She wants to escape it all. She runs from it. She gets a chance to leave it all behind. And she does, without thinking twice.
Gabrielle leaves France, her home country, when she finds an offer to babysit in London. She doesn't have a lot of ex...
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Do you have a few minutes? I need to talk to you about something ...
I'm biting my nails, anxiously waiting for Sam's reply, even though it's only seconds since it said that it's sent.
It's probably half an hour after the encounter I had with Alexander outside on the rooftop that honestly left me so confused and also a bit angry. How does he dare to play with my feelings like that?
I don't know what to think about him. I don't know what to think about this situation. It's confusing. I can't believe someone could change their opinion like that; basically overnight.
My phone vibrates in my hand and I swiftly unlock it to read Sam's text.
Be there in 20.
This is even better than what I hoped for. I desperately need a friend and a second opinion about this matter. And I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing that she knows Alex more than anyone.
I sit on my bed, circling the phone around in my hands, biting my lip.
When it feels like I'm waiting for eternity, I stand up and just mindlessly walk around the room.
I'm distressed. Alexander put me in that state without probably knowing it, without caring about it.
Sam bursts into my room what feels like an hour later and looks around the room. "Alright. Where's the fire?"
"Hi, Sam," I greet her weakly.
Her eyes search my face and she probably sees that I'm seconds away from exploding. Or falling apart.
She slowly comes forwards, nearing me like I'm some wounded animal. "What happened?" she asks softly, confusion strongly present.
"It's just ... Alexander," I decide on saying. It's always Alexander, I add in my mind.
Sam understands what I'm trying to say. She furrows her eyebrows. "What did he do?" She's getting cautious, I see.
"Ask me what he didn't do ..." I shake my head.
Sam sits on the bed and she pats the spot next to her. I sit down, too, twirling my hands around.
"Spill now," Sam says and it seems like she genuinely wants to know.
I tell her. About everything. About that kiss the night he saved me. About last night. About this morning. And everything that happened to this day.
Sam is patiently listening to me, not commenting anything, she just stays silent the whole time and shows interest in what I'm telling her.
And when I finish the story, Sam only says, "Pretty face? I think he likes you. I think he likes you a hell of a lot."
I shake my head in denial. "I think he's just messing with me, Sam. He must be playing some sick game with me." I put my face into my hands, letting out a desperate, "Oh, God."
