Thomas Sangster or Newt GIF imagines. Short stories that follow (you) as you travel though many scenarios.
P.S I don't believe in sad endings where good characters die
(so none of these will be like this)
#whydidnewtdie?
THE CHAPTERS IN THE BEGINNI...
Y/N's POV The air brings icy chills along my shin. I grip tightly to my jacket. Wrapping it around closer to me, as if that would help keep me warm.
I impatiently knocked on the door bell, banging my fist against the soft wood. A shock of mental pain shot through me, I was a mess. Banging on some drug dealers door.
I had been on edge for the past month, I couldn't do anything right. Depression was jolting though every vein in my body.
A tear rolls down my cheek. A friend suggested this guy, for something that would ease my pain. I was taught drugs were never the answer to cure something like what I have.
But nothing was working for me.
I wipe a tear away and take a deep breath. Sound of footsteps thud against the ground inside and the doorknob slowly turns.
I take a step back. What were drug dealers like? Were they big and strong? Could they kill me?
The door swings open and a slightly lanky figure in dark jeans, a black shirt, and a leather jacket. He looks down at me, due to the fact that he was about a foot taller than me.
"Um hi," I say, slightly intimidated.
"Are you- never mind, come in, will you?" he asks, "it's bloody freezing out there,"
I nod, bowing my head down as I enter his house.
I can pick up a slight musk that matches the homely colors of the house.
"So...um how old are you love?" he asks.
I blush slightly, but it quickly fades. Should I lie to him? Do I look old enough to be sold drugs? What the hell was he told about me? Was he seriously going to-
"I'm not a cop or something," he adds.
"Dylan told you about me...right?" I ask, doing anything to change the subject.
He gives a slight sigh, "yeah. I was hoping you weren't the one he was talking about though," he says.
You furrow your brows, "Why?" I ask, slightly offended.
"You look a little young," he says, crossing his arms.
I scoff at him, "I know you wouldn't understand, but it fuckin sucks being denied of something just because you look young,"
"Are you referring to drugs?" he asks.
"Shut up," I retaliate.
"Actually, I was denied a drink at a bar quiet a few times. Still happens too actually," he admits.
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"So will you just give me what I came here for so we can get on with our lives?" I ask him, looking deep into his brown eyes.
"How old are you? Just curious," he ask.
You groan, "Jesus!"
"Why won't you tell me? If there's nothing to hide, you should have no problem-"
"You know it's rude to ask a woman her age," you tell him.
"Bloody hell," he mutters.
"Fine," you give in, "um...I'm 17," you say.
"You're WHAT?" he asks.
"I'm not selling drugs to a 17 year old girl. Sorry,"
"Your a drug dealer! Isn't that what your suppose to do?!" you exclaim back at him.
"Love, I-" he says calming down, "this was just a one time thing, I just needs to make some cash," he says.
"So make it," you say, grabbing his wrist and placing $200 in his hand.
"No, take it back, love. I can't-" he tries but you interrupt him.
"Why do you keep calling me that!?" you scream. Punching him in the chest, not enough for it to hurt though.
Then, you look back into his eyes. They are not patronizing, just solemn, reflective.
That's when you loose it. You break down, knees feeling weak and the rest of your body too heavy.
You collapse into this strangers arms and cry out. Tears streaming down your cheek and onto his jacket.
He catches you and comforts you. Holding you, with one arm wrapped around.
"P-please, I-I need...I need it," you stammer out, barely able to from words.
"No, no you don't need drugs. They will only make it worse. I'm here for you, alright? We can fix whatever your going through," he replies.
After a few more tears, you turn your head up to face him. He is looking down at you with concern and love.
You pull away, stepping back from him. Slightly afraid.
"I-I'm s-sorry...I-I didn't mean..." you cut yourself off and try to continue to stand.
"It's alright, i'm not going to hurt you,"
You nod, stepping closer to him.
"I'm Thomas, by the way. And if you want last names, it's Sangster," he says.
"I'm Y/N," you introduce.
--- Sorry if the ages were a little odd. I just wanted you to be in high school. Thomas is in early 20s in this.
GUYS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE check out my new book called If our life was a movie !!!
It's a Thomas Sangster Fanfic and I think you guys will like it (but it is a little mature for some reader, I suggest 11+)
