The Billionaire

One

Sophia's POV

Wavy blonde hair, pale skin, with an average height, and a slender body stands before me. My eyes narrows down at her awfully beat down clothes; blood stain, dirt covered, and smelly. Disgusting as I look, I had to accept it. Painful as it seems, I had to keep it all in.

I was inside my friend Jeremy's restaurants' kitchen trying to prepare a meal, when that fucked up of a bitch Laura bumped onto me accidentally making me accidentally cut my pink finger in the process, whilst I was cutting down onions into really tiny cubes. And to explain why I'm smelly and covered in dirt, I ran around without thinking and accidentally slipped out of Jeremy's kitchen window, luckily the dumpster broke my fall. And still I, Sophia Alexander, am still alive.

You know what they say, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. But all the more reason as to why I'm going home early today. Yey.

Walking home, I am a mess. Almost identically similar to how a hobo would look like, wandering around the streets probably plotting a revenge twist to kill you, or, maybe, ask you for food. Either ways, I don't want to look like a hobo. But now that I finally had the chance to start working in the kitchen, Laura had to keep misplacing her ass against the wrong person over and over, until someone had to get hurt.

Thinking about my misfortunes, I hadn't notice a huge wall-er, person walking towards my direction, with the same as me, drifting their minds on something either, stupidly embarrassing or something serious that even them walking was quite uninteresting to get carried away by it. A thumping noise resulted to our sudden physical encounter, making me wobble and fall down on the wet pavements of the not-so-rainy-and-not-so-sunny day in New York.

Hell! I wince at the slight sting on my bottom.

"Please watch where you're going next time. Fucking hobo." The man says in a pissed of tone, then hastily continues walking off. No words can express. If he's pissed off at me, then I'm as pissed off as him.

I stand up, and continued walking back to my apartment building with dirty, now wet, clothes. Hurriedly, as I'm now just meters away from my apartment door, I quickly dove my hands in my pockets fishing for the keys that were made to perfectly fit the lock. And came in.

My apartment wasn't much. No fancy shit, no huge flat screen TV's, no hot bathtubs. It was completely average, warm, and nice. Just as how I picture it from when I was still planning my final escape from hell.

Dragging my feet to the sofa, I sigh in relief, the sight of the very comfy couch that saved me from sleepy time and nap times, it was thought a gift from the heavens—a sign that it was time. Time to finally get some shut-eye.

Just as my ass was feeling the nice warm comfy seat, ready to laze on it to take a long nap. My telephone rings.

"Fuck." Was the very first word that came out of my mouth. It was either, they found me or I'm having a really huge stalker. Because as I remember, I've never given away my landline to anyone since I got here.

My heavy and sleepy state went fully sober at the sudden uncontrollable fear and anxiety hit up high at it's very marks. I pick it up, hoping that it would be some kind of ad, the landlady calling, or some kind of wrong number. Slowly I place the telephone right on my ear.

  "How are you dear? " A very familiar voice greets me. It couldn't be, they found me in a very short span of time. I'm fucked.