It's Like Rain (Orlando Bloom/OC)

Chapter 3: Beginning Of The End

“Why can't you see the way I look at you
When you look at me”

9 pm that same night Nora has left the building Howard the doorman calls me and tells that I have a visitor. Of course, and why the hell not, I think it is Vinnie again and I just tell him to let him in, already sighing deep inside my mind and wondering what the hell did he forget.

     I wait for few minutes, about as long as the elevator ride takes from the street level to my floor, and skip to the door. I just yank it open and damn nearly have a heart attack, as I run head first into Bloom.

     “Good. You’re alive,” Bloom says, annoyed, leaning to the doorframe with both hands. This time, he really looks ominous. There is nothing but annoyance and anger in his dark eyes that have darkened even more from the normal dark amber hue into darker chocolate-y.

     I’m completely taken by surprise by this new turn of moods so I just stare at him, unable to reply to the blunt comment of his.

     Why wouldn’t I be alive? What is he talking about?

     He looks like he has just walked out of a plane and just ran here. He is out of breath, which makes him look angrier.

     Did he run the stairs as well?

     He’s wearing dark, straight pants, black t-shirt and long sleeved yellow one underneath it. He has sneakers and big, dark sunglasses, with that funky crocheted hat with a little peak on it. I remember him telling me he got it from some street vendor in the City. No one could recognize him in those.

     No one, except me, and his mother. Well, definitely his mother.

     “W-what the hell are you doing here?” I stammer, when I’m finally able to speak, scared to half dead, and then inquire curiously, “Did you actually run the stairs up here? Are you in need of a work out or something, ‘cause there’s an elev- -”

     “If you would answer your bloody phone, I wouldn’t have felt the need to come all the way over here, now would I?” he barks at me.

     “’All the way here’? Is Los Angeles really that far - -” I begin.

     “I wasn’t even in the States, remember?”

     “Huh?” I can honestly say he lost me.

     “Yeah, you heard me.”

     He’s really upset. That’s definitely the coldest voice I’ve ever heard from him. Okay, I didn’t handle that ‘cold turkey’ very good, did I? But then again, I’m entitled of being mad too. Why should I feel sorry for his separation anxiety? Or for his jealousy attacks!

     “Where were you then?”

     “Morocco,” he sighs.

     “Morocco?”

     “As in Africa,” he answers, with a hint of bite in his voice.

     “I know where Morocco is. What were you doing in Morocco?”

     “Picking up and fucking girls! What do you think I’m doing there? Filming!” he snaps out. I think he is growing even more ticked off.

     “And you just thought it’d be nifty idea to fly over here on you lunch break?” I ask, actually shocked to hear he flew across the ocean to check up on me. Seriously, if I say I’m suspicious by nature, that would be an understatement, but the shock of realizing that he wanted to check if I was alright, is even bigger understatement.