The ride home is quiet and most definitely awkward. Phil is in the other car, a few people away, but I can still feel his stare on me as he opened the door. How did this happen? One moment I'm being driven home nicely, the next I'm having a panic attack, and the next… making out.
Lightning is a little less intense now, only appearing every few minutes. Even the rain has subsided to a light sprinkle, the skies now painted with sunset. I sigh, and lean against the window. This feels like a movie, and something intense is about to happen. At least no dramatic music is on.
We pull off the highway and onto a less busy road, leading to my apartment. A few sidestreets later, we were there.
I am living at a pretty small apartment complex, a sooty brick building that had once been a factory. In the sixties the place had been closed and rooms boxed off to make apartments. The best part was that the place was cheap, so I could live in a non-ghetto neighborhood in my very slim price range. I was also entertained by the fact that a fire escape gripped the side, perfect to sit out on and feel depressed every evening. By every evening, I mean most of my time that isn't spent on Netflix and food is spent out on the fire escape.
"Is this the place?" asks Dan, breaking the silence that has been eating me alive this entire ride. "Yeah, you can just drop me off here," I say, unlocking the car door. The smell of rain is fresh on the air, and the wind feels like mist. As I step out, Dan puts a hand on my shoulder.
"Wait." I turn around, and look him in the eye. He better not kiss me again… Luckily, he does not seem to be in that mood again and simply stares at me. "Can I sign your cast?" he asks. Looking down at the black material, I frown, "How are you supposed to do that?" I snort. Nothing would show up on the dark color, he knows that.
We sit there for a moment, neither of us knowing what to say. "Well, I was trying to be romantic and write my phone number on the cast, but I guess that won't be happening." I sigh, cheeks burning red. "Do you want to put yourself in my phone?" I ask. He smirks and nods. I rip the purple-cased iPhone 5s out of my pocket and toss it to him, just after typing in the password. He frowns, "Why don't you have the update? Like, IOS 7 or whatever?" he asks. I roll my eyes. "I heard it eats up the battery, so I didn't get it. Can't a girl just have an outdated phone?" I ask. He shakes his head, "Nope, but I think I can accept that. Here you go," he replies, and tosses the phone back. I'm surprised it hasn't completely shattered with my butterfingers.
"So… Bye then?" I say. He nods, "See you later." I limp away, my heart in my throat. Did this happen? Did I just meet Daniel James Howell, the one who I named three stuffed animals and a microwave after? The man who I wrote countless songs I'll never sing about? Suddenly I want to scream my throat out and cry until I flood the world.
As soon as I know Dan has left the parking lot, I let out a yell. It's not like me, but the occasion definitely deserves it. If I could jump with the cast, I definitely would've. If anyone is looking out their window, I probably look like a complete lunatic. Not that I care, I've already emotionally disturbed all the neighbors with depressing music and Doctor Who screaming through the walls. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I drag it out. Mom… oh no. What could she have to say?
"Hello?" I ask, an anxious edge in my voice. "Elinor Koustis! Why were you in the hospital?" yells my mother. I shudder at her nails-on-a-chalkboard voice, "I fell on an escalator, that's all. I'm fine, just a few scratches. I needed stitches on my forehead; that was it." I feel awful lying to her like that, but I know if I told the truth mom would go insane on me. She would yell, and scream, and probably force me to come home. As scary as London is, I do not want to go home.
"Good girl," says my mother, "But you need to call me! I've been getting worried for you!" I sigh, "I'll be fine mom. Say hi to Yaya for and Papou for me!" I hang up before she can answer. Enough of that conversation. I guess that's what you get with a Greek family.
I travel up the elevator to my room on the top floor. No, it's not a penthouse, as my younger sister thought when I told her I had the top floor. Still, the view of London is worth a million bucks. I unlock my door and trudge into my apartment, the dark and dusty room smelling of home and whatever Greek food I've made in the last few days. I collapse on the couch, shutting my eyes and thinking.
The thing about me is that I can entertain myself with my own thoughts, often slipping into my own little world. I could spend hours just staring at the ceiling and thinking, although it was best to not do that when I was busy with work. I got yelled at on the first day for zoning out and painting an entire crate pink. Luckily, it was a light color and I wasn't fired.
"Hello?" calls a voice, paired by a thumping on the door. I snap awake, realizing I dozed off on the couch. Shoot. Is that my boss? How does she know where I live? I guess I did put it on the application and everything, but still!
"One second!" I yell, hopping up to my crutches and limping to the door, checking myself in the mirror. I open the door, smiling nervously.
Oh no. What could this be about?