CHAPTER ONE | HEAVEN AIN'T CLOSE IN A PLACE LIKE THIS

"Stay there for a year, Bristol," I mimicked in a falsetto tone, scrunching up my face as I glanced around the airport. "It'll be good for you." 

It was currently three in the morning here in London, it was cold as hell, and I was freezing my ass off in a nearly deserted airport. Samantha Mathis was currently freezing her arse off next to me, huddled close to her suitcases.

Lucky bitch, I thought bitterly. She had only needed to stay here for a measly five months for championships while, thanks to my mother, I had to stay here for a year.

A bloody year. 

Frowning, I sat back down on the cold plastic chair and tucked my legs under my body. It was only November, why the fuck was it so cold? Canada, even, was just beginning to snow this time of year.

"What will we be schooling again?" I turned to Samantha, and licked my dry lips. Honestly, I just wanted to sleep and I was fucking tired of people. A creepy guard was picked to fucking pat us down and I was near socking him in the face when he lingered too long.

I rubbed my palms up and down my legs, responding with, "Sixth form, I guess. We're fucking tourists in London, fantastic."

"A-Levels or GCSEs?"

"Hell if I know," I shrugged nonchalantly. "When are they picking us up again?"

"Not-" she was cut off by her phone ringing loudly with the cliched iPhone ring tone. Sighing, she tugged the device out of her skirt pocket and held the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

Samantha grimaced at something. "You're shitting me?" It was the first time she'd cussed in ... forever. It got me worried and I anxiously bit the inside of my cheek. "What? Why not?"

After a moment her face crinkled up, and I saw a few tears invade her dark grey eyes and I immediately assumed the worst.

"Shit! Fuck, we're stuck here, aren't we? Shit, shit, shit shit-"

"Shut up! No, we're not stuck here, we just need to hail a taxi." She adjusted her toque, as the knitted frays were falling into her eyes. 

"We've got no money," she scrunched up her face and glared at the ground. "Not sure if taxi people take Canadian money."

"They take fucking pounds," I hissed.

"Well then, what the fuck should we do?" She glared at me this time.

"I don't know, go to a bank?"

"It's three A.M.?" Samantha griped, wiping away her tears of frustration. "There's no banks open at three A.M."

"You never know..."

"We'll have to fucking walk it 'cause our stupid coaches can't pick us up!" She grunted out. "Where even is the dorm?"

"I don't know!"

"Screw it, I'm walking."

***

It took two full hours to find the dormitories. After wandering around the large city of London for an hour and thirty minutes, we finally had half the mind to pull up the map on Samantha's phone.

And now, as we stood in front of the large co-ed dormitories, Samantha Mathis and I glanced at each other, unsure of how this was supposed to work. We weren't sure if we were getting to spend our time with each other, another girl, or some boys.

"Well ..." she looked over the gray building tiredly. The students here were enrolled in Saint Mary-Florence. I wasn't too thrilled.

I was the first one to step out of shock, making a slow way to the front entrance. Gripping the handle of my suitcase tightly with one hand, my free hand reached out to clasp around the bronze handle fastened to the glass. I grimaced, cursing myself for leaving my mittens deep in my pack.

I pulled the handle to me, effectively opening the door. Warm air rushed through the widened opening and I sighed in relief. I was mostly pissed that they'd left us in probably thirteen degrees Celsius weather. Samantha and I were figure skaters, however - the cold was nearly nothing.

But I was still freezing my ass off.

Craning my neck slightly to send a sardonic look to Samantha, I let a smile tug on my lips. "Coming?"

She full out grinned at me, gathering her book bag and suitcase in her arms and following me into the lobby-like centre. There was a woman behind a massive cedar desk, looking like she'd rather be anywhere but here. Shaking loose strands of hair out of my eyes, I walked over to the woman. 

Setting my bag down for a moment, my hand felt cramped and it looked pale from bad circulation. My fingertips were like ice. Cold hands usually meant warm hearts. 

That's a lie - I was a total bitch.

"I'm Bristol Martyn," I said in a weak voice, my throat dry. I coughed into my elbow, hoping to sound clearer. "Have my parents sent the cheque for the dorm I'll be staying in?"

The woman glared at me over half-moon glasses, typing away at the ancient, off-white computer. "Bristol Martyn and Samantha Mathis?" She asked, her glower turning to poor Samantha Mathis for a second before shifting to the illuminated screen. "Figure skaters, first and second place?"

"Yes," Samantha said in a tight voice, obviously as done as I was with this lady. She was rude and impatient. Not like I wasn't, but I was at least trying not to say something mean.

It was no secret that we were coming. I mean, there were figure skaters from all over the world coming here. I was Samantha's back up, coming in second place to her back in Canada. There were champions coming from New York, California, parts of Europe and Asia ... everywhere. 

"You two have the education and dormitory free for five months," Samantha's eyes lit up and I rolled mine.

"But I'm staying here for twelve," I argued back, still in that croaky, dry voice. I sounded like I'd been screaming for hours on end.

"Then you'll pay for seven," she replied, her British accent thick in her words. I pursed my lips and resisted rolling my eyes again. "Anyway, the lifts are right over there," she pointed to the elevators, "and here are the keys. D24 for Martyn, C47 for Mathis."

She handed us the silver keys and I took mine. Edging closer to the elevators, we stepped in.

"C is right below D. We'll go to your floor first, eh?" I looked at her, and realised how done she looked with everything. Her mousy brown hair was hanging in her face as she shook off her toque, her hair falling onto her dark purple jumper, tumbling across her shoulders.

"Mhm," she shrugged.

The elevator was silent for a while, as we dinged past the floors. Finally, it landed on C and Samantha stepped out, lingering with a hurried 'bye' and letting the doors shut behind her.

I grimaced at her sudden change in mood. Then, the elevator began to move upwards again until it lands on D. I squirmed a bit in impatience until the door finally opened.

Thank fucking God.

Picking up my case, I traversed down the desolate corridor, paying attention to the plaques next to the doors, indicating the dormitory numbers.

D17, D18 ... holy shit, how long is this hallway?

Finally, I passed D23 and am at the middle of the corridor, right in front of D24. Skimming my hands over my jeans pockets, I finally feel the imprint of the key, way off to the side. Slipping it out, I turned it into the lock and hesitantly turned the knob. Maybe I'd have a nice dorm mate, or, better yet, not one at all. Yeah. Maybe.

"What the actual fuck?" 

I sighed in frustration as the deeper, rougher voice rang out, through the flat-like dorm and to me. I pushed the door open all the way, to find a taller boy up on his feet, arms crossed and a snark expression on his face.

Wordlessly, I stepped inside the room. It looked like a den, with a flat-screen television and a leather couch, a throw blanket draped over it. An X-Box 360 sat right next to the television, along with two wireless controllers. Seems like someone's a gamer.

"Who are you?" He tried again. I set onto my heels, crossing my arms.

"Bristol Martyn, champion figure skater and your new dorm mate," I was fully aware I was coming off as a total bitch by the sardonic tone of my voice, but it was late, I was cold, and tired.

"So you're the she coming to live in my domain," he stated, arching a brow. His British accent laced his words cleanly. 

"Who are you?" I repeated his earlier words. 

"Evan Fraver," Evan shrugged. "Whatever. It's five A.M., and a Saturday night ... see you."

I gave him a look of disbelief, before saying, "Can you at least show me around?"

The ignorant twat smiled with a sarcastic look in his dark eyes, which contrasted with his pale face. "Nah. Go figure it out."

He turned around, and I cried, "Where the fuck am I gonna sleep?"

Evan paused, half of his face visible to me. He thought for a moment, and said, "Figure it out."

He disappeared into a room moments later, and I groaned to the ceiling. That bastard. I had to live a year, a whole fucking twelve months with him.

I situated on the leather couch, which looked way too inviting at the moment. My legs practically started singing hallelujah at the stopping from constant use, and I dropped my head back, effectively letting the knit hat fall to the ground. The heater was on, so I unzipped my fleece sweat shirt, leaving me in a loose-fitting long sleeved jumper. 

I wanted nothing more than to just lean my head back and sleep, but I knew better than to. I had practise in the morning at some skating rink, and I couldn't miss it. It pissed me off that a coach wanted us to practise the day after coming to London.

Then again, what didn't piss me off?

I should make a list, the top thing being Evan Fraver.

I scrunched up my face at the thought of my new dorm mate. He was attractive, if someone would be interested in sharp angles and high cheekbones. His shaggy hair was black and fell into his darkened eyes, unkempt and bordering on messy. 

Staring up at the dark ceiling, the only light was coming from the slightly pulled curtains, displaying a full moon. I was hoping he'd only had a bad day, maybe he was actually nice.

Ha, fucking hear yourself, Bristol.

I could feel my face get all screwy. I was frustrated. I hated it here, I already wanted to be back in Canada, surrounded with people who could actually handle my shit. 

Sigh.

My legs sprawled out onto the floor. I wasn't exactly short for a sixteen, almost seventeen-year-old. I brushed 5'8, thanks to my 5'7 mom and 6'4 dad. Being tall had its advantages, but also cons.

Yawning, I placed my hand over my mouth, though no one was there. The sun was peeking through the windows, now. It splashed across the room, illuminating the white walls and each contour of the protruding angles from the T.V., X-Box, and all of the other things.

If I sleep now, I'll still get a solid four hours. That's if I want to only have about two minutes to get down to the town's centre.

Hazily setting my phone's alarm to eight A.M., I set it on the armrest and let my eyes close, finally slipping into unconsciousness.

***

 "Ay, twat. Your fucking mobile's been ringing for fucking thirty minutes. Get up," I opened my eyes to face a white coloured wall. 

"Mmph," I managed to sound, glaring up at the jerk I was dorming with.

Wait ... thirty minutes?

Thirty. Fucking. Minutes.

I leaped out of my place on the couch, knowing that our coaches would be here in about fifteen, in front of the dormitories. I would have no time to get dressed, nor to take a shower or even make myself breakfast.

Dragging my suitcase to the bathroom, I flipped the hatches and it tumbled open with a creak that scared me a bit. I hurriedly took out a pair of leggings, new underwear, a tank top, and an Under Armour sweat shirt. My figure skates were right there, buried into my folds of clothing with the guards still on the blades.

I lock the bathroom door, not even considering the fact that Evan was looking at me like I was a maniac. Probably was, but declaring my insanity wouldn't help my situation.

"What the fuck?" He ringed out, and I growled to myself, stripping hurriedly and pulling on my leggings with some difficulty. The fabric stuck by my feet and I groaned, but slipped on my tank top.

I splashed my face with cool water, running my damp fingers through my hair. It instantly became frizzier, and I groaned even louder. Taking a hair tie from my wrist, I tie my shoulder-length hair into a knot, and gargle with cold water before practically sprinting out.

My hands twitch from the cold and I pick out my shoes, shoving them on and lacing them up. I grip my skates by the ties and rub my eyes, grabbing my phone.

"Skating practise," I managed to yelp, before pushing past him and sprinting out of the room.

***

"Regulate those breaths, Martyn," our coach, Lucy, called. I gritted my teeth, doing a triple axle just for show. We weren't actually working on any number right now. Hell, I haven't even spoken to any of my teammates.

Taking an exaggeratedly deep breath, my shoulders lifted and I earned a disapproving glare from a blond-haired poser. I mean, seriously, who freaking wears a performing dress to practise? It was absurd.

"Okay! Time to break, you guys," Lucy broke the competitive sounds and I eagerly made my way to the entrance of the rink. My hair was falling into my eyes and my lips felt cracked.

I groaned internally when I realised I'd completely forgotten my water bottle back at the dormitory. Dammit. And I had no money to buy one from the vendor stands.

"You look in need of a drink," a male voice with no distinguishable accent said. I glanced over at the person owning the voice and a kind face smiled back. "I'm Bradley Fitzgerald, but most people call me Fritz."

"Bristol Martyn," I gave a grin back. I needed a few friends if I were to get by for a year. He was a figure skater, there was ice surrounding his feet, melting off of the blades of his black skates. I'd noticed him on the ice. He was brazen enough to skate in a tee shirt and sweat pants. "And yeah, I forgot my water bottle at ..." I nearly slurred 'home'. Was it a home?

"Here, take mine," he tossed me a grey plastic water bottle. "I've just flew in yesterday," Fritz informed me, as I took greedy gulps from his bottle. He didn't seem to mind that I wasn't waterfalling or anything. Pulling the now half-filled bottle from my mouth, I handed it back to him.

"Yeah. I came in from Canada," I shrugged. We still had a good fifteen minutes on break.

"For the record, I'm not gay," he clarified quickly.

"Oh?" I arched a brow, not expecting that. I hadn't even thought of that, but, then again, most male figure skaters were gay. 

Fritz nodded, taking a quick swig from the bottle he'd shared with me. "Bisexual," he smirked. "And James's got a nice ass ... so does Samantha."

We both burst out laughing at how ridiculous that sounded. He was great. Not in a, 'I might like you' way, but a best friend way. Fritz was pretty cool, I decided.

"So do you think Lucy's gonna work us for the entire day?" I leaned up against the glass of the rink and cleared my throat. Licking my dry lips, he shrugged.

"I heard she was gonna let us off early," Fritz said. "I was actually gonna get breakfast with James after this, he's my first place buddy," he leaned down to untie his skates. "Wanna come with?"

"Sounds ... awesome," I said, and I meant it. I was actually getting some friends.

***

I was sitting in the passenger's side of Fritz's car, as James was meeting us there. I looked at Fritz. Some may call it crazy to get into a car with a stranger, but I was always a bit naive. 

"Hm, where're we going?" I asked him. He was tapping on his steering wheel, humming to the song Pompeii by Bastille. It'd been a favorite of mine for a while, and, apparently, it was one of Fritz's.

"Jackson and Rye, or something like that." He shrugged. He pulled up into a tented looking place, that seemed too nice for three shabby teenagers. "Nice taste, James," he swore under his breath, just as the chorus filled the car with the main singer's French-sounding accent.

I opened the door to find it just as cold as it was when I'd left the house. Despite it brushing eleven A.M., the sky above was thick with grey clouds. I'd heard English weather was unpredictable. I just hadn't realised how much. 

"Hey!" A shorter boy, as tall as me, with flaming red hair bounced up. "We didn't meet in the rink. I'm James Fischer." He offered a hand. James's voice sounded a lot like Fritz's, or maybe it was their accents? 

Or lack thereof.

"Bristol Martyn," I gave him a bright smile. I was sure I looked creepy because my face was more symmetrical than other's, and my jaw was kinda square. I wouldn't necessarily call myself attractive, though I wasn't really ugly.

"So? Let's go eat, on me," James grinned at Fritz and Fritz smiled back. Not wanting to intrude, I stayed silent until we walked inside the restaurant.

It was bar-like. I wasn't sure if they were going to serve three teens. 

But wasn't life about taking risks, no matter how small?

A/N:

Boring for a first chapter, I know.

I feel like I didn't capture her sarcastic-ness well enough :( boo hoo. So yeah, I hope it was good enough. I need to capture a stronger view on Bristol and Evan! Gah!

Is it bad that I'm the writer and I'm already shipping?

Not Bristol and Evan though!

Until next time,

~Jayy