When Autumn visits London with her girl-squad, she is introduced to Xavier Montgomery during such a naughty, intoxicated event. Now in less formal words; Autumn has drunk sex with the most famous writer and former model of England and the world. Aft...
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october 16th or maybe somewhere in 2002 really had no idea where I was
"XAVIER MONGTOMERY," I sheepishly giggled as I drank from the glass filled with water.
Xavier gave me a look and then sighed deeply. After I had fallen, he took me to an empty kitchen somewhere else in the huge mansion and forced me to stay hydrated. I, on the other hand, just wanted to intoxicate my body as much as possible so that maybe the enzymes would start losing its functional form and become unusable. Briefly, I wanted to die.
"You know," I spoke as I tried to stand up from my chair, but Xavier gently pushed me back into it, "you know how you remind me of my boyfr- eh... ex-boyfriend?"
"Tell me about it."
As I explained how the shine in his eyes reminded me of Chris' eyes, he got on his phone and started scrolling through messages. I felt quite offended by the fact that he didn't pay attention to my story and in addition got out of my chair to confront him with it. He looked at me with a weird look on his face and put his phone down.
"You're not even listening to me!" I said while taking place on the counter right beside him.
"I don't care about your bloody ex-boyfriend," he replied.
"That's rude- my favorite song! My favorite song is playing, I need to dance to that!" I looked for the exit. The melody of 2002 sung by Anne-Marie filled my ears and kept me motivated to get out of this stupid, beautiful kitchen. Oh, how I hated rich people and their glorious kitchens. Who even possessed various kitchens in their house? Right, rich people.
"Are you looking for the exit?"
"Yes, where is it?"
"You ruined all of our drinks, made a fool of yourself and now you want to go back into the public where everyone hates you?"
"That's a way to put it..."
"You look like a fucking mess." He got onto his phone again.
"A hot mess?" I asked jokingly, but he just glared at me for a second and then sighed once again. Not a single useful sentence had came out of his fucking mouth, only things a pessimist would say.
"Like a mess."
"Dancing in the hood in the middle of the woods of an old Mustang, where we sang," I sung.
"God, she sings too. Is there anything you don't do in order to get me annoyed?" He put his phone into the pocket of his suit and watched me dance to the soft instrumental of the song. Although he indeed looked annoyed with me, the sound of my voice seemed to satisfy him. It almost was like he enjoyed my half-drunk behavior. Unfortunately I was starting to sober up, to all good things came an end.
