Violet
I'm freaking out.
Zayn is going to be here in under twenty minutes and nothing is ready. I underestimated the time it would take to cook the chicken and it's only starting to brown on one side and it's been in there for an hour. Also, the salad platter is not going according to plan. Nothing is going according to plan. The place isn't suitable. He's going to hate it. I am freaking out.
I rush around the house madly, shifting furniture and straightening shelves. I'm dressed in a blazer and sweatpants with one sneaker on and one high heel. And I am freaking the motherfuck out.
This was a bad idea, this was a seriously bad idea. I mean, why did he have to go and make it an actual date? Now all the pressure was on. What if something bad happened? What if something good happened? What the hell will happen? I am not prepared. For the first time in my life I am not prepared for this situation.
I run into my room and throw off my odd shoes and sweatpants, and toss the blazer aside. I rifle around in my wardrobe and skim past my three total garments before deciding that nothing in my wardrobe is date worthy. Nothing I even own is date worthy. Is this our first date? I mean, we've been on dates before but that was before we broke up. Does this mean that because we broke up, everything is completely refreshed? Meaning that this is indeed a first date. What if he tries to kiss me? It'll be our first kiss. Oh, what the fuck, Violet?
The thing is, I have no idea what to expect from tonight and I have no idea what I want to expect. For us to get back together? That's such a long shot. I mean, we clearly didn't work when we were together so what's the point in trying again? But why did he make it a date? What are his intentions? Are we friends? Are we more than that? What the fuck are we?
I'm just putting on some jeans when I hear a knock at the door, and I freeze. Not one muscle moves in my body as I just stand there in silence.
No. He's early. When in the god damned hell has Zayn Malik ever been early?
"Help!" I screech.
"Violet?" I hear his voice.
"U-Uh, just a minute!" I move around the room so fast that I trip over the edge of my bed and tumble to the floor. I quickly pick myself up and run down the hall. I run past the door and have to backtrack. When I open the door I'm puffed and red in the face, and I realise that I am in fact wearing no shirt.
"Hello," I say as casually as I can.
Zayn's cheeks immediately turn red and he shifts his gaze from my chest. "Oh." He clears his throat. "Hello."
"I am not wearing a shirt."
"No, uh, you're not." He looks down the corridor outside my apartment, shuffling his feet.
"You're early," I point out.
"Yeah, sorry. I just ... I ... uh, do you want me to come back?"
"No, no. Just give me a minute." I open the door for him to step inside and he turns back to face me, trying very hard to not look down at my exposed chest.
He holds out a bottle of wine to me. "I, uh, brought this."
"Thanks. Can you just put it on the counter? I won't be long." I give him a very forced smile before turning off and sprinting back to my room.
Oh my god!
I open my drawers and put on the first damn shirt I see. It's a King's College one and so I take it off and replace it with the next one I see. That one ends up to be a simple white blouse and so I deal with that.
YOU ARE READING
When Worlds Combine - A WWC Sequel
Random"You meet a lot of temporary people in this lifetime, I don't want you to be one of them."
