This Love

Chapter 55

SCARLETT PARKER

New York is just as loud and chaotic as I remember it being. I can still vaguely recall when my dad used to walk me and Seth to school with our hands locked in his and we'd have to join in on the sea of people on the overcrowded sidewalks. Sometimes, he would put me on his shoulders so I could be taller than everyone else, and I remember feeling like I was on top of the world.

But as an adult, I understand how filthy and overpopulated it is. The smell of garbage, sewage, and cigarettes is unlike any scent you'll find in London, but there's an undeniable charm and something untouchable about it still. Besides, it's technically my home.

Walking with a billion other people on the sidewalk makes me wonder what my life would have been like if my mother never met Frank and my dad never died. Maybe they would have gotten a divorce anyway, but maybe Seth and I would have decided to stay with him. Though...I guess we couldn't do that if he was a suicidal addict.

And then I wonder...were we always doomed from the start? I suppose we had to have been if we were born from a mother who wanted to kill us first and foremost. I'm not sure a happy ending can stem from that kind of beginning.

But if Amber got her way and had an abortion, I can guarantee that Harry would be married to a beautiful and sweet woman who comes from a loving and supportive family. He would be so happy, not living on the edge and walking on eggshells while in a relationship with me. Emma would have had a roommate who was a better influence on her. The world would have missed out on my brother, but I think I can imagine it being a better place without me just fine.

Though, maybe that's what's nice about New York City. Nobody in this place gives a fuck about me. I could start screaming and crying my sob story right now about how my mommy hates me and wants me dead, and the man in front of me would carry on his Bluetooth conversation in his headphones, and the two girls I'm about to pass would keep taking selfies for their Instagrams. There isn't a single person who cares about me here, and maybe that's what I deserve right now.

"What'll it be?" The man at the bodega speaks not in a British accent at all but in a Jersey dialect. It's harsher, certainly not friendly by any means.

"Two packs of Marlboros," I place the American dollars on the counter.

"That it?"

"Yup," I wait for him to ring up both items and drop one pack in my bag while I open the other to light a cigarette on my way out of the small store.

It was cloudy before, but now my tired eyes are burning as the sun shines over the city, which only seems to intensify whatever the fuck it is I'm smelling now.

I'm in no hurry at all on my walk back to the hotel I found at the very last minute after I landed last night. It's certainly not The Ritz by any means, but it's not a Motel 6 either. For a hundred and fifty bucks a night, I get a bed that takes up the majority of the room, a TV, a bathroom, and a window to overlook the city. It could be worse, but I'm not sure how long I can pay $150 every night until I run out of money.

The thing is, I'm not planning on going back to London at all. My plan is to start over here and be someone else. Isn't that what New York is for anyway? I'm anonymous here, which means I can act however I want and everyone I come in contact with will just think that's how I am. Maybe I'll be a conservative, shy, modest girl.

Or maybe not.

I stop in front of what looks like a nightclub with a painted-on silhouette of a busty girl sitting provocatively in a martini glass on the cherry red building. Without really thinking about it, I let myself in.