The Untold Story of Alice // Ed Sheeran

Not That Kind of Girl

Alice's POV

 

I left Ed’s last night in haste. My mind flipping through everything he said like they were pages in a book somewhere. I was crazy.

Or least I thought I was.

 I felt like I was insane.

I wake out of my horrible day dream that I am somewhere better than this place. London is colder than I had imagined it being. I have been here, but that was summer. A nice warm summer spent with someone I actually loved.

Ed. Up in his flat.

I had moved here with my uncle. Alex. I liked him at first. Since I was little, he was the guy I enjoyed seeing on holidays the most. Someone who completely mystified me.

I needed extra money for books that I needed for my classes. The job I had held onto at this diner didn’t pay much and I relied on tips the most. Even dressed down enough to reveal cleavage for men to receive some extra money when they gave a tip, I was left with a sock drawer without much cash.

Alex said he could help me. After all, he managed to pay the bills and have extra money to blow on things. He knew how to get it and promised me he’d help me too. Just like he helped all of his old friends.

I expected something sweet. My mother said he had owned his own bar somewhere in London, an hour away from UNI. I thought possibly, on the weekends, I could help him there and be paid bigger and better than my job now.

“I’ll help you out, if you help me out.” He told me one night. Both of us sitting on the couch watching something on TV. “We’re family, after all.”

The moon shines through the window of a black Mercedes. It was late, I could tell, and I knew he wouldn't mind. I was making money. It was thirty degrees out, Friday, and I could see my breath. Not a good night to wear skimpy clothes. I wanted to be bundled in a nice, warm sweater, but to him…that isn’t sexy.

No man is going to buy someone for an hour if they looked like an Eskimo.

I pushed the guy off of me, since he wanted a cuddle session. He was all sweaty and it smelt horrible. I just wanted out of this nightmare. Making dirty fake love with a guy who is a fucking pervert is not the highlight of this night. He handed me a paper bill, and I didn't even glance at how much it was. It wasn't mine, anyway. I stuck it in my bra and laid back down. I want to get up, but I know my legs will ache if I even tried. 

The idiot leaned over and planted a sloppy, drunk, kiss on my red lips. I wiped it away furiously, giving him a look of disgust. That was a rule: No Kissing. Also no cuddling, but I sometimes let that slide, if they aren't incredibly nasty. 

I see a flash of anger cross the man's eyes. He slashes his hand across my face, making pain cross over my jaw. Tears fill my eyes, but I push them back. I felt hot with rage, but didn't move. He glared at me and I knew I couldn't do a damn thing about it. I grabbed my very few things and got out. The cold air calming me down. I walked away, with the money, the click of my Stilettos on the pavement. 

I breathe in the cold and the snowflakes flickered around me. It's Friday and nowhere to be, except home. I want to go home. I wish the bitterness and ridicule would just leave me. Here I go, away, as another day ends the same way it began. 

I make it back to the apartment. I unlock the door, pass my uncle shooting up on the couch, and head to my room. I drop my purse onto the floor and take off everything one by one. I make my way to the bathroom, and start the water. I get in and let the scolding water wash over me. My black make up running down my cheeks. When my hands get wrinkly and I finally feel clean enough, I get out. I dress in a cotton night gown that my mother bought me for college.