Contrast [ A One Direction AU ]

chapter eleven: bella

chapter eleven

✥ Arabella ✥


Following the run-in with the perverted though boyishly hot vandal who goes by the name ‘Zayn’, Liam has been in a more foul state of mind. It was like the simple presence of Zayn in a 100m radius bothered Liam to the point of uncontrollable anger.

I spent the night of the party with Liam – not as in sex, though it was a close-call encounter with Liam’s demanding side. His touch after seeing the confrontation had been more possessive and domineering, like he had something to prove.

    But I said no, quite firmly at that.

I am not ready; I have barely met him let alone know him. I don’t even know the basics so much as his middle name or birthday, and it is a complete shock that I, Arabella Fletcher, made out with a stranger-near-acquaintance.

Though it being rather unusual to find me hanging out with a guy; let alone not even a relative or good friend, I enjoyed the night with Liam just talking about oddities. Mostly about me, as he didn’t speak much - he stayed silent, laughed and sniggered when necessary, and absorbed my rambling. Speaking of which, must’ve been rather annoying.

Peculiarly with Liam, I was unable to… analyze him. As in, what he is thinking, what he can feel. I am usually quite a sensitive person when it comes to emotions, but somehow, he was just a code I can’t crack. During the night I tried to look into his dreamy hazel eyes (obviously blocking out the temptation to melt under his gaze) and peer into his current state of being.

   But I couldn’t, and that is strange.

Strange indeed, Arabella, the super-creep personal space invader.

My blaring ringtone awakens me from my daydream making me spill some of my green tea latte on my criminology textbook and a little on my bed sheets, and I mutter a string of censored cusses.

Holding my rose gold and white iPhone to my ear, I answer, “Hello…?”

“Bells, oh God.” Oh, it’s Clary! She continues on to tell me how she is somehow stuck in an Art Supply storeroom in Cambridge.

Clary then pleads, “Could you perhaps come help me get out?”

"Oh, um, of course!" I respond, and then add, "I'm on my way now. I'll probably take a while though, I'm all the way across town."

Clary breathes a sigh of relief through the phone and thanks me like her life depends on it.

“No problem!” I reply, “See ya sweetcheeks.”

I slide the ‘End Call’ button and I spring up from the bed, filled with a feeling of purpose at this moment of time. Hurriedly, I don a pair of jeans and a blue and white raglan top. I then pack in some of my Criminology textbooks and laptop so rather than wasting my time driving back to the flat, I can study for the finals in the Cambridge library instead.

On the way out, I slip on a pair of my worn-out but favourite pair of Keds, and slide into my wooly white jacket.

    Such a great friend, one to travel 30 minutes to unlock a door for Clary on the opposite side of the town, aren’t I?

Thankfully, this train trip to Cambridge didn’t consist of perverted vandals groping my bum whilst I contentedly hum to my favourite song.

I trudge to the art supply storeroom, which Clary directed me too, my steps falling to the beat of ‘Settle Down’ by the 1975. I groan, realizing that Clary is currently stuck in the furthest area from my current location.