#1 in Indie Romance
#3 in Rockstar Romance
*COMPLETED*
After the accident that ripped her family apart, Rebekka Rose has not been the same anymore. Everything feels different, it's much... Lonelier. She's detached from life, and so far no one can...
Song Recommendation:"Reading In Bed"by Emily Haines & The Soft Skeleton
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Burnt Coffee Bekka
My head was scrambled. I had no idea what to think of New York. There was a lot more noise, that's for sure. I managed to meet my neighbors already and only two days had passed. They were a lovely elderly couple, although just a bit talkative.
I was carrying boxes up to the second floor of the apartment house we were soon to be living in. It was a bit of a downgrade from the big ranch house we were living at back in Oklahoma, but mom wanted the 'full city experience'. Whatever the hell that meant. But it was fine, I guess. I never really cared for houses. As long as I had a comfy place to relax.
I tripped on the last step and almost dropped mom's collection of blown glass sculptures. My eyes grew wide as I quickly steadied myself. Mom would kill me if I even left a fingerprint on her sculptures. She was really into stuff like that. Our family is a pretty artistic one I guess. It's either music or art. Maybe that's why half of my family never completed college, too busy involved in the arts.
The boxes were finally in the apartment and I grinned. Then. . . My grin faltered slightly. Only like a hundred more. And then we had to unpack them all. Oh god. I have to make sure I'm out the house so I won't have to unpack them all. Knowing mom, she would just unpack her boxes filled with her paints and clay. She would set up her art corner and completely forget about the rest of things.
Normally, she would do stuff like that. It wasn't her fault really. She just loved her art. Sometimes, she would forget to pay a bill or forget to go get groceries. It was something normal that she did. It was fun to watch her get all excited over her next project, it really was. But there were days she would lock herself in her art studio and not come out. It was understandable. She took her client's problems and would just paint or sculpt them out.
She loved her job, honestly. There was many clients back in OK, but sometimes it took too much out of her. She was a therapist and it made great money. But, in my opinion, it was just giving a part of your essence for people to take. You held all their problems in your hands. Very stressful. I could never have the heart to do that. Mom said I would be great doing stuff like that, but it wasn't my passion. Music was my passion. Playing guitar. It opened a world that only I could understand.
My friends would just smile at me when I tried to describe it to them. They never understood. My small town never really understood in general. The only times they would appreciate me playing guitar was either for birthday parties, holidays, or when the church wanted some peaceful music. It was okay, but I wanted to rock out, let loose. Rock 'n roll was frowned upon in our small community. An abomination. I was fine with it really, but I always longed for more. Needed more. I needed the quench my thirst, and a small town wasn't going to cut it.
