His at Night (His #1)

Chapter 1 : Mr. Unknown

This story is a work of fiction and it's my own work. Characters and/or events are a work of my imagination. Although this story was inspired by On Dublin Street by Samantha Young. And maybe a little Fifty Shades of Grey, too. ;)

Brief note and warning: I wrote this story when I was 15/16. English is not my first language.

And, please, be kind. If you don't like my story (and it's completely okay if you don't!) don't leave hateful comments because they will be deleted and I'll have to report you. Be kind to each other and if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it. Simply stop reading it. But, please, spread love, not hate! :)

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I finally moved out today for good from 'our' apartment. Or our ex-apartment. Well, his apartment now. I never want to think about me and him like 'us' ever again in my life. I don't think anybody ever does after coming home to see your two-year boyfriend happily rolling in your bed with some other girl.

So here I am, driving towards my new flat I found two weeks ago. I had a meeting with my roommate-to-be and we totally clicked. She seemed really cool and nice to me.

I simply could not afford a flat just for me with my job at the bar, so I'm glad I could find something really nice on short notice. To be honest, I'd rather live under some tree than be near that bastard ever again.

Charles Bay. That's the name of a man who shredded my heart to pieces. He's the reason I don't ever see myself trusting another man in my life again. I always thought we had something special, that we loved each other more than anything and that we could last. He made me happy. And I was so wrong to think I made him happy too, apparently. Our relationship was a pretence all this time. And I don't even want to think of, nor know how many women he slept with behind my back.

When I found him that night with that blonde bimbo, he didn't even bother to try to explain things to me. Not that I would listen, anyway. And it hurt that he didn't even apologise. So, as much as it hurt me, I packed my things as quick as I could, while tears were streaming down my face and Charles was saying his goodbye to that girl with words like, "I'll call you later, babe," sealing it with a nice kiss, breaking my heart even more.

He went watching TV after that, leaving me all alone having a breakdown. When I was finished, I rolled my suitcases out of his bedroom and walked to the door. His voice stopped me. "Rory, I ..." I guess he couldn't finish the sentence. Or he couldn't find the words.

Either way, I didn't turn around. I stopped with my hand on the door handle and calmly said, never once turning around, "I don't want to hear it, Charles."

And with that I walked out of the door, ending our story. I was running down the stairs, desperately trying to keep my tears and whimpers in control. I only allowed myself to completely break down on the street and then panic hit me. Hard.

With my job, I couldn't afford a flat. I'd be lucky if I even find one in that short time. I pulled myself together enough to get myself a taxi and go to people who I knew cared about me more than their own lives.

So that night I ended up at my parents' house (barely even remembering how I got there) and had another breakdown. My mum comforted me almost all night until I felt like I didn't have tears to cry anymore and I was exhausted from everything that happened that day, while my dad threatened to drive to his flat and kill him with his bare hands.

My mum obviously tried to reason with him and try to calm him down. I, on the other hand, didn't even care if Charles got hurt in this very moment. I'd kill him myself if I didn't feel sorry for myself.

The next few days passed in the blur. I was going to work every night at the bar, assuring my best friend that I was fine and she didn't need to worry so much about me. Although I felt bad about lying to the ones who were closest to me, it felt good to feel normal again and don't receive the pity looks everyone was giving me. Plus, I had a flat to find.

My best friend Lily was kind enough to offer me to stay with her, but I knew her flat wasn't big enough for three people, and with her boyfriend already living there, I didn't want to intrude. My parents were kind enough to let me stay with them. I think my mum was even feeling better that she could watch out for me like I was five years old.

But I wanted to feel normal again. So when I spotted an advert in a newspaper that a girl, named Brooke Campbell, was looking for a roommate, I grabbed my phone in seconds before I changed my mind. She agreed to meet me and I drove to her place two days later.

Her flat was really nice looking, not too small and not too big. It had a big living room, with a big screen TV and a comfortable looking black couch. When she showed me the room I'd be staying in, I almost drooled. It was that beautiful! It had a big bed in the middle, a window with a breathtaking view of the city and a closet that big, I could shove three people in there and they could probably be dancing. But when I saw the bathroom, I almost dropped to my knees and begged her to take me as her roommate.

I think she saw my expression because she just smiled to herself. The bathtub was huge. And I mean enormous! I almost launched myself in there and stay there forever. I could already picture myself lying in there for hours. Mmm.

There was a big mirror with cabinets aside and a small window. It wasn't really that big, but I loved it more than anything.

Then we went to the kitchen where we would talk. The kitchen was in black and white and it was big. I didn't actually like to cook, but I'd sure love to spend some time in here. The kitchen had a table in the middle and we sat down.

Brooke asked me on my opinion and stated a few rules. She wasn't picky. No smoking in there. No parties without her knowing. No loud music in the night.

I agreed to move in. I was actually excited. We talked about payment and we both agreed to split the bills.

Then we got to knowing each other. She talked mostly because I'm not really the talkative type and I don't trust people easily anymore.

I found out she was 27 years old, so only 2 years older than me, and that her brother bought her the flat. She was so easy to talk to and I immediately liked her. I hoped we could become good friends.

She said I could move in right away if I wanted. She worked in this fancy clothes shop down the street. I never visited it, but I heard the clothes there were quite expensive.

The next day, I was already all packed and saying goodbye to my parents and promising to visit them soon. I wanted to drop my stuff in my new flat before my job, take a long bath and then if I had time, unpack some things.

When I got there, Brooke wasn't there. I made myself comfortable in my new room and then went exploring. I can't believe how lucky I am to get such a great flat in that short time.

When the clock showed 4 o'clock, I ran myself that hot bath I was dreaming about all day. I poured myself a glass of a champagne that I brought with me and start relaxing. I finally feel really happy and content.

I felt myself falling asleep but the doorbell made me almost jump out of my skin. I thought it was Brooke and she forgot her keys or something, so I quickly jump out of the bath and wrap a towel around myself. I run to the door and open it. But that was definitely not Brooke standing there.

There was a tall man wearing a black suit with a white button-down and a black tie. He had dark brown hair, chocolate brown eyes and full lips that were smirking at me. He looks me up and down and I feel the blush creeping up my cheeks. I remember I am only in my towel and I suddenly feel very self-conscious and under-dressed.

"Hello there, you must be my sister's new roommate," the man says in his low tone, making me weak at my knees, and sticks his hand out for me to shake. "My name's Braden Campbell."

Thanks to @xenomorphius for the lovely cover! You rock!

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