I own nothing but his stereo-vision.

Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrists?

And what has he been after, that they groan and shake their fists?

And wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air?

Oh they're taking him to prison for the colour of his hair.

-A.E. Housman

EPOV

Fuck, I was running late again.

I threw back the covers and jumped out of bed, dashing haphazardly into the bathroom. I turned that tap all the way to hot and grabbed a towel while I waited for it to heat up. I looked at the clock. Jesus fuck I was running really late. I had to be downstairs at the car in fifteen minutes. Why hadn't my alarm clock gone off? Goddamn technology. I jumped in the shower, yelping slightly when the water was too hot. I washed my hair in record time, scrubbed all over and got out. Ten minutes.

I ran into my room, thinking quickly bout what to wear. I finally settled on a green Henley, some dark Levi's and my black Vans before running back to the bathroom. Should I shave? Or would that take too much time. Seven minutes. I decided to forgo shaving, telling myself that that whole scruffy look was in and not believing it for a minute, and grabbed the toothpaste out of the cupboard. I loaded my toothbrush and started frantically scrubbing. Even though I was running late, I took the whole two minutes to brush and the extra thirty-seconds to mouthwash. I'm obsessed with my oral hygiene, all right? So sue me.

I ran back to my room, grabbing my overnight bag which I had amazingly packed the night before. I picked up my mobile, my iPod and my chargers before snatching my keys off the hall table on my way out the door. Five minutes. I locked the door behind me, threw my bag over my shoulder and sprinted for the lifts. I jammed the button, knowing that hitting it eighty times in a row wouldn't do shit to make them go faster and doing it anyway. Deciding that running balls out down six flights of stairs would be my best option to meet the car on time, I hauled ass to the end of the hallway and threw open the stairwell door. I almost died twice, but managed to get to the bottom in one piece. I waved frantically at the doorman as I passed him, and he just laughed, having seen me do this every day for the past two years. I loved to be on time, but I was notorious for barely making it. I walked through the front door of my building, a nice place in Mayfair, not too far from SoHo so I could get my "struggling, bohemian musician" fantasies out when they came calling and not too far from Kingston, where I had been going to school until I graduated last fall, and saw the black town car waiting at the curb. A man in a black suit and tie stepped forward.

"Mr. Cullen?" he said, looking at me in apprehension since I had just burst through the doors gasping for breath. I straightened up and tried to slow my breathing.

"Yes, that's me. Sorry I'm late," I answered, hoping he wasn't mad. I was of the firm belief that you should never annoy the people doing you a service, paid or not. They could seriously fuck shit up.

"Not a problem, sir," he said, looking amused. "Mr. Volterra isn't expecting you at the airport for another hour, yet. He made provisions for your...erm…" he trailed off, clearly not wanting to offend.

"For my inability to be anywhere on time?" I said, smiling at him to show there was no hard feelings. "Smart man, Mr. Volterra. Smart, indeed." He walked over to take my bag, and as he went to put it in the boot I pulled my smokes from my pocket. I flipped open the pack and shook one above the others, bringing the pack close so I could put it between my lips and pull it out. I flicked open my Zippo and lit the end, letting the butane filled smoke out of my mouth before actually taking a drag. Ah, sweet nicotine. Now all I needed was some…

All rational though ceased as I looked across the street. Standing under the awning of the building across the street was the most…dazzling women I had ever seen. Her long mahogany hair fell in soft waves down her back, hints of red, orange and purple peeking out amongst the brown, leading my eyes down her body, appreciating the soft, full curve of breast and hip in comparison to her slim waist. Her legs were long and slender, encased lovingly in what must be her favorite jeans because they were covered in what seemed to be paint, grease and what looked suspiciously like ash. As I moved my gaze back up her body I let it linger on the graceful line of her throat, loving the porcelain look of her skin. Her lips were beautiful; the lower a little fuller than the upper, and it was pierced by two small hoops on one side. Jesus, I loved piercings. Her eyes were hidden by pitch-black sunglasses, keeping me from her soul. I could see her music, though; I could see the soft sigh of longing in her posture echoed in the violins that surrounded her; I could see the pain she carried on her shoulders in the weeping of the blues guitar that caressed her; I could see the laughter in the corners of her mouth in the flute that swirled around her; I could see the sexuality that flowed from her in the piano that encompassed her. Her music was beautiful, for all its mismatching. It was unique, just like the woman in sunglasses, hiding her eyes from the world.

The driver was opening the door for me, and I walked slowly forward, burning the woman into my mind. I ducked down as I got in the car, finding my seat quickly and looking at the woman through the tinted window. She stood with an air of confidence that was both slightly intimidating and undeniably erotic. I felt…complete, looking at her. Every care I had was taken from me, replaced by a feeling of rightness and comfort. I felt fire in my veins, I felt like I wanted to just get lost with her, somewhere far away from London and all its people. I wanted to spend every minute of every day worshipping this goddess, proving with my words and my body just how much devotion I felt. I wanted to feel her slender legs wrapped around my waist; I wanted to run my fingers along the silky skin of her waist; I wanted to be connected to her in every way possible.

The car started and pulled away, and I watched the woman until I rounded the corner and lost her from sight. She turned her back on me at the last second, flashing more metal in the delicate, translucent skin of her ears. Her hair hung to her waist, and I could see the colours that decorated it better now, the five hues highlighting the brown falling in long tendrils down her back. I could feel it sliding along my chest, could feel her small hands braced on my shoulders, my hands guiding her hips as they moved back and forth, stoking the fire that was burning inside me. She was everything I had ever desired, and I didn't even know her name.

I settled back in my seat, preparing to dream of the girl with a lip ring and five colours in her hair.

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