He Smells Like Heaven.
Author's note: I hope this is a heart warming story, of how two people can come together, and make the best out... Show full author's note »
Chapter One;I began to walk away from him, my eyes filling with tears. I was in love. And now he was leaving. He was leaving for good. I couldn’t stop him, it just wasn’t possible. I held my sobs in the best I could, as I was downed the isle, away from him, forever.
“What’s going on?” I questioned my parents, when I had arrived home from my walk. They were in back of their Dodge Caravan, with two large suitcases I had never seen before. They both glanced up at me, a happy expression on their faces.
“Go inside and see.” My mother smiled, holding onto one of the black suitcases. I gazed at them suspiciously, before walking up the driveway, and into the relatively medium sized house. As I walked in, I came to the stairs, hearing a door open from upstairs. I didn’t have any siblings anymore, and my parents were outside. Nor did I have friends, so who was in my house, besides me? I began walking up the stairs, hearing the noise get louder. Quickly, I jogged up the stairs, wondering what was upstairs. My door was creaked open slightly, and I made my way towards it, curiously. I pushed it open, and what I saw nearly gave me a heart attack. There was a boy in my room, about to go through my things. Before he could do so, I spat harshly, “Who are you, and what the hell do you think your doing?!”
The boy, who looked around my age, (17), turned around, his lips forming a visible smirk. He smelled like peppermint; My favorite scent. He had white skin that seemed to glow. Coal black hair hung right above his brown eyes, that framed his face and went about to his mid-neck. He wore a beanie, which made my heart flutter. It was perfect. A black septum piercing hung on his nose, making me drool.
Of course I contained it though. He wore a skin tight black v-neck, and ashy black skinny jeans, with Vans on his feet. Hello there.” He said, with an accent. It almost sounded British.
“You didn’t answer my question.” I hissed, my hazel eyes narrowing at him.
He only chuckled at me, his expression softening, “I’m Oliver and I came here from England.”
I continued to glare at him confused, thinking this over. Why was he at my house? He brushed the hair out of his eyes, and smiled, “I’m your foreign exchange student.”
My eyebrows arched upwards, as I say, “You’re my what?”
He glanced at me, and then laughed, “They didn’t tell you? Oh well, Surprise.”