witch bitch

The remainder of the summer had disappeared within the blink of an eye. If unpacking the rest of my belongings and furnishing the flat hadn't consumed the vast majority of my free time, my newly accumulated job had.

I had walked into Regency Cafe on my third day in London, resume in hand and extraordinarily low expectations. It was stationed five streets away from my flat, and a hub that I had scoped out soon after arriving. Because of this, I assumed that it was too good to be true, and being as popular as it was, would have copious amounts of workers and applicants alike. But, I had seemingly hit the jackpot that day. As soon as I walked into the cafe and spotted the only waitress behind the counter - a gray-haired, flustered woman in her late fifties - and mentioned the ‘Help Wanted’ sign stuck on the glass window.

‘You here for the job, Honey?’ I nodded, and she immediately thew an apron my way and hustled back to the till.

“Rose.” The woman nodded to me and slid over a tray. “That’s for table 7.”

“Y/N. Great to meet you, Rose.” I threw a tea towel over my shoulder, smiled, and picked up the tray to serve.

-

Ever since then, I had been working ten hour shifts at the Cafe. The crowds only  ever thinned out at around the three ‘o’clock mark, when it was too late to be considered lunch, and too early to be considered tea. But, even then, there was never a moment to take a breather, let alone have a smoke. I wouldn't complain though - It kept my days occupied and helped me save extra money for when the next semester started. And Rose was lovely. 

After we had locked up the cafe that first night - a pretty successful day as per usual - We had gotten talking about everything and anything over a cup of Coffee. Rose’s other two waitresses had called in sick, and with no available family to help, she was forced to fight the rush head on. Obviously that's where I came in. 

Coffee after lock-up had become some sort of ritual after I was hired, and after the hour or so chatting with the grandmother I never had over pastries, I would walk to my flat and go straight to bed. I rarely went back out once I got home, and thus hadn't scoped the area as much as I usually would. I mean, I knew of a few pubs and student clubs nearer to the university campus, and a few clothing stores, but London was huge. It would take longer than a night to discover all there was to see.

Undoubtedly, now I’d have less time to dedicate to finding the hot-spots of the city. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was awake again - Pulling on jeans and a plaid jacket haphazardly. Apparently snoozing an alarm clock six or so times eventually added up to an hour. So, now I was 65 minutes behind schedule, and would be inevitably late to the first lecture of my first semester at Uni. 

Way to make an impression, Y/N.

I checked the clock again, simultaneously buckling my sandals, and true to the time, I had 40 minutes to complete a half an hour bus ride and trek to the other side of the campus. 

Luckily, Imperial was by far the closest Uni in the area. God forbid i had applied to another college instead - I would hands down, never make it to the campus on time. Being rejected fro the course for numerous lates wouldn't come as a shock to say the least.

I made my way outside and lit up a smoke, securing my bag on my shoulder and making my way towards the near-empty bus stop. It was fairly cold outside, despite it not being too early. It was the middle of September although, and despite the summer feeling very recent, it was slowly fading out into a chilly autumn.

However, I wasn't exposed to the British temperatures for too long, as in a few minutes, I was seated at the back of the bus, willing it to go quicker to ensure that I wouldn't be late to class.

-

I had constructed a whole plan on how my mornings would go from now on, and sorted a precise routine to avoid this one situation. I didn't imagine it being disregarded so early into the school year. Yet, I was notorious for being late back home, despite my best efforts. It was evidently not a good trait.

As I hurried across the campus, barely navigating the way from memory and already five minutes late, I hoped that this wasn't an omen for what my life would be like here. 

The corridors were quiet, a few groups of people scattered around - obviously early and awaiting their first lecture - and all of their faces blending into one. I paid no heed due to the sheer rush I was attempting to downplay in the presence of other students.

The lecture hall seemed abnormally distant. But, as this thought flashed through my brain, a large notice on the wall displayed the word I was desperately searching for in black, block letters. I heaved a sigh of relief and searched for the class number. 

EB1.1...EB1.3...EB1.7...EB1.15

Seeing that I had arrived at my designated room, I paused momentarily, glancing down to check my wrist watch. Fifteen minutes late. Fifteen used to be my lucky number, but after this, I'm not too sure. I turned to walk towards the door, not looking up, and immediately came into contact with something solid.

Before I could comprehend what was happening and steady myself, I was falling backwards, the notes in my hand and bag falling everywhere. 

“Im sorry! Im so, sorry. I completely missed you there! I was just late and...” A boys flustered voice cut me from my internal monologue of how great the day was turning out to be. He immediately dropped to his knees to collect up the newly created mess, whilst simultaneously glancing back towards me. Presumably to see if I was fatally injured.

“Its fine. Im sorry. It was probably my fault.” I laughed, moving to my knees and picking up a pile of notes scattered to the left of me. “I have a terrible habit of being late to everything.”

“I should have seen you though. Are you okay? Not hurt are you?”

“I’m completely fine. despite my pride, obviously. Are you okay? I completely barrelled into you.”

We both continued to pick up the notes scattered around the corridor together, and finished rearranging ourselves in seconds flat. The man quickly stood up, holding out his free hand to me, which I grasped firmly. I let go, and he clutched his notes, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, a red blush overtaking his features.

“I’m completely okay. I must apologise again.” he spoke, still anxiously rubbing his neck. A small smile was playing on his red features.

I paused for a second and adjusted the strap on my bag.

“You said you were late to class. Whats your major?” I questioned, not much left to lose considering over a third of the first lecture was over. I looked towards the class door, knowing that I was obviously more than a quarter hour late now. This couldn't be good.

“Engineering. Electrical, more specifically. But Engineering is apparently just one big degree here.”

“Im majoring in that too. But, I prefer the Aerospace branch.”

The man smiled at that, before adjusting his shirt collar and swinging the strap of his bag over his shoulder..

“I have a friend that would love that. An Astrophysics Major.” He turned and pointed to the room EB1.15. “I guess we're headed to the same place, then?”

I nodded, smiling back.

“Y/N Y/L/N.” I raised my right hand out to the boy.

“John Deacon. Lovely to meet you.” He grasped my hand, and we shook, before splitting and turning to enter the classroom. John took the lead, entering the class before me, and holding the door open for me to enter too.

I guess chivalry isn't dead.

We both stood there momentarily, well aware of thirty or so sets of eyes turning in our direction. Under any other positive circumstances, I wouldn't be fazed, but knowing that I was in the wrong and destined to be given fails for the next academic year - and in front of so many strangers - I was uncharacteristically nervous.

From the looks of it, John also wasn't one for being thrusted under the limelight. He shot me a short, wide-eyed look, before hesitantly making his way to the lecturers desk at the front centre of the hall. I trailed behind him, probably appearing like a lost puppy, but in reality, unsure what the protocol was for such a situation.

Do i just sit down and ignore the fact that I missed half of the lecture? Or apologise profusely? At this point I’m ready to just leave campus, drop the course and move back home. Although, nothing worse than moving home immediately comes to mind.

However, John quickly spoke, explaining the issues he faced with his travel this morning etcetera, etcetera, and luckily, he included me within this tale. Apparently, we had gotten scheduled 8:15 AM bus, and due to a road-traffic accident, we were diverted for over three quarters of an hour. Credit to him for elaborating so. I was almost convinced myself that I hadn't overslept this morning.

As he concluded his tale, John took a step backwards, next to me, and awaited a response. The lecturer nodded, a blank expression on his face. He waited a second before responding.

“Ive already assigned the Initial Assignment. I want a 2,000 word essay on your reasons behind choosing Engineering as your major, the branch you major in, and the gateways this degree opens for you. Any other details are on the board.” The man held his stoic expression, and we nodded back at him, awaiting a sign to take our seats. “Michael Ford.”

I muttered my name in response, as did John, as we turned to take the only two free seats at the back of the lecture hall. We were stopped abruptly.

“Next time, don't let your romantic life come in the way of your studies.”

~/-*•|•*-\~

To say that England was cold was an understatement. 'Cold' is used when describing a slightly uncomfortable drop in temperature that requires you to swap out your trusty leather jacket for a thicker, fluffier parka. Or maybe sporting a matching plaid hat and scarf set, paired with the jeans that had morphed from the skirts worn in summer. The 'Cold' could cause a slight inconvenience - maybe leading to you wearing a thicker pair of tights, or putting another log on the fireplace. But, whatever England was, it definitely wasn't cold.

The chill that accompanied the dark nights was bitter. It was the sort of chill that pierced through all of the supposed 'weather-resistant' layers you donned, straight down to your bones, freezing you from the inside out. Definitely not pleasant, and far from comfortable.

I deeply regretted not listening to my mothers orders of wearing attire more suitable for the sub-zero temperatures before I came here. Or maybe her advice to not go out in this weather at all. However, I was adamant on sporting the platform boots and bell sleeved minidress, that had been sat in the back of my wardrobe for god knows how long, to the bar. Making an impression felt like a necessity to me now, and this required a lot of bold moves on my part.

I quickly walked in the direction of the student bar that had been recommended to me earlier in the week. It was only a ten minute walk from my flat, and at the time, walking had sounded good - now, I begged to differ. My fingers were tightly clasped around my bag in a bid to prevent myself from shivering in the icy wind, causing me to speed up my steps and cut down the travel time to my destination.

Obviously, I wouldn't let the cold put a dampener on my plans, though. The night was still young, and with limited opportunities of discovering and scoping out my favourite areas in the city, I obviously had to take them. I wasn't going to be young forever, and the December temperatures that were expected from London would soon be forgotten.

Grasping the cardboard box from inside my clutch, I pulled out a stick alongside the lighter, and shoved it between my lips before setting it alight. This would hopefully provide some warmth, despite it being a gross habit.

I exhaled the smoke slowly, a combination of condensation and cigarette smoke appearing in the air before me. After a few more drags, I reached the front of the bar, which was covered in a compilation of flashing, light-up signs and posters. It didn't appear to be at all like any of the bars we had at home, all the more reeling me in.

* * *

Being sat at the bar, I ordered my first drink, and turned around to view the room in more detail. It was ill-lit with few deep red lights illuminating the booths and dance floor, giving the bar a more intimate and calm aura. With the mass of people positioned in various places, obviously awaiting the promised entertainment to kick-start their night, I sipped at the glass that had just been passed to me and indulged myself in the atmosphere.

I had heard few detrimental comments on the band, them mainly regarding the outlandish character of one of the members, which obviously shouldn't be an issue if their music was decent. Music was a necessity to life, and scoping out new songs and artists with potential was like a hobby.

A slight commotion began near the entrance of the bar, as I noticed a flurry of fur coats, leather pants and glitter within a huddle of girls. Quite peculiar for a music bar on a week night, but much more satisfying than the basic formula of corduroy trousers and floral shirts.

I continued to sip from my glass, softly tapping the platform of my boot onto the stool to the beat of the song that was playing. Awaiting some live music, pretty patiently. I would definitely not be in a rush to go back home tonight.

The groups around the bar that I was seated at began thinning as they swarmed towards the stage. Presumably, the arranged band would start their slot. An hour late, albeit, but with the buildup that came before them, a wait which was worth it.

The rhythmic tapping of a tambourine interrupted the light chatter of the bar, emitting a few squeals from girls towards the front of the stage. I quickly turned to face the stage, and saw four, tall men stroll out.

The guy slamming the tambourine against his hip strutted to the middle of the stage, swaying his bell-sleeved arms with every movement. He obviously had the biggest stage presence, flouncing up and down the stage and pissing about with the other members, flicking his hair and grinning all the while.

A guitar and bass accompanied the tambourine, either side of the prancing man. One of them tall, with a mess of curls atop his head, a concentrated look playing over his features and the other a smaller man, with a grin that split his face into two, and the coordination of a professional shown in his dancing.

These men already looked significantly different to most of the bands I had seen before. Their decision to wear such staples as glitter, and leather, and fur, would be viewed as massively outrageous by many. But, It evidently made them more intriguing, and gave them a character that set them apart from any potential competition.

"Everybody, this is called keep yourself alive." The long haired man, whom I presumed to be the frontman grinned.

A deep thumping erupted from the drum kit situated in the centre of the stage. A long, blonde haired guy dressed in all black began to crash his drumsticks against his drums, and in doing so earning shrieks from a few of the females in the crowd. Considering their reactions to the other members, the drummer could come out as the womaniser of the four?

I took the last sip from my glass, before ordering another from the bartender, and turning back to the band in awe. The hold they had on myself and the crowd was captivating, considering it was a university aimed bar and students tend not to be so invested in the live acts.

"I was told a million times of all the troubles in my way." The front man sung into the microphone, which was still attached to the stand, skipping around the stage.

I placed the drink that the bartender has just passed me to my lips and smirked.