Chapter One~

I awoke with a start, sweat drenching my sleep-ravaged body. It was the same dream. It was always the same dream, replaying like a twisted sit-com episode inside my head.

Sitting up with a groan, I checked the time on my phone;

7.28.

I scrubbed a clammy hand over my face. My alarm was going to go off in a couple of minutes any way so I flopped back down onto my pillow with a sigh. It didn't feel as though I'd had the recommended eight hours sleep; I could have sworn it was only half eleven a blink ago. Closing my eyes, I contemplated the idea of staying in bed for the day, as the sensation of closed eyes made me realise how little sleep eight hours felt like any more. But alas, as The Vaccines say; 'I don't want to wake up in the morning but I've got to face the day.'

If I could do anything; anything in the world I would get rid of alarms. To be specific, I'd get rid alarms on a Monday morning. Seriously; as if getting up weren't painful enough.

Having a cheery early morning song does however make rising slightly more tolerable. So when The Bee Gees came blaring from my phone I merely groaned, nightmare already fading into near non-recollection, stretched and sat up once more. Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I surveyed the dumping ground that was my room and, with a noise that resembled 'blargle', stood.

As I stumbled around the bomb site, I mumbled along with the retro song that continued to play; 'Well you can tell by the way I use my walk, I'm a woman's man, no time for talk.'

"Daisy!" my roommate, Abi, obviously hearing my alarm going off, called from downstairs, "you want some bacon?"

"Do you need to ask?!" I shouted back, the mention of food causing both my mind and my stomach to brighten. Her distant laughter echoed up the stairs.

I loved Abi. She'd been one of my best friends since primary school when she shoved Melanie Andrews' face into the sandpit for calling me a 'pathetic little mong whose face belonged on an anteater.' Looking back on it now, I don't know whether I want to praise her imaginative insult or sit on her sand-filled face until she resembled a crab but hey; without it, mine and Abi's friendship would have never blossomed. So thanks Melanie Andrews – I suppose.

Sixth form was going to kill me; looking for something clean, respectable and not lined with creases was a task that was becoming increasingly harder to complete. Diving deep into the clothes-mountain that had formed in the corner I pulled out a pair of skinny jeans and a non-wrinkled top and pulled them on, still hazy from sleep but the promise of food pulling me downstairs.

The sweet, succulent scent of simmering bacon caught my nostrils, calling its siren song (or… scent) to it.

My feet wandered of their own accord to the kitchen and took me to a seat on the little island in the middle of the room. Abi was stood at the cooker, singing along under her breath to a little tinny radio blaring out some indie record I didn't know.

'Mmmm, bacon,' I mumbled and Abi laughed again, before putting enough bacon on my plate to feed 5000; like a reincarnated Jesus – only better; she had bacon. She left to get ready, though she could have gone in her pyjamas and still knocked every boy dead.

After I'd all but licked my plate clean of anything edible, I retreated back upstairs to organise my books and stuff. Lucky for me the heaviest books were mine to lug around all day. A quick check of the timetable and a brush run through my hair and I was ready to evaporate.

I grabbed my trusty iPod and phone from the table, adjusted my backpack and left, shoving my ear-buds as I went. I took my time selecting a song as Abi and I headed for her beaten Ford, not wanting it to be too depressing or too happy for a day I could sense was going to be reasonably appalling. After much internal deliberation in which I threatened to stab myself in the placenta multiple times, I pressed play.

Abi's 'Swag-mobile' attracted several longing stares from the lower-year walker – as usual. Her parents had bought it for her 17th birthday, brand new and she loved it like a child. She parked up near the reception and we headed up to our group's haunt at the top of the school.

Kill me now.

Abi flaunted her impossibly long legs walking up the impossibly steep steps, her legs looking even more impossibly long in her black flowery skirt; blonde hair was curled to perfection. Just as the boys were coming into view, she started what she called 'The Strut', swinging her hips a little more and popping her chest out. Oh, she was out to turn heads today. But there was only one in particular she cared about. And that was Josh.

Josh Franceschi was the hottest boy to roam these halls – unofficially, although I'm fairly sure that there's an official Josh fan club amongst the younger girls. With the tousled quiff and captain-of-the-football-team status, not to mention the fact that his singing voice was the mixture of a mermaid and Jesus, he practically owned the school.

He also happened to be my best friend; which is why I could scream like a banshee and attack-hug him from behind without him freaking out on me – much.

"Miss me, pal?" he laughed and enveloped me in a cocoon of man smell before pulling on my hand to begin our ritualistic ultra-secret handshake which had been around since we'd first become friends.

Once, a girl – a member of the Fan-ceschi club I suspected – asked if we were going out and I had laughed in their face. Now, don't get me wrong, Josh is an extremely attractive boy, but the thought of us together… it's so just wrong. Like incest.

Josh released me and gave an enthusiastic wave to Abi, grinning broadly which was retaliated. Abi gave me a strange look as Josh turned back into the literal friendship circle, one that confused me. She knew Josh and I were close and she knew that that was all. No need for her to get all bitchy.

The confusion faded as I greeted the others, cracking jokes, telling them (mainly Max) that no, they could not touch my boob and no, there was still nothing I would do for 50p and other such nonsensical things.

While Matt was in the middle of a particularly hilarious story involving him and a bear, I noticed a lone figure stood up against the wall, a few metres away from our group.

He seemed to be looking down at his phone, earphones trailing from the top. I wondered what he was listening to. His posture was aggressively poor; a cocky yet enticing look was set upon his face as his foot tapped to the beat of the unheard music. The black polo shirt and low slung jeans hugged his frame in all the right places. Beneath a grey beanie his blonde hair stuck out wildly, making me fight the urge to run my hands through it. His arms caught my lower lip beneath my teeth; leanly muscular, a host of tattoos lined his right. I wondered what it was like to be held in them. Everything about him just screamed 'I don't give a fuck, just fuck me.' And I'll be damned if I didn't want to.

In my mind a thousand situations had already run through; most explicit enough to make me blush.

His eyes shifted to mine, as though he sensed my gaze. They scorched into mine with an intensity that knocked me off balance and out of breath. They were blue and deep like an ocean, yet something about them burned me like a fire. They were glorious.

Rather abruptly, I was wrenched from my little staring competition by Josh clicking his fingers in my face. Annoyed, I turned towards Josh with a glare. He recoiled, hands held up in surrender.

When I looked back to the boy, I saw him smirking at me, his eyebrow raised as if to say 'I won.'

I hated losing.

Turning back towards Josh, I asked him who the boy was – Josh was a sucker for gossip.

"What?" he looked over my head and spotted who I was talking about, "Leaning against the wall? Beanie? Looking like a threat to society? Funny you should mention him, Big D," he professed with a grin, tossing a careless arm over my shoulder, "That charming-looking young gentleman is actually my new neighbour, Mr Daniel Flint. My dearest mother has commanded me to keep an eye on him but has not given me a reason why. Has that satisfied your hungering curiosity for now, my dear?"

I rolled my eyes and he gave a laugh before returning to the rabble, leaving me to my thoughts.

There was something about him though, something sad, that cried out. Something that desired to be held and kept warm and have comforting whispers in its ear; and I found myself longing to hold him, to keep him warm and whisper in his ear that it would be ok…

I shook my head. What was I talking about? I didn't even know him.

I told myself one more glance, but when I looked up, he was gone.

I didn't even know him. Daniel Flint.

But I wanted to.