The six-month housemate

GIRL- Alex's pov

Hey!
Sorry, this is not an update of the actual story, BUT here is the first chapter in Alex's pov. I'll post more of them with time, in the book called Girl, but I thought that as a thanks for having more than 300 reads I'd also post the first chapter here.
Thank you so much for reading! Enjoy :)

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One: What can I say, Paul McCartney reads my mind.

"Is there anybody going to listen to my story

All about the girl who came to stay?

She's the kind of girl you want so much

It makes you sorry

Still, you don't regret a single day"

What can I say, Paul McCartney reads my mind. The only difference between him and I is that he knew that there was going to be somebody, hell, thousands of somebodies, listening to his story, when I don't. Who in his or her right mind would come and read my story about the girl who came to stay? I don't know, and I don't care.

So this is my story, the story about the love of my life coming back to me after years of me thinking I'd never see her again.

Emma De La Tour.

One could argue that it was love at first sight, even though when I arrived in Paris, France, for the first time, after having lived in London the whole nine years of my life, she was more of an enigma to me than anything else. In London, girls tended to stick with girls, and boys with boys, and it appeared to be the same in France, but she was always surrounded by guys. Being quite confident, even if there was a little of a language barrier- I spoke a little French thanks to my Mum, but I wasn't excellent at it, and I had a huge accent- I soon befriended the guys she hung out with, not to get close to her, just so that I wouldn't be alone.

I feel like I always was a popular kid; I tended to be friendly with everyone, even if with time, I got to be more rough towards others to keep my status of badboy with my friends. Only a few knew that I was not only the obnoxious guy I led people to believe I was- underneath, I was a nice guy, I would always apologize to people I'd treated "badly" in front of my friends. In short, I was quite the gentleman.

Soon, I learned that Emma had more guy friends than girls because she was on their rugby team. A girl. I was kind of surprised at first, but I didn't say anything, because the guys were kind of overprotective when it came to her. I saw several punches fly because people had poked fun at her. The main reason why I could hang out with them and be around Emma was that I am British and I played rugby, even if it was in a rival team, which made me "a man" and not "a wuss", which was how they saw the guys who played football, European or American.

As I learned to know the guys better, I took on a status which allowed me to say stuff about her that other kids didn't have the right to say. Like, for example, that she was the prettiest girl in school. She had really blonde hair, chin length, and eyes that stood out because of their colour; grey-green. It was very complicated to really define a colour for her eyes because it changed, depending on her mood and the way she dressed.

But it wasn't only her physical appearance that made me fall for her in the first place; physical appearance is only a plus when you're nine. She was a very determined person, she knew exactly what she wanted all the time, and she made everything she could to get it in a legal way. She always had good grades, even if she didn't work much for it, and she was the kindest person on Earth. She was always very welcoming of new people, and she had many friends, that she cared for. In the courtyard, she went from group to group, playing a bit with everyone, trying not to make anyone jealous. I'm not sure she had any enemies in primary and secondary school. That came in high school.

I wouldn't say we were close friends. To me, she was the girl who came once in a while to play with us, and I think I kind of was the guy who hung out with her friends to her. I used to be kind of unhappy of that, and I often tried to make her see me more like a friend, but nothing seemed to work with her.

When I was nine and my rugby team played against hers, even if I could easily tackle her and stop her when she received the ball, I let her go by me. But she never saw it; she just went and scored a try.

When I was ten, on Valentine's day, I gave her a card, with my name on it and all. She said that I was sweet, and kissed me on the cheek. It felt like the best day of my life.

When I was eleven, I changed rugby club, and played with her team. However, over the summer, she had stopped playing rugby with boys and started playing with girls instead. I wasn't in her class, so I never saw her, nor talked to her.

When I was twelve, at last, I was in her class again. By then, I'd acquired a reputation of trouble-maker, even if it wasn't that bad. I was separated from all my friends from the rugby team; we were the only ones left. We got closer and I finally fell in love with her, or at least realized it. We debated about rugby via email, but unfortunately, we rarely talked to each other during class.

At the end of the year, my best friend in my class, who knew about my feelings for her and shared them, even if he said he'd fallen in love with her long before I did, dared me to send her an email he'd written, without reading it. He said it was something professing my love to her. I sent it. I never received any answer, neither from her nor from the mail delivery system.

When I was thirteen, I came back to school in September, and I wasn't in her class anymore. I didn't take it badly because I thought that we could continue talking like we had via email like we had the previous year. However, when I saw her in the hallways, she always glared at me or ignored me. I had no idea why.

When I was fourteen, I moved back to London. I never had the courage to ask her what I'd done wrong. And even if I wasn't really happy about it, I knew I had to forget her because whatever I'd done, it led her to hate me, and anyway, I probably wouldn't meet her again. However, the only kind of girls I dated afterwards were blonde with clear eyes. God knows what kind of reputation I was forging myself; I was nourishing the cliché of boys only dating blonde girls. I hated it, but what could I do if the only girl who was constantly on my mind was like that?

Then, when I was seventeen, I saw on Facebook that she was going to try out for the French Feminine National rugby team. She wasn't my friend on Facebook, and as much as I wanted to congratulate her, I had to refrain myself from doing so.

Yes. I was the biggest stalker when it came to her. I could easily be a nominee for the stalker of the year award. "Alex Dalton, Emma De La Tour's #1 stalker" could easily fit in my job description.

Later, I heard from a friend that she'd sprung her ankle, and would probably not be able to play professionnally, because she was going to miss the try outs, and then she had no idea when her ankle would be better.

Finally, in July, my Mum came in one morning telling us Emma was going to come and live with us for about a year. To me, the length didn't matter. What I cared about was the fact she would be living under the same roof as me. And that maybe, I'd discover what had gone wrong all those years ago. And that maybe, just maybe, I'd have a second chance, if I'd ever had a first.