Over Again

I'm Miranda, an art colledge student, living in London with a fairly average lifestyle. That is, until I meet a few colourful characters that pull me from the streets into the limelight where unfortunately, I will never ever be forgotten.

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1. Chapter One

Miranda's P.OV:

Okay so here goes! My name is Miranda. I'm eighteen years old and currently trying to live the high life as a working art student in London well, trying.If it wasn't for my annoying ex always squirming his way back into my life! Well we will get to that soon but other than that, thats all I think you need to know! Oh! I almost forgot, not. I'm Harry Styles' ex girlfriend.

I pull my soft linen covers over my head and groan loudly, as my assignment from our professor on Friday, all of his art students from that class have to go out on the streets of London and showcase our art to see if anyone wants to buy it, not that half of us do it anyway. As students attending a highly expensive London colledge, of course we aren't going to have money to be able to walk around buying Gucci handbags. Jobs are hard to find nowadays, never mind applying for one! Well he tries, note the present tense as even though we're split he still thinks of me as his own personnal charity case. Well anyways like I was saying....he tries to help me with his stupid money which he makes out of his stupid job which he has from singing stupid songs in a stupid band! I feel my cheeks get hot as this topic gets me angry, how does he think he can walk round throwing his money every direction and showing off?

The topic of him or his band makes me sick to the stomach! I resolve to climbing out of bed, rather trying to run from my thoughts of him but I can't, I secretly spend every waking minute with him on my mind and every sleeping minute too. At least the professor won't be watching us when we're selling our art so I can leave whenever I want, I know when the people who will actually look and buy something come along and thats around two o'clock, it suits me and the customer's quite well. I'm one of the lucky few street people who's art actually gets looked at, people often tell me I'm talented but I just reply with the fact that I'm just trying to make my living along with everyone else in the world. Harry, I flinch at the mention of his name, has reminded me plenty of times about how talented I am and that I should set up a studio or gallery, that particular conversation always popped up at least five times a week when we were dating. I always had my own comeback, the simple no-money one, I've explained to him a number of times that secondclass citizens like me who go to fancy colledges like the one I'm attending often struggle to stay afloat and afford such expensive semesters.

When he first saw my bill for colledge, I remember well how his eyes widened and asked me if that what it was for only a year but I replied with the truth that it was actually only for a semester. He still doesn't understand though, even though he has seen and experienced how expensive fancy english colledges are. When I used to comeback with my no-money arguement, he would go on about how he could give me the money, see what I mean? He thinks I'm his own walking charity that he can throw money at and look like a good boy who's just given a poor girl her own company. Thats what really annoyed and annoys me about Harry, how he continuously does that.

I eventually drag myself out of bed and pick up the nearest clothes on the floor to pull on, I glance at myself in the full view mirror to see what I put on. I'm wearing dark blue skinny jeans, a cream cashmere sweater and my brown leather combat boots that are at least two years old. I try and tame my wild chocolate brown hair thats like a squirrels tail, I walk into the hall and grab my sling-over the shoulder bag and put my keys, wallet and phone in it. I walk through the tiny flat kitchen to try and find my art folder. I find it scattered in the far corner of the small enough living-room. I have to carefully step over my flatmate, Katie, as she's conked on the floor. She was mortal last night, her friends and her had a party here and they all got so drunk it was quite funny really. I didn't drink much because I knew I'd have to go out selling my art today, I grab my bag and tuck my art folder securely under my right arm before closing the flat door quietly behind me, even though I know Katie won't wake if a bomb explodes outside.

So this is my new movella!!!!! Tell me what ye guys think??!!! xx :)

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