Note: these flashbacks don't go in order, they are scrambled and different parts of their lives. Either always in each others space or in their homes.
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6 years ago
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She had the worst taste in men.
Her "boyfriend" was the shittest piece of shit known to mankind. Night blue hair, short as shit and has an unbearable personality.
"Your mother sent a message..."
He was making a scene while standing on the table with her phone in hand, she had just broken up with him and of cause his stinky ego wouldn't take it, so he is publicly humiliating her by reading her texts out loud and showing pictures from her gallery. "Ryan, please." She said, pleading with him. She had a different kind of reaction to the mention of her mother.
"Come home and wash the dishes... I am tired..." Ryan reads the message out loud, trailing off in shock. "Dishes?" He chuckled. "Doesn't Aia the 'It Girl' have a dish washing machine?" He said, and the cafeteria erupts in laughter.
She gets on the table herself and snatches her phone out his hands.
"Bitch." She grits as she gets off and runs away from everyone, seeming to go towards the locker-room. The crowd dies down and everyone gets back to eating and doing whatever.
I follow her.
I knock on the door, not hearing a response so I open and pause when I see her sitting in a corner with her knees to her chest and her body shaking as she puts a sharpener blade to her wrist.
Blood runs covers her wrist like a bracelet. She cut pretty deep.
I rush to her side, my backpack falling off my shoulder in the process.
"Hey, hey, hey," I hush her closing her wound with the sleeve of my white shirt. I don't think she notices it's me because she hugs me as she cries to my chest.
"I hate washing dishes."
Her voice hoarse and filled with tears. "I hate it so much." She whispered to me.
But something told me there was an emotional term attached to the kind of dishes she was talking about.
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"Yes, father?" I answer the phone, my father and I didn't have a necessarily close relationship, but we spoke sometimes. And I loved him.
"Zay, have you forgotten about you ol' man?" He laughed through the line. "Of cause not, I've been busy."
Busy trying to fight off the feeling of guilt washing over me for the case of Mr. Abrahams. Busy trying to hold Angelica together and get her through everything. It's hard, Zade is...
Zade.
You know I can't leave you alone.
"How's your job going?"
We made conversation and he took my mind off a lot of things. "I'll come see during the Winter, I have a break off of work." I smile, as if he can see me. "If you can, bring your boyfriend."
My smile faded, I was telling a lie to him because he believes you need a partner to be happy... so I told him I had a boyfriend.
"Of cause." I responded.
I'm going to make some excuse for when that time arrives.
. . .
***No information available***
My brows scrunch in pure annoyance. What the fuck?
I retype it again.
Jeremiah Cooper Brown Male
I fill in all the necessary details in the bar, awaiting for a screen full of green, blue and white but in return I get; ERROR 404
What the heck is going on with this laptop? I do three more times before I slam it close with so much force it makes a bang sound.
I pinky promise, I will find him for you.
Tears burn my eyes, everything seems to be going haywire and I can't take it no more. I spin on my chair and face the board so if anyone wanting to get fired opens my door doesn't see me having a breakdown because I'm disappointing everyone.
Of cause these useless ass employees don't have basic manners to knock before entering, my door screeches open. I quickly take care of the tears stinging my eyes then turn my chair to face them. "Who the fuck"—
Zade.
My speech is cut short as I stare at the gorgeous man before me, black dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and tailored black slacks that fit his thighs so good. His hair is messy today, a mess on his head. A really light shade of pink on his cheeks and his lips a brighter pink. He looked flushed, as he was working out or working...
No, I hate him.
Hate is a strong word, so I despise him. I don't know why though, he didn't do anything to make me hate him. I hate how he makes me feel. How he takes up all the air and makes me want to hyperventilate.
His eyes, light and so deprived of colour. "Hi." I say dryly.
I was in no mood to talk. "You told to come back today and you'd be in a better mood."
"I am not." I say in the same monotone voice.
"Well, good for you, you have me. Come." He said as if I should kneel down and kiss his shoes. "First of all, you are not mine and second, where do you want to take me?"
"Trust me." He said, "I don't want to trust you." I replied. "You might kill at any moment. You kinda look like a serial killer..." I resist my muscles twitching to a smile but I give in when he furrows his thick brows. "So you are attracted to men that look like they kill people for a living?"
"I'm not attracted to you." I stand my ground but I know I had no ground to stand on when the topic of his level of attractiveness rose.
His eyes lit up in mischief, and I saw a smile stretch on his beautifully sculpted lips. This time he wasn't smiling to taunt me, it was a genuine smile that reached his eyes. "I won't kill you."
It felt like the weight on my shoulders shifted to a cold wind.
Just go, it's lunchtime anyways.
I agreed with the voice in my head. "Don't kill me, please." I smile, looking at his smile turn to a grin of beautiful white, straight teeth and a deep dented left cheek dimple.
"Promise." He whispered. "I will hold you down on that." I took my coat and draped it over my arm.
