Madeline's P.O.V.
The sickening smell of burning essence clouded my nasal passages causing me to cough slightly. I've never been one to enjoy the aroma of flower ashes being burnt, but I guess this family were. As soon as I had taken only a couple steps into the overly, spacious entrance, I immediately knew this place wasn't somewhere I would call home, it just set off the wrong vibe if you asked me.
A towering, barbed chandelier shadowed above, hanging dangerously from the high ceiling, estimating the length multiplied by the width of this room, if the chandelier were to fall, from where I was standing I was guaranteed certain death. Marble staircase spiralled on the wall across the large, mahogany coloured door, slippery looking banister accompanied the spiral of stairs which seemed to never end.
A loud, aggravating blast of music was heard from the opposing side of the house instantly capturing my roaming attention, not only was it hardcore pop rap but it was also past 8PM and if I recalled that was the time where Police were allowed to fine you for noise pollution. At least those were the rules back in London.
Waiting helplessly by myself, I fixated my posture on the jagged Welcome door mat laid before me, as anticipated human communication was finally heard at an estimate of 9 to 10 metres away and I quickly cleared my throat, grooming my hair slightly with my fingers.
A spontaneous-looking, middle aged short woman made present, grinning widely at the sight of my respectful body gestures. She bared a set of the most whitest, perfect looking teeth I've ever seen since Simon Cowell. She had ash blonde hair, that was going a little white at the scalp, although she'd covered it very skilfully, I still managed to spot it out seeing as I was extremely observant.
Everything about the way she acted and the way she was simply portrayed scribbled familiar in the cloudy memory of mine. It wasn't until I came in contact with her sharp, crisp looking blue eyes, that I could finally pin point who she looked like. Ryan McCarthy. The vexatious, undeniably handsome boy that wouldn't leave me alone.
"Hello dear, I'm Ms McCarthy, but you can just call me Fiona." She poshly spoke, confirming all assumptions I had on her being related to the jerk. "So, social services have sent you to my residence for a job am I correct?"
"You are indeed correct Madam." I recited in almost a mocking accent.
"Hmm well, since I barely have any occupations for you to do for me today, you can clean my kids' rooms and wash the dishes after dinner." Her words came out to be venomous, to an average person they would've sounded sickeningly sweet, but to me, Madeline Morris they were more than only just venomous.
It was as if she knew I was a trouble maker under this entire, posh girl facade. As if she knew what I had initially done to be here in the first place.
"Oh, and nice stunt you pulled back in the UK, too bad it came off as a beginners piece of work." She stated, sauntering off, heels clacking behind her.
Jaw wide open, I slowly began my way upstairs, making sure to grab the bucket and mop set for me at the bottom of the staircase. How could she just insult us like that? Who did she think she was? Ms McCarthy my ass!
Angrily, trudging into the first bedroom only to be greeted by pure darkness. Hesitantly flipping the light switch on, I expected the bedroom to not only be vacant but also slightly clean, and this bedroom was definitely neither. Hideous, ghastly, black curtains drooped over the grand, bulky windows, blocking out any traces of gods given sunlight. A single bed was cornered to the wall dressed in a sombre sheeting, adding just an extra tinge of dullness to the already gloomy room.
I stumbled back a few steps, a little shocked by the contents of the overly Gothic bedroom. Before I could register what had just happened a girl with glossy, blunt blue eyes and sleek, pitch black hair. The way she stared was as if she could see right through my soul. She had peachy pink lips, accompanied with an acute, button nose. One thing for sure, she did not look at all friendly.
Before I could utter a word, or even a sound to be exact, she slammed the door directly in my face, presumably locking it too since I heard keys tingling. The smell of the clouding burning essence travelled its way back to my senses as soon as I was far away from the door, I almost felt the need to gag, why on earth was it so strong?
"I see you've met Alva." A somewhat comforting chuckle sounded from down the corridor. Shooting my eyes in the direction, I spotted the original 'McCarthy', Ryan McCarthy. He was clad in a pair of grey jeans and blue and white stripey jumper, sleeves pulled up as if he was ready to spar and the golden smirk sketched right where it always was.
"Yeah. Strange girl." I replied nervously, you could say I was still in shock by 'Alva's' actions. Shoving the mop and bucket behind my legs, I looked up to see Ryan's eyes had only brightened to see that my nervous system has recently had an electric current flow through it, figuratively speaking.
Preparing myself to leave the scene, I quickly adjusted my cardigan, swiftly attempting to overpass Ryan without any interruptions. Of course, with him being Ryan, he deemed to be a distraction to anything with a face, including me. So he slipped his hugely, built figure so that it was blocking my path, huffing, I blew out in exasperation, folding my arms in an angry manner.
"It's my house you're in, therefore its my rules that you follow." He stated, smirking knowingly.
"Actually, correct me if I'm wrong, its Mrs McCarthy's rules that I follow. Unless you're hinting something Ryan?"
"Haha, funny joke. Speaking of which, what does bring you here to my house Madeline Morris from England?"
"Wales. And that shouldn't be of your concern."
"Well it is now, since you are on the doormat of Ryan McCarthy's bedroom." He pointed out, gesturing his hand to the door he was leaned on.
"Look Ryan I'm not in the mood for you right, I'm already pissed off and you and your bedroom are the least of worries right now."
"Why are you vexed?"
Because Hayley just messaged me an entire paragraph telling me all about what happened between Natasha and this dude called Christian, all I know is that she has a small concussion and that she's gotten detention, but right now I'm pretty worked up about knowing that one of the Welly's has been hurt and none of us were there to support or defend her, I answered to myself internally, squinting my eyes at Ryan.
"It's nothing." I replied blandly, picking up the mop and bucket and sauntering through the corridor further into the mansion of a house.
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