It is warm early May in the afternoon, my father and mother are gone to Málaga, a couple hours from home. There's a dinner there tonight celebrating the Nationalists' victory. I stayed home because Rosalinda, our maid, is out of town and someone had to look after the unconscious boy, man, whichever he is? Either way, I was more than happy to do the job.

I notice his face has become flushed so I dab his forehead softly with a damp towel, and then, suddenly his long lashes move, his down-turned eyes open.
For a moment I'm captured, breathless, my face above his.
He glances at my hand still pressed against his forehead so I draw it back, my heart beating so swiftly you can probably see the palpitations through my chest.
He lifts himself up, I take a step back, he groans placing a hand to his head.
"Where, am I?"

His voice is coarse with a Brit accent, but like the rest of him, attractive.

"You're in Granada, sir. You were wounded at war so my father, your general, brought you home because we couldn't find records of your family." I explain looking down as he kept his gaze on me.
"My family?"
I nod.
"I don't know where they could be" he states.
I look up again at his now worried face, "what about your name? Do you know your name?"
He shakes his head.
I bite my bottom lip, "well, your uniform says Joseph."
A weak smile forms his lips, "Is that so?"
I nod at my feet.
"And you are?"
I look at him and for a moment its like I have amnesia too, "uh, Cándida, its in Spanish. Do you, uh, do you know Spanish, Sir?"
He lets out a smirk, then he thinks,
"I don't know, most likely, I am in Spain after all. But please don't call me sir."
I let out a slight laugh.

"So Candy, where is the bathroom?"
I look at him a bit thrown off and point to the door on our left, he manages to stand off the bed. I quickly look away since he's wearing only underwear but I notice he's struggling to walk.
"Do you need help?"
"Even if I did, I don't think you're old enough" he jokes.
I frown slightly, "I'm fifteen, you're only five years older than me."
He turns to face me, "how do you know my age?"
"I uh...it was on a paper in my father's office. Joseph Crawford, twenty years old, born in South London. That's all it said."
He smiles again, as if I'm somewhat funny, "does your father know you look through his papers?"
I don't respond but my cheeks begin to feel warm.
"Anyway, sixteen is still the age of consent, you're a year too young."
He winks, now my cheeks are completely flushed. He laughs into the bathroom, I can hear him taking a leak so I leave clean clothes on the bed and quickly walk out the room.

// HELLO! Thank you for checking out my newest story, I hope you enjoyed the first part & if you did I'd appreciate a vote or comment. The main characters, as you might've guessed, are based on Joe Strummer & well, myself lmao. Surprising innit? No, but I've had this story circling my mind for a long time & It's gonna be different from the others, especially when "Death is A Star" comes around. So don't give up on it just yet.