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2. Second Chances

April 7th

London, England

Today was less than sunny and more of an overcast of dismal clouds, lingering in the well-known air of Great Britain. I tossed over and sat up on my bed, hearing my flatmate Britney rattling her keys in the lock of our front door. I reluctantly stretched out my arms and crawled from my bed, grabbing my bath towel on the way. "Hello Brit," I called from behind the closed door but I was left without reply, "Brit? You alright?" I called out, now opening the door which led into a hallway which came out to the front room where I found Britney sat alone, sobbing slightly. "Hey, hey. Brit, what the hell is up?" I asked, enveloping her in my arms,

"he...he broke up with me!" She wailed intensely, throwing herself into my chest, "he-said-it-wasn't-working-anymore," she continued through excessive and continues sobs. "Ah Britney, listen to me." I pushed her hair back from her face and forced her to look at me, her face was red with mascara blotches streaming down it and her hair was tatted and messy, "he's not worth it, come on. Look, lets go run you a steaming bath, then we can fix you up and me and you can go out on the town tonight, yeah? No boys and no drama!" I consoled her confidently, "come on," I dragged her unwilling body along to the bathroom. "Right, go and get undressed, I'll do the bath for you," I said, twirling her body towards the door. She left without a word, her body trudged along the hallway and into her room, her door closed hastily as I ran the hot water from the tap, "stupid boys," I sighed to myself feeling rather annoyed not only with Craig but also Scott at this point.

I bathed Britney, throwing her long locks of luscious dark hair and washed it thoroughly as she loathed in self-pity which at this moment, I was able to understand. I let her towel dry herself and dress in her usual white robe before preparing a breakfast for the both of us which consisted of bacon and eggs and a stack of golden pancakes. "Thanks," Britney nibbled nervously at the edge of a pancake, perching on the edge of a bar stool which stood at the end of the island in our shared kitchen. "I think I'm going to eat this in my bedroom," she said aloud, lifting her plate from the counter, "thanks again," she sauntered lazily off towards her bedroom leaving me alone to enjoy my culinary art.

"No, you listen! This is all your fault, don't you dare turn it on me. You broke it off! You did this! I was so heartbroken over you, I don't think you understand! Why can't you see that, why can't you-" I suddenly heard Britney burst into tears of rage and emptiness, her heart shattering across the floor. "I'm done. F-"

"Brit, hey Brit," I tapped my knuckles on the door of her room,

"hold on," she whispered down the phone line, "yeah Jamie?" she called to me from the other side of the door,

"are you OK in there?" I questioned, a concerned tone lingering in my voice,

"yeah," she sniffed rather abruptly, "just sorting something out," she continued,

"OK, well, call me if you need,"

"thanks," she replied before turning back to her phone and profusely yelling curse words down to the other end. Since Britney had decided to call Craig and offer him a second chance (from what she had told me anyway), I decided it would be possible to out aside my grudge and call Scott to ask him out. I flipped my phone from my pocket and selected Scott from my contacts.

I heard the ringer echo in my ears several times before Scott's smooth voice caressed my ears.

"Hello?"

"Hey Scott, it's Jamie."

"Oh, hey, how are you?" He asked sounding rather sleepily,

"yeah, I'm good. A-Are you busy today?" I stumbled ridiculously over my words, clearing my throat between broke up letters, "not really," he replied. Instantly following Scott's reply, I could hear a female giggling in the background, 

"Scott, who's that?" It was most definitely a woman, high-pitched and excitable, questioning who I was from the opposing end of the line, "Jamie," Scott answered honestly,

"Oh, what does he want?"

He. She had automatically assumed that I was male. What did this mean? Was he seeing this girl? Is that why she thought I was a guy?

"Scott,"

"yeah?" He sounded uneasy,

"meet me in ten minutes, our spot." I hung up without reply, I wanted to see if he would turn up or if he would blow me off for the other girl he had, from what I assumed, spent the night with. I shoved on my unoriginal, black jeans and a white vest shirt, layering a dark cotton hoodie over the top and inserting my feet into a pair of plain black Vans shoes.

Five minutes is all it had taken me to arrive at our meeting place.

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