Saving Mia (EDITING)

2: His Voice♠️

His Voice

Chapter: 2

(Welcome to New York)

I thought of an imaginary sign greeting me home or what once was home and a getaway. It seems different yet the same in a toxic beautiful way.

I smirked as I see many street performances near the park showing off their talents to passerby. One performer caught my attention as we drove by, a boy my age maybe even older that had some slick black ray band sunglasses and a leather black jacket with a yellow cap. Most people stop to stare at his handsome face probably not even paying attention to the lovely voice he probably had.

Rolling my eyes I see two teenagers start to giggle but stop when I open the door to my cab. I pay the driver and pull my backpack out with me. Walking alongside the sidewalk I see him closer and decided to stop to hear if he actually sounds as great as he looks. I wait for him to sing. He seemed a bit confused and unsure as I waited there with my arms crossed looking at him waiting almost daring him to sing.

He started singing some Stevie Wonder song I didn't really recognize, I knew it was a Stevie Wonder song considering I grew up listening to him as dad and mom were huge fans of his music. And although the song felt familiar it felt so unknown at the same time.

After a few cords were played I hear his beautiful voice which ends up leaving a large number of goosebumps and flushed chills down my back. His voice, I thought it was like a summer romance I've never had but wanted so much. It was like finding your soulmate and losing them at once.

My lungs hitched and I gasped shocked but knowing I couldn't be here any longer I took out a fifty and dropped it in his guitar case and turn away as quickly as I could.

"Nice seeing you again Mia," the boy singing says after he finished singing making me stop in my tracks confused at how he knew my name. I shake it off assuming he recognized me from photos with my father on the internet and was just being a dick and trying creep me out. I let it go and walk down the street to my destination.

...

"Welcome to Nelson Academy of The Arts or NATA for short" Mrs.Ann tells our group with a smile that never reached her eyes. She looks at me as if trying to look through my motives. Once seeing I wasn't intimated by her stare she began leading us around giving us a tour of the building.

"Our school has had one of the biggest privileges to educate so many well known and extraordinary people in the art and media industry," she told us trying to smile but couldn't as again it didn't meet her eyes.

"Our founder Mr. Kingston had a dream to build a beautiful school that gave encouragement and hope of archiving their dreams to our student as well providing students who would help change the media and art industry," Olivia Mrs.Ann assistant told us giving each of us a small smile but you could hardly tell considering her attitude contradicted it. She has that I'm better than you but I'm stuck here until I find something better. Reminds me of my dad.

"Now our founder and CEO of our dear Academy is Mr. Patrick Kingston," Olivia told pretending to be interested in helping us "Now you may see MrKingston son here this year. Considering he himself is going to be a student this year" she told us thinking we actually cared well I didn't I don't know about the rest of the group.

I continue the rest of the day hearing these people complain about idiotic things like the lunches and how they aren't enough vegetarian or vegan choices and something about parking? For gods sakes, this is New York no one can/ should own a car in this city. And if you want a Vegan meal literally walk out and you'll probably see a restaurant dedicated to just that.

"Mr.Nicols parking is around the corner I can get you a map at the end of the tour"

...

It was maybe six o'clock and I was finally settling into my apartment. Not that I had much anyway but dad had sent peopleKingston to redecorate and organize moms old apartment. His way of saying  "Sorry I'm not there to help you out before you die". No doubt he was stuck at work or ignoring me to please his new family.

And I guess I was upset he wasn't trying to spend the time I had left with me but who cares right. Oh me, I wasn't just suicidal but my doctor had told me I had less than two-three years left but I wasn't going to let cancer beat me. No, I was going to die because I was in control.

I needed a heart transplant but the fact I was me I had a bad attitude I also smoked way too much putting me at the end of the list for a heart transplant. And considering I denied treatment and continue smoking didn't help my case. But I didn't like having other control me nonetheless not being in control of myself.

Huffing I stared in announce at my ugly bedspread the decorators choose. It was a horrendous pink with ugly watercolor flowers over it. It was part of her new collection. Fathers new wife, aside from not doing much she was a designer for house items such as room decors and kitchen decor. Before she met my dad she had a somewhat decent living doing that but once she married dad she stopped and supervised her work taking credit from poor up an coming designers.

Annoyed at the fact my bedspread was something's she had to do with I pulled it off. Walking out my apartment I was so angry I had not noticed I had hit someone. Looking up I see the guy from earlier, confused I drop my bedspread on the ground and notch both my eyebrows together.

"Guitar guy? What are you doing here?" I asked now with a smug expression. Indeed I was confused and a tad horrified, as well assuming the worse. What if he was planning on kidnapping me or murdering me; but I wouldn't let it showed instead I look smugly at him awaiting his answer.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" he questioned with a smirk, "Especially since you're in front of my apartment door with a pink blanket?" he tells with a deep chuckle, my eyes squint as I think where I've met him before. "That also has to be the ugliest watercolor painting on a blanket"

"Ugh, f off," I told him before shoving the bedspread into the trash compound disposer then heading back to my apartment. Walking into my studio room I open up the Windows letting in the New York breeze, grabbing an empty canvas I began setting up my colors of paint, ready to paint.

I began painting the city and the beautiful sunset that seems almost ignored by all the lights. After an hour of getting my colors down, I still kept thinking about the boy outside and why he seemed so familiar.

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