Hard to Speak || l.h.

One

New York.

            The taxi pulled up on the side of the road with a screech. I opened the door and paused, looking up at the apartment building. The nervousness I was pushing back on the plane ride swept over me.

            "Hey! Lip ring! You gonna get outta my cab anytime soon?" the taxi driver eyed me through the mirror. I muttered an apology and got out, grabbing my suitcase out of the trunk before he could run over my toes.

            The apartment building was old-fashioned, with rickety fire escapes at the windows. The nervousness was replaced with excitement at having my own place. Suddenly I found myself wanting my other things to arrive from Sydney faster. When I swung open the door and yanked my giant suitcase through the doors, I found that there was no elevator, just an intimidating set of stairs.

            "You've got to be kidding me," I groaned and began trudging up the stairs. The apartment I had bought was on the fourth floor, so I turned the music in my headphones back on and dragged the enormous thing behind me.

            I would be in New York for a month by myself, while my friends were still tying up loose ends in Sydney. They wanted me to wait for them, but I couldn't imagine another month there, I had to move on. So, I bought myself an apartment and hopped on the first plane out. The boys had made a big deal of me leaving home, the "baby" finally leaving the nest, if there was a nest to leave. Out of habit, I reached up and touched my mom's ring that I had put on a chain. She would have wanted me to move on.

            There was a snap behind me, and I turned quickly to see the zip teeth on my suitcase starting to come undone. I reached down and re-zipped it quickly, not wanting my underwear falling out on the staircase. Turning on the landing, I slammed right into someone. We both fell down on the landing.

            "Dammit!" it was a girl, with wavy brown hair. I couldn't see her face because she was too busy picking up her things that had fallen out of her bag, which consisting of what looked like slippers. I stood back up and made sure that none of my underwear had fallen out.

            "I'm sorry," I said to the girl, but she just waved my words away.

            "Whatever, just forget about it," she managed to get the rest of her things and hurried down the rest of the stairs. I heard the front door slam shut at the bottom of the stairs. She must have been late, I didn't even see her face. I pulled my headphones down around my neck and continued up the stairs.

            When I finally made it to the fourth floor, it took me less than a minute to find room 404, the last four barely hanging onto the door. Unlocking the door, I pushed into the apartment. The owner of this apartment building had known my Mom, and that was the reason I had purchased it, he gave me a discount. He also furnished my apartment with the basics I would need: bed, couch, table, television. No matter how many times I insisted he let me pay him back for it, he refused. Something about an old favor to my Mom.

            The living room and kitchen were all open, and a small hallway curved off by the kitchen, leading to the bedroom and bathroom. I rolled my suitcase into my new bedroom and let it tumble over, where the zipper finally gave out. My underwear  coincidentally was the first thing to fall out. I let out a sigh and walked back into the living room. Turning on the TV to a random channel, I turned my phone back on. There was a voice mail from Ashton, one my friends who would be moving to New York in a month. I turned it on and laid back on the couch.

            "Yo," Ashton said into the phone, in the worst American accent I've ever heard. I could hear Michael and Calum laughing in the background. Ashton tried to say something else, but erupted in a fit of laughter. "Here, you talk to him."