ch. 3 ✰ watch where you're going, bitch

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Once Chelsea had finally left my apartment to God knows where, I decided that I need to get out of this hell hole and engulf myself in alcoholic drinks to the point where my liver may be slightly damaged. The patio door slams shut behind me as I stride into my apartment, change out of my clothes and the lingerie I am wearing underneath—which I may need to burn because it is now associated with distasteful memories—and then I change into a cream colored loose sweater that is basically falling off of my shoulders, and on the bottom I wear light colored ripped jeans and sneakers. I look at myself in the mirror and almost jump in horror at the monstrosity I am viewing right now. Dried mascara is all over my cheeks and my eyes are basically dried out and red from all the crying. Yeesh!

I wash my face in the bathroom and am a bit more satisfied with my results. At least now I don't look like a car ran over my face. Then, I apply a bit of makeup and take a deep breath once I am finished. If I am going to a bar in New York City, might as well look good!

Now that am I single, I can finally act the way I want to act, talk to whoever I want to talk to, and live life on my own terms. Being in a relationship involves a whole lot of commitment, and obviously Nick did not live up to those rules, but now that we are obviously over, now I can get a taste of a little bit of freedom.

Once I am satisfied by how I look, I grab my phone on the counter and look up the nearest bar, which is called The Lounge Room. It is a highly famous bar here in downtown New York to the point where celebrities even come here every now and then. It is really busy during the night, especially Friday nights when everyone is exhausted after the long week and starting it off with a drinking session at the bar.

The Lounge Room is on the other side of the city, so I'm gonna have to take a subway there. I walk out of my apartment, lock the door with my key and stuff it into my purse, which is a small cross-body purse that I only slung off of my shoulder. My phone is in my hands as I start to walk to the elevator and press the star button. As I step inside of the elevator, I take a deep breath. Okay, Reeya. You are going to forget all about your problems tonight. Nick and Chelsea, your parents, and your job... I am going to make sure that nothing or no one will get to me and ruin my day even more.

As I step outside of the parking garage, I notice that the sun has started to set, as I see it drowning in the horizon between these two tall buildings. It is really hard to see much of the sky in New York City because, when you are a normal citizen walking around the streets of this place, you can't really see much above you because of these large ass towers. The wind is blowing recklessly as I start to shiver. New York's weather really can't make its mind up, huh?

But staying warm in the New York crowd is not a problem because this place is just so crowded to the point where you'd feel warm in cold ass weather. I take a deep breath and walk on the sidewalk alongside several pedestrians. Then, I grab my earbuds out of my purse and place them in my ear. Drake starts to play as I hum along to the song, walking to the beat.

After about a mile or two of walking, I have finally reached the underground subway station. I step down the stairs and immediately see a homeless man playing the saxophone, hoping that someone will put something in his top hat on the ground. I look at him sorrowfully and place a five-dollar bill in the hat. He says to me, "Thank you so much, honey. May God bless you." He offers me a sweet smile as I smile back to him.

Then, I continue walking to the line where you identify which subway train you'd like to take, and when it is going to arrive, how long the journey will take, etc. The Lounge Room is on the other side of the city, so this trip is probably gonna take at least several minutes. I swipe my card against the scanner, and seconds later it shows up as green. The indicator in front of me lets me go ahead.

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