Part 1: The Time Before He Knew
Her boots scuffed the pavement as her pace quickened to cross the street. The flashing yellow lights reminded her of the sun, long since set.
Maybe it was the glow of screen around Times Square, or maybe it was the deep blue sky, but something in this atmosphere made her feel alive. Every breath and every step made her feel free. This moment could never be replicated, never reproduced, and Margo knew it. Her paces distanced her from the lights of Time Square, she didn't know where she'd end up, but that didn't matter.
Light breaths turned heavy as she raced across the grassy Central Park. The fountain glistened in the midnight lights. Pausing, she snapped a shot of the glassy water with her camera. Switching it off, she turned and pulled her jacket closer around her body. Margo lived in a loft two blocks from here. Figuring exhaustion would soon fill her body, she decided it best to head home.
The streets were deserted, the only people out at this time were the lonely and the mischievous. She was neither.
Her hair whipped about her face in the tense breeze that greeted her as she crossed the street. Four steps later, she was across the street and in front of her rented loft. Punching in the code quickly, she slid the door open and closed it behind her just as fast. Up the steps, lock the door. That's all it took.
She texts her boyfriend, Liam, letting him know she was home safe. Then, taking off everything but her undergarments, Margo slipped into her bed.
The lights from the city light up her bedroom, but she isn't complaining. The lights flash on the street corners and every once and a while, a horn will sound. But that's why Margo loves New York so much. It never sleeps.
Her grey eyes stare blankly at the window. The city is so alive; it has it's own heartbeat. The people are the blood cells, the buildings like bone.
Once her digital clock strikes one o'clock, her eyes start to weigh down. The gentle sensation of her eyelashes brushing her cheeks makes Margo grow even more tired.
She finally falls into a dreamless sleep.
In the morning, no sunlight pours in her window. The clouds stretch endlessly across the sky. Margo turns unto her side, eyeing the dark and ominous sky.
Perfect, she thought.
She texted Liam again, slightly wondering why he never returned her text from last night.
Getting out of bed, she pulls some clothes from her dresser and takes a hot shower. The chill from this September weather finally shaken from her bones. The steam from the shower leaves clouds on the window and mirror and Margo stops to draw smiley faces on them before getting dressed.
With her black jeans and black shirt on, she does her hair and makeup. Pausing, she switches out the battery in her camera with the one that's been charging. She also puts in a new memory card, needing to save the pictures from the past week on her laptop before she clears it. Grabbing her jacket from the kitchen stool, she paces over to the door.
With one last look around her loft, "Shit."
The cat, eyes drooping and tummy rising, lies on top of the sofa overlooking the city.
"I almost forgot to feed you, Peanut." Margo rubs Peanut's ears and she purrs accordingly. Stooping down to her food bowl, Margo outs a scoop of crunchy food in the silver bowl and brushes her hands off on her jeans.
Now Margo really does leave. She bounds down the stairs like a child on Christmas morning. Out on the sidewalk, the sunlight warms her body. The New York air fills her lungs with every deep breath she takes.
Striding down the sidewalk, the crowd seems to part around her. Maybe it's the dark clothes. Maybe it's the eye popping makeup. Or maybe it's the full tattoo sleeve down her arm. Either way, eyes stare and Margo's stay forward. Her camera bumps into her hip bone with every stride. She'd feel like something was missing without it there.
Every block or so, a perfect scene will catch her eye and she'll take a picture. The constant noise of the city makes her feel at home. She passes the coffee shop on 35th street and walks all the way to the family-own Italian restaurant on 47th street. Every block is a different book, every building a different chapter.
Maybe Margo would be the hero of this one. Maybe she'd be the mysterious antagonist. Maybe she'd play the part of the misunderstood villain. Either way, she was writing her own story.
The first page--the first line--of Margo's book would begin when she met a very friendly boy at the park. He too had many tattoos and he introduced himself as Harry.