save me from who I'm supposed to be
don't wanna be a victim of authority
I'll always be a part of the minority
Calum's P.O.V.
MICHAEL
*met her. what's wrong with her? she looks... dead*
I'd noticed the same thing. She looked tired, kind of dead, emotionless. She kind of reminded me of Ashton, aout a year ago, but he didn't look that.. dead. Maybe she's just an emotionless bitch. Maybe it's the move.
*idk i haven't talked to her but yeah you're right*
*i did she's from germany*
I looked over to the window again, she was starting to seem weirder and werider to me. The move from across the world, how she never left the house, the broken upper arm, the dead look.... She, however, unaware of my thoughts of course, grabbed the guitar from next to her bed, strummed, furrowed her brows and tuned the strings, strummed again and then started plucking with her fingers.
I knew that song, I knew the melody and the words, and I knew the band.
I was caught up, kind of. I didn't even realize I was staring at her until she looked up and stared back. I quickly turned away from the window, cursing to myself quietly, way to go Calum.
ASHTON
*aye i met amber*
*cool. she's from germany*
*I know Michael told me. talked to her for a while.*
*what about*
Ashton didn't reply, and I chucked my phone onto my bed and rubbed my eyes, than yawned and looked back through the window. She's settled on her bed with her back against the wall, flipping through pages in a notebook, furrowing her brows every now and then.
I looked around my room, spotted the notepad on the desk and grabbed it. 'was that Therapy?'
I felt like that guy from the Taylor Swift video as I knocked on my window. She looked up immediately, wincing, great Calum, you scared her already.
She stood up and walked away from the window. Talk about rejection. But before I turned away she appeared in front of her window again, a hint of a smile on her lips, a sheet of paper in her hand. 'don't ask, you know it was'. I chuckled and nodded. 'one of my favourite bands' 'my favourite band,' she wrote and smiled, then held up her wrist and pointed to the bracelets - ah, there was an All Time Low wristband between various leather bracelets.
'you okay?' I wrote, just making conversation, right? But when she'd read the words she smiled, and then closed her window and pulled the curtains in front of it, making it unale for me to see her or her room.
Amber's P.O.V.
'you okay?'
Such a simple question, yet I didn't know how to answer. I wasn't, then again, kind of, I was. I was kind of okay, kind of alive, kind of. I was always kind of, always almost, always average. Long story short, I panicked and pulled the curtains in front of the window. Done.
I sat on my bed, leaning back against the wall again and pushed all my school stuff onto the floor, then crawled under the duvet, holding my breath. I don't know what it was with holding my breath, but I did it a lot. I think I'd read somewhere that it helps with jumpiness and stuff. I counted to three and exhaled, repeating a few times until my dad called me.
"Am? There's a boy here for you?" I stood up and walked out of my room, my father was on the stairs. "Tell him to come upstairs?" He nodded and raised an eyebrow, sending me a questioning look. I just shrugged and disappeared back in my room, leaving the door open.
