit or my four year old son will tell them off, it's ridiculously adorable. It's making my heart melt thinking about it!

I cross another empty road, with no Eminem stoners appearing from nowhere. After looking both ways I head straight forwards, looking at my shoulder length black gate. As soon as I get through the gate and close it I feel safer-it's like no one can hurt me now. Home turf and all of that crap. As soon as I walk up to the step the door open and Dan stands there with a grin on his face. This cannot be good. He is never this happy, nor quick to answer the door.

What is he up too?