You wouldn't dare

1/Oaklee

6 years. It's been 6 goddamn years since their death. You'd think by now you'd be use too it. I'm not though. I still woke up with this heavy feeling on my chest.

It's strange to have to live without them. You grow up with them, think you'll have them forever just to have them ripped away from you.

I open my eyes, just to close them back. The sun has decided to be extra bright today. My alarm is blaring, as it reminds me to get my ass up and start the day.

I'm trying, I really am.

I try again, opening my eyes, blink once. Twice. Three times. Waking up can be so hard, I sit up popping my back and my neck. I stand, feeling the cold, hardwood floors and make my way to my bathroom.

I see the same thing I see every morning, messy hair, blue-ish colored bags underneath my eyes from lack of sleep, marks from the sheets on my face.

I quickly brush out my hair and turn on the shower. At the hottest setting, enjoying the feeling as it starts to tingle from the burn.

Now I know what you're thinking. "What kind of weirdo likes burning their skin with hot water?" I do. There is no explanation, It's as simple as that.

I do my routine that happens every morning. Wash face, wash hair, condition hair, wash body. By the time I'm done I step out of the shower smelling like coconut and vanilla. I wrap a towel around me and head to the mirror.

I start thinking, what would've happened if I didn't ask to go get that knife that I wanted? Would they still be here with me? Would I still be the way I am? Where would they be? They always wanted to travel, it was all they would talk about some days.

I, unconsciously, stare at the scar caused by the bullet that hit me in the chest. The doctors said I was lucky, but how?

I have no family.

Snapping out of my thoughts, I quickly dry and apply makeup. The sooner I'm out of my apartment, the better I am. I pull on my clothes and grab the stack of paper I worked on last night before leaving.

I take the elevator. Once I make it to the streets of New York, I can't help but stop and take a deep breath. For as some people find the streets are chaotic and dangerous, I find them calming, almost breathtaking. Nobody cares if you're running late or if you just got a big brand deal and will become filthy rich, they have their own problems.

I whistle and wave down a taxi. I get paid enough to get a car or to get a personal driver but I don't really have the time or energy to think enough about it.

Arriving at the coffee shop on the corner just before my building, I go in to get my order. I pull out my phone to notify them I'm here. I do mobile orders, mostly because the less interaction I have with people, the better. People just get on my nerves way too easily.