Amelié's POV
Punch.
Punch.
Punch.
Punch.
Punch.
I was punching my boxing bag till I couldn't breathe anymore. I did that much more that I would like to, but it was my way of letting everything out.
"Amelié! What the fuck are you doing?! Your knuckles are bleeding!" Oliver exclaimed and I stopped for a second. I observed my hands.
My right hand was all bloody and my left had a big black bruise on it. I boxed without gloves; it gave me an euphoric feeling of pain. I could feel every punch precisely. The pain on every knuckle opening until bleeding.
"Meina will be very proud of you." he scoffed sarcastically. I flipped him off.
Meina was my best friend and Ollie and Fred's PR manager. We knew each other for five years now. I was kinda the reason she got the job in F2 and I was happy she did.
(PUURRR QUEEN💅)
I traveled with them as a Prema photographer. Photography was my passion my whole life and now it actually became my job.
I enjoyed travelling with my brother. I made quite some friends too. One of them was Fred.
But I also disliked some people. For an example Arthur Leclerc.
No, not disliked... hated.
I snapped out of my thoughts when Ollie tapped my shoulder.
"Are you even listening to me?" he asked annoyed.
"No." I answered. He rolled his eyes.
"I said, pack your bags because we're leaving for Bahrain tomorrow." he said, empathising the words "I said".
"Tomorrow? We aren't supposed to leave till next week." I stated and scrunched my nose.
"Yeah, plans has changed." he muttered, scratching his head and pinching the tip of his nose. He was lying. I wouldn't bug into him, I will get to know sooner or later.
He helped me clean my knuckles with a cloth and I disinfected them with some alcohol, then wrapped them with some bandages.
I went to my room, so I could pack my suitcase.
I packed some oversized shirts, crop-tops with long sleeves, my three favourite jumpers, some sweatpants, leggings and a sports bra for the gym.
I also packed a black mini dress for a night out and a white classy jumpsuit for some special dinner or maybe even a date.
Just kidding.
In my twenty years of living I never even held hands romantically.
My clothes were packed. The only thing I needed was my toilette bag, which I will pack in the morning. I closed the suitcase and put it in the corner of my room.
I sat on the edge of my bed. I looked to my bedside table. There it was; the photo hunting me my whole life. Me, Ollie and my best friend, Dani. Well, she was my best friend.
Until she didn't die in a car accident. It was basically my fault. I told her to come to watch me photographing a model, so I would have a bit of support. But the rain was falling hard and the taxi driver spun out of the road.
She broke six ribs, both her legs, her left arm and her jaw. The fact that she was living in pain for forty-five minutes before she actually died breaks my heart every single time.
(bro i'm cringing so hard wtf was i writing💀)
I was the reason she was in pain.
I was the reason she died.
A tear slipped out of my eye and I quickly wiped with my finger. I turned around, away from the photo and stood up.
It was time for a shower.
