I Hope You Like The Stars I Stole For You

My crying abruptly stopped as someone scared the crap out of me by shouting and banging on the other side of the wall. The noise came from beside my head so I was naturally scared at the sudden loudness.

“I-I-I’m sorry?” My apology sounded like a question as I tried to shout though the wall back at whoever had yelled at me.

He, at least I think it was a he, said something inaudible to me on my side of the wall. I waited a few seconds just in case he started talking again. But I didn’t hear anything. Perhaps he went back to sleep. My thoughts were cut off as I noticed that someone was banging on the door to the apartment.

I wiped my face dry of tears and grabbed my glasses. I knew my nose was running and my face was still red. I wasn’t particularly bothered about looking my best. I didn’t need to impress anyone. But if this person happened to care if I was crying or if I was okay, I’d rather not explain my feelings and issues.

I got to the door and didn’t think to check the little peep hole beforehand. At that moment I really wished I had done that.

He was tall and appeared to be in his twenties. His bare chest was showing off a tattoo near his collar bone. A sentence or two in a beautiful handwritten script. With a black and white rose continuing over his shoulder. Not that I was staring intently at this stranger’s chest. But I didn’t think he noticed. He looked half asleep, running a hand through his mop of dark, messy light brown hair and over to his stubble of a beard.

“Where’s that military guy. I thought he lived here.” He said to me, yawning. An American Texas accent in his voice. Which was very different from the English coming from my lips.

“I-I’m his sister.”

“Oh.” He said, yawning as he talked. “Well would you mind keeping it down. I’m really fuckin’ tired.”

I was taken aback at his language. In my household, swearing was strictly forbidden. To hear him say the ‘F’ word so casually was extremely offensive for someone like me.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh sorry. And sorry about yelling at ya before.” He almost immediately became more alert at my offended tone. I believed that he was sorry. But I wasn’t sure if I liked the way he was looking at me. It wasn’t in a perverted way. I was recognized as a woman, instead of just not being ‘that military bloke’. He studied my red face and smudged eyeliner.

“You been crying?”

“I don’t see how that is any of your business sir.” I mentally smacked myself. The extra ‘sir’ at the end of the sentence was extremely unnecessary. Plus it wasn’t any of his business, and I didn’t want to have to explain everything to him.

“Well it is now. I’m awake and you woke me up. It’s only polite that I ask what the reason is for you to be crying in the first place, and then do whatever I can to help.”

“‘Do whatever you can to help?’” I questioned him with my left eyebrow raised. I was doubting that he’d actually care. “Really?”

“Nah. I’d probably make you cry more if I did. But I am awake and I am wondering what’s making your pretty little self upset.” He said with a small, clever smile on his pale face. This guy was smooth. It was slightly annoying. Sticking out his hand in a greeting gesture, he began to talk again.

“The name’s Jonah. Jonah James.” Like James, James Bond. He was being way too friendly for someone I woke up at 4 in the morning. Perhaps there was a logical reason for that though. My parents have brought me up to think that tattoos were associated with rebellion and trouble. Not that I believed it, but my mind still came to the conclusion that this guy had something else on his mind. Or maybe he was just really hung over or delusional, mistaking me for someone who will let him into my apartment and have sex or something.

“Mhmm.” I answered, rubbing my eyes.

He looked at me expectantly. Like I was supposed to say my name and shake his hand. Which, I guess was the custom but the circumstances were all wrong and I was just too irritable and tired to make a polite introduction.

“Not to be rude, but it is 4 in the morning and I’ve had a long flight.”

“Oh! From where?”

“Good night.” I said to him. Turning around and shutting the door to my brother’s apartment. I caught one last glimpse of his face and tattoos before all was quiet. Then came his muffled voice.

“... Technically it’s the morning sweetheart!”

Goodness gracious.

I ran a hand though my bright red hair. This Jonah wasn’t exactly who I pictured the first person I’d meet in England. Who I was thinking of meeting, I didn’t know. But I did know that after being awake for almost twenty four hours, I wasn’t expecting to meet someone so soon.

But oddly, I was glad that he’d yelled at me for crying too loud. In a way, I knew I wanted to cry but at the same time I knew that Kame would be coming back sometime, and he was doing what he wanted to do. So I should try to be happy for him, and not cry and wake anyone else up.

Especially Jonah. He might come knocking on my door again, and I wasn’t sure if I could resist the urge to scream at him if he did.

I walked slowly, almost zombie like, towards my brother’s bedroom where all my stuff was. Once again, I took off my glasses and set them down on the table beside the bed. No pajamas, and without brushing my teeth or my hair, I wrapped myself up in the blankets and fell into a deep sleep.