Zephyr left the college campus disgustedly. How dare they?
"Stupid interviews," She muttered, not looking back at the horrible place. Here Belgium's top college had asked for an interview when they'd seen her application. They basically had asked for her life story. The interviewer seemed fascinated for a little while until she had suddenly interrupted, offered a poor excuse as to why her personality wouldn't fit with the school, and had dismissed her.
"He's in jail and still ruining my life," Zephyr grumbled, kicking a rock. She was nineteen now and absolutely beautiful. She still had the same color eyes and hair, but she was a little taller, though still a little smaller than most. The teen decided to take a walk; it wasn't as if anyone was wondering where she was.
Her foster family hadn't been exactly a dream. They'd refused to let her visit Odd or her other friends. They hadn't let her compete in track or any other sports. They were so protective that they were glad that each day passed without her bringing home a friend, especially a boy. When she did bring someone home, girl or boy, they were sent away and Zephyr was reminded that she was better not be a burden to them because they were so kind to take her in. She had a couple "siblings" who were the biological children of the parents, and they were just as obscure. They taunted her constantly throughout her life, and since she was the oldest, she was often responsible for the kids. She'd never hit them, of course, but if she showed the slightest bit of power or authority she was in trouble. They'd hit her, too, though it was rare. Zephyr couldn't begin to imagine how they got through the foster screening process.
Over the course of time Zephyr had become resistant, antisocial, and distant. She wasn't doing anything bad or illegal, but she had no respect for her Belgian "parents." To others at a glance she seemed like the quiet type, the kind that should be smoking pot and writing horrible poetry. But Zephyr never smoked, never wrote. Often she'd stayed out stargazing, pretending Odd was there.
"See?" She'd told his shadow she thought she'd seen, "Told you wishing stars don't work."
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Odd gathered up his textbooks and left the university physics room, sighing.
The blond, even by his own his standards, was hot. He'd dated, but had never felt that click he'd felt with Zephyr. His family in Italy could do nothing but watch as he locked himself within his schoolwork and had become extremely quiet and sullen. His heart had been ripped to shreds by the sharp fingernails of preppy sluts who had clung to him like leeches, then when he refused them sex or a kiss or his tongue slipped and he mentioned a certain red head from the edges of his childhood had dumped him.
They were both alone and exhausted, each waiting for the other.
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"I hope I live through this," Zephyr muttered, stepping off the train, small suitcase in hand. She was back in France, where she'd been hurt, but more importantly healed, and she was coming here by the slim chance that she might be healed once again.
She knew in reality that he was probably married or seriously dating. She also hoped that she wasn't forgotten by him, but also hoped she was. It was…very complicated, as emotions often are. She didn't want him to feel pain if she showed up. The red head shook her head, red locks spilling about her shoulders. She'd let it grow and it was about mid back length now. She made her way to her apartment on foot, brushing off the strange glances that were given to her.
Odd Della Robbia locked his apartment door, tossing the key in the air and catching it in mid descent. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, casually going ona blind date. He found that most dates were failures because he always compared the girls to Zephyr . The amber eyed boy had no idea why he couldn't just let go. He shrugged and made his way down the stairs; there was no elevator. As he trotted down the six flights of stairs, jumping the last couple, he noticed a girl, dark, dark red hair, almost like dried blood obscuring her face from his view. She was carrying a suitcase. The nineteen year old felt some strike of recognition, and he dropped his keys, only half by accident. As he bent to pick them up the girl turned her face away, still carrying the small suitcase up the stairs from where he'd come. The blond couldn't help but watch as she stopped climbing the stairs as she reached the sixth floor. Though he tried not to think anything of it, he knew he wanted to see her face, see her eyes, just so he could know that her face wasn't scarred and her eyes weren't the color of the palest gray September sky.
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Her apartment was small but she liked it that way; big spaces made her uncomfortable. The furniture, old and worn, had come with the flat, and she liked the broken in feel of it. Zephyr decided to take a look around after she'd unpacked and thoroughly gotten to know where and what everything in the apartment was, whether it had roaches or other pests(thankfully it didn't), and other numerous things. It was dark outside when she decided to roam the building and find out where the laundry room was and where rent was paid, but mostly to check out the neighbors, see if any of her old classmates were around. She thought back to when she'd been lugging her suitcase upstairs and some guy whose face she hadn't seen had dropped his keys "on accident."
"They're all the same," She told herself bitterly, heading once again down the stairs.
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Odd was tired. After a night consisting of another failed date. Joy. Odd scoffed as he remembered the girl. She had to have only been fifteen years old.
"Figures," He snorted quietly, "It was Ulrich's idea." The brunette has set his friend up with many high schoolers, but never a slut like this one, on blind dates. When he saw her Odd half wished he was blind.
Her name was something exotic and fake, "Adelita" he thought, though he wasn't sure. All he knew was that it was close to "Aelita." Her outfit was garish and almost vomit inducing. Her skirt was extremely short and her top was extremely low cut. She'd lit a cigarette and ordered alcohol at dinner. He'd almost left right there. After what that stuff had contributed to Zephyr's life he wanted to ban it from France. The Germans could have their heavy draft beer, the Irish their strong, smooth whiskey, and the Italians their sophisticated wines. He felt that strongly and he was Italian himself. Anway, he couldn't see how she'd been able to order it when she was already acting stupid. Her long blonde hair had painful evidence that it was dyed, and her skin was the result of several hours logged in tanning beds. Her eyes were a flat blue and a little too readable, though they showed no emotion other than lust. Odd had actually felt sorry for her, her life being derailed so young. According to her she'd picked up smoking and drinking from her mother, who'd started after her father had died because of a stray bullet.
He felt badly for her until she climbed into his lap and tried to seduce him.
"Man, she laid it on thick," Odd recounted. It was the truth. The girl had even licked his face. She'd raked her fingers through his gelled hair and that had been the final straw. He couldn't stand anyone combing through his hair. That and he'd smelled the alcohol on her breath, and it was as clear as the night he'd smelled it when they'd cleared Jack out of the house.
"I'm glad that bastard is locked up forever," He murmured, making sure he had no smoke or alcohol smell on himself.
The girl had revealed right before they had parted that she was planning to run away and become a prostitute. Odd had tried to convince her to stay because he mother surely needed her, but she'd refused to listen and had stalked, wobbling on her high heels, into the depths of her seedy neighborhood. Odd had turned, silently shaking his head, and left.
"I'm through with this," He'd surrendered to Ulrich on the phone in a depressed voice after he'd given a detailed summary of the night's events.
"You didn't give her a fair chance," Ulrich had argued.
"She licked my face," Odd emphasized, refusing to allow further dispute. He hung up his phone and entered his apartment building, making his way tiredly up the stairs.
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She just had to run; she couldn't resist it. Her Belgian guardians hadn't let her really cut loose and run in years. She, in preparation, tied her shoes and gently tested them, assuring herself of their stability. Then she braced herself at the end of the hall, propelling herself off of the navy, ancient carpet. Even after five years of hardly any practice she slipped right back into the technique of it, shooting down the long hallway, feet barely touching the ground. She leaned forward, increasing her great speed. She knew she'd never make it to the stairs but she just kept going. Her heart pounded, blood gushing through her brains. She didn't talk to herself now, didn't even think. It was concentration, reacting to the environment.
As it turns out she did make it to the end of the stairs after all. She tried to stop but her brakes didn't quite work. She skidded, and as a reaction to her almost doing a faceplant into the stairs prepared to spring up with her feet as soon as the prime opportunity came along.
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Odd walked up the stairs nonchalantly, humming to himself along with "You're Beautiful" by James Blunt. He'd heard it in the restaurant and had it stuk in his head. He was almost to the top of the stairs when he saw a blur barreling down the hall towards the stairs.
"She's not going to be able to stop in time," He whispered. He didn't stop to ponder why he'd automatically labeled it female, because he was too busy rushing forward to catch it in his arms.
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Ooooo cliffy!
About Odd's date ordering alcohol at 15...they do that kind of stuff. If you act mature, you can order alcohol. French kids are usually raised with a better understanding of it than Americans.