Redesign the Broken

The Next Morning
(Switching to first person POV because the characters have been introduced by name, yay)
(Also, just quickly, any text in Italics (a.k.a the slanty font) is the characters thoughts, ok, proceed!)

STELLA
I woke up to the sound of running water, in a place that I didn’t recognise, on a couch that wasn’t mine… Because it hadn’t been delivered yet. My brain was fuzzy and I was well confused until I saw the “Sinners Never Sleep” plaque on the wall across from me.

I remember.

I almost peed myself when I heard a voice from behind me,
“Oh, you’re awake!”
“Uhm, yeah what time is it?” I asked Dan, mid-yawn.
“Just gone half 10, you fell asleep at like 2am so I figured I’d let you sleep” He smiled.
“Oh, well thanks I guess. I should probably head back…” I trailed off, somewhat disappointed that I had to leave this comfort.
“You sure? I could make breakfast and I could show you around later?”
After thinking about it for a few seconds, realising that A) I couldn’t turn down such a gentleman and B) I have no idea where the fuck I am, I pushed myself off of Dan’s fancy-ass, super comfortable sofa and with a half-smile, I agreed to his offer.
“Just let me go back across and get some clothes and whatnot. I’ll be back in like, half an hour ok?”
I barely let him get a word in, figuring his curt nod was enough of a ‘yes’.

As I made my way out of his front door, I let my mind recap everything that happened over the past 24 hours:
Moved country, cried, met the most attractive male to grace the earth, procrastinated with unpacking and fell asleep on said attractive male’s couch whilst watching Gossip Girl… Fair effort, yeah?

After unlocking my front door, I all but ran to my room, already mentally slapping myself for not unpacking all of my shit last night, and dug through for an outfit.
After going through everything (cue clothes being thrown across the room in slow motion), I finally settled on deep blue ripped skinnies, an Of Mice and Men pullover, a plain black hoodie and my favourite pair of Supra grey and multicoloured high tops.
After I got dressed, I sprayed a shitload of dry shampoo in my hair and pulled it into a loose ponytail.
As much as I wanted a shower, I had a lovely boy waiting for me…

When I got to the bathroom with my make-up bag (after full sprinting back and forth between there and my bedroom, mind you), I applied foundation, light eye shadow and a quick winged liner, topping it all off with a small amount of light pink lip gloss.
After that was done, I bolted back into my bedroom and sprayed a quick mist of perfume on.

Shit, I’ve gone all girly.

As I got to my front door; keys, phone and money in my bag, my mind flashed back to when I woke up…
My brain registered the scenario and I realised that Dan was, in fact, naked apart from the towel wrapped lowly around his hips.

Not bad to wake up to actually…

7 steps and 3 knocks later, I was left standing in a hallway, nervous as hell, while I hear Dan’s heavy footsteps nearing the door.

“Oh hey!,” he smiled small, “I didn’t think you’d turn up”
“Don’t be silly Dan, I kind of need to learn where I live, and anything to stop me from the unruly task of unpacking…” I laughed lightly, as he snickered and stepped backwards to let me into his apartment again.

As I spun to face him, I took in his fresh appearance: black skinnies, a grey and black plaid button up and the Grey Woodrow snapback from WelcometoFlinttown sitting backwards on his head. The whole outfit was complete with white converse. All in all, he looked perfect.

“So, breakfast. Almost lunch? Haha, what would you like?” Dan spoke as he glanced up from the island in the centre of his kitchen.
“Depends. What have you got, Masterchef?” I laughed.
He held up his pointer finger, signalling for me to wait while he spun around and rummaged through his fridge.
“Bacon, eggs, OJ, milk, more bacon, chicken, cheese…” he paused to look through the freezer, “steak, steak, steak… I have a lot of steak. Uh…”
“Daniel,” when he spun around, I swear I nearly broke down with laughter at his face. Imagine the “puppy dog eyes” with his mouth slightly open. Downright adorable. “Bacon and eggs with OJ would be great, thank you.”
I attempted to send a warm smile his way but I feel like it was more of scowl.

I really need to work on that…

DAN
She’s such a well mannered girl… Nice change.

When she smiled at me, I got the feeling that it wasn’t completely genuine. Regardless, I kicked myself into gear and began to whip up my specialty eggs and bacon meal. To be fair, I just added a hint of mixed spice but it still counts! Don’t judge me.

After that was done, I poured two glasses of my all time favourite breakfast drink and carried Stella’s serving to the centre island.
“Wow, thank you heaps. This looks amazing.” She smiled, still not completely real though.

After breakfast, I cleaned up the plates whilst I attempted to map out all the places we could go.
“Yo, hey what sort of places do you want to see? There’s heaps but yanno, give me an idea.” I laughed at the end, slightly cautious so I didn’t seem so eager to spend the day with her.

“Honestly? I’m not fussed. Maybe somewhere local to start so I can wrap my head around the area and then spread out from there?”

Was she nervous?

“Sounds like a good plan. You ready to go then?” I said, trying to hide my ever-growing enthusiasm.
“10 outta 10, let’s hit it!” Stella jumped up from her seat and practically ran to the door, essentially forcing the smile onto my face…

~Skip forward 4 hours~
Stella and I were sat at a small café.

I sat idly tapping at the slowly cooling mug of coffee as the blonde beauty talked animatedly about her schooling and coursework back in Australia. The slight steam that was rising from her cup of vanilla chai tea gracefully framed her face, although not enough to be noticed by a passer-by, or herself apparently. The smile that decorated her flawless skin when she explained the passion she had for her music studies and being a performer in itself; that smile was real. I could tell from a mile off that being a musician and having a career in the performing arts is what she’s wanted to do for her whole life. She was born to be famous, well-known. Respected.

“Dan!” “Daniel!”
I snapped out my trance when I had two fingers clicking in front of my face.

“What?! Shit, sorry Stel.” Stel?! Fuck sake Daniel. What the hell has gotten into you?!
“You zoned out there,” she spoke lightly, “you all good?”
“Yeah. yeah, I’m good… Continue? Please.” I smiled, with a small nod as that damn near perfect smile graced her lips once again.
And just like that, she took off again.

We’d been sitting in this one booth for over an hour, discussing everything from band preferences to favourite seasons and why.
We shared the same love for Blink-182, but we did, however, oppose each others favourite seasons.

Hers was Winter, reason being that Australian Springs and Summers are always either “consistently warm” or “boiling fucking hot and the inadequately dressed 13-17 year old girls are stalking their pray”. I told her that her description seemed excessive, so she proceeded to show me a photo of her 14 year old sister and her two friends in January, their summer.

I revoked my statement.

I explained that my favourite season was summer, purely because the UK barely ever gets sun and I relish in the warmth.
Stella promised me that she would spend some rainy days with me, so she could teach me how to see the wet weather as less of a hindrance and more of a godsend.

If I’m honest, the major point I got from that was that she was hinting to spending more time with me. Who am I to say no?

When Stella explained her studies, I was in awe.
She explained that she was studying performance as a priority, but studying music management as a secondary because in case she changed her mind later on, she could stay in the music industry. She expressed how, growing up, her parents wanted her to study Math or Chemistry and become a teacher of sorts but when she voiced her fondness for instruments and playing her own music, they became cold.
She ended up practicing behind closed doors at school.
She felt as though playing was the only thing she was good at because since her parents found out, they ignored her; acted as though she wasn’t any child of theirs.

How could her own blood shun her like that?

After my 3rd coffee and her 2nd chai (paid for by myself, despite her protests), I glanced down at my phone for the first time since we left the apartment 4 hours ago. Stella was in the bathroom doing whatever, now was my chance to not act like an asshole.

The clock on the screen read 4:30, shit we’d been out for ages.

“Hey, sorry” Stella muttered as she sat back down. A sudden wave of worry swept over me as my brain registered her mood change but instead of asking, I let my hand glide across the table to grasp her own.
Stella quickly looked up from picking at her nail polish when our skin touched, but simply smiled as she turned her hand upward and intertwined our fingers, keeping a solid focus on our hands together.

I gave a gentle squeeze to grab her attention but part of me hated that I had to look into her eyes, because when they connected with my own, they were welling up with tears.
“Stella, what’s-“ She interrupted my question with a quick but small shake of her head and all I could do was stand up with our hands still locked together, and get her out of the public eye.

The walk home was silent, other than our feet pounding the pavement. I never asked any questions, Stella never spoke up.
I kept our hands tangled together, worried that she might run.
I kept stealing glances at her downcast eyes, occasionally seeing a small tear make it’s way down her cheek.
I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Wait,” I pulled Stella to a stop and her head shot up. “you haven’t spoken since we left, what’s going on Stel?”
All she did was sigh.
I watched carefully as she inhaled and began…
“When I went to the bathroom, I got a call. “Dad” rang me and basically told me that I have to come home.” I nodded, making a mental note of the way she put the marks around dad. “I said I couldn’t, and asked him why he’d want me home if he kicked me out in the first place but he told me I wouldn’t survive anywhere else.
It escalated to him calling me a failure, telling me that I’ll never make it in music. Then he passed the phone over to my mum, who basically told me the same thing, except adding on that she didn’t consider me a daughter anymore.”
Her head dropped, wavy, tied-up hair shielding her eyes from the sunset and more importantly, me.

“What the fuck. No.” I was practically at a loss for words, so I gathered her in my arms and held her head against my heart.
Within seconds, I felt her body shake and a chocked sob was heard.

What the fuck did she go through?