I learnt that when something bad happens, you twist. Follow my tale of falling in love, in the most cynical of ways.
Imagine that you are sitting in a bar, a glass in front of you filled with your favourite alcoholic beverage, so cold that the beads of condensation are running down the smooth glass before hitting the wooden table, and seeping through the oak cracks.
The bar that you're sitting in is relatively modern, with purple curved tables and chairs to match and a staircase made of plastic. You're underground; it's the latest fashion for bars in London. There's a hum of talk settled around the large room, the latest music booming softly in the background, but every noise seems muffled to you.
The stench of alcohol and smoke takes to your nose, teasing you and tempting you to recoil; but no, you have business to attend to.
The person in front of you is looking at you in the most inquisitive way, that you just have to analyse them.
It's a man, around twenty four-twenty five. His black hair hangs almost seductively over his forehead, and you notice that two strands in particular are hiding a white scar, perfectly abstract and contrasting with his tanned skin.
This messily organised man is wearing his work suit hiding is aggravatingly ripped body, black shoes and blood red tie. And you can tell that his delicious midnight blue eyes are boring into your own, but you refuse to even glance at him.
But the tempation is there. And it's making shivers fall down your back. Your hands are beginning to perspirate and you can't help but feel as though if you don't look at him quickly, you will soon enough die.
His name is Brendan. Brendan Whelan.
You're sat there, worried about what to say to the man you consider to be your worst enemy.
"So, Aurora," he finally says, breaking the unbearable silence.
You look up, and blue clashes with blue.
"You've finally come to your senses," he drawls, voice sinful and the words rolling off his tongue as if he was born to say them.
That's the exact predicament I was in, care to join me?