❝Kiss me, Perrie.❞ She breathes sensually, my heart beating so fast I can't seem to see clearly anymore.
❝Or do I make you cringe so much that you don't want a taste of the girl you once loved?❞
A Jerrie fanfiction in which a bottle inter...
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THE CLOCK TICKS TO THREE IN THE EARLY MORNING and she still hasn't arrived. It's the fourth night in a row, for god's sake, what is she thinking?
My eyes are heavy; wanting to droop eagerly to a close and welcome a dreamless slumber. Systems in my body gradually turning off as each minute passes. Something wet dribbles down my fingers. The second cup of coffee in my hands threaten to spill as I recall the liquid's weight against my palm. I am sat on a white leather couch that looks and feels far too expensive for an unflattering brown stain boasting itself to other people.
I sigh, downing a large gulp of the stimulating fluid before placing it back down on the table in front of me. I grab some paper towels to wipe the sticky liquid from my hands; a frown on my face as it didn't change anything. Unsatisfied, I make my way over to the kitchen sick to wash my hands.
Just as I finish drying my hands, headlights flash through the windows in a quick incandescent slice as the sound of an engine growls lightly from outside. There is a small murmur of words exchanged beyond the door before footsteps can be heard prodding along the driveway. I go back and sit on the couch and patiently wait again.
She definitely wore heels tonight. She hates wearing heels. Her footsteps are slow and unsteady, as though she is struggling to get to the door in the first place.
Should I open the door for her?
No. She ditched your movie date tonight, why would you make things easy for her?
Keys jingle from behind the door. Good, she made it without tripping on her own feet. Can she unlock the door?
After three attempts at finding the right key, she finally manages to unlock the door. Fuck, she's wasted.
I hear her throw the keys in the box, without a care in the world, and she staggers her way through. She would see me once she turns to the left where there is a large open archway leading to the living room.
And there she is.
Brown chestnut waves falling just above her waist as she dons a tight all black jumpsuit where her right arm and collarbone are exposed and her curves prominent. She wears nude makeup showing off her natural beauty while fitting a black and yellow printed heel to mask her height. In plain view, she looks like a goddess.
That is, until you see behind the cognac gaze, that holds no more than a blurred drunken sanity.
The moment she recognises me, she curses under her breath. Maybe she didn't ditch me after all. Just forgot. I don't know which is worse.
