Song for chapter one: Welcome to New York by Taylor Swift
|Skyler|
I pressed my face against the window of the taxi to get a better look at New York City. It was as breathtaking as everyone said it would be, but it was so different from home that I didn't know how I'd ever get used to this.
The city was loud and bustling, with people scurrying down the street to get to their destinations or nowhere in particular, and of course the mounds of tourists walking in large groups and blocking the sidewalks as they studied their maps and pamphlets.
My mom would've loved to see this, from the amount of times she'd talked about visiting places like New York City and Los Angeles. But she'd never get to now. I frowned slightly, feeling my stomach drop.
Aunt Claire was perched next to me on the backseat of the taxi, awfully quiet. She had been silent ever since the she took me back to my house after the accident. I was told to pack the necessities into a large suitcase and the rest would be shipped over to New York in a couple weeks. I refused to let her sell the house or put it up for rent. I would rather let it gather dust than have strangers living in my home.
The taxi pulled to a stop in front of a large apartment building, snapping me out of my thoughts. I followed my aunt and stepped onto the sidewalk, before my jaw dropped at the sight in front of me.
It was a beautiful glass building, as tall as a skyscraper with no flaws in sight. I headed inside, with my aunt trailing behind me with our suitcases. Before I even placed my hand on the door, it swung open to reveal a doorman. He nodded and smiled at me as I walked inside. This place rivalled the Tipton Hotel from Suite Life of Zack and Cody.
I looked at Aunt Claire, "What did you say you did for a living again?"
She beamed, her eyes brightening from the fact that I was actually talking for first time in a few hours and to her, no less. "I'm a criminal lawyer."
That explained it.
"Come on, the apartment is right this way," Aunt Claire nodded her head at me and we stepped into an elevator. When she opened the door to her complex my jaw slackened once again.
It was a high ceilinged room, with two large couches side by side, facing a flat screen TV. On the other side of that, was a dinner table, but enough for just three people. The interior looked as though it had been designed by a interior designer, with plants and flowers at the right areas of the home, and plane white walls that complimented the beige sofas. And the best part yet, was the large window on one side of the room, that gave view to our neighbouring sky scrapers. Coupled with the blazing sunset, this place was like a dream.
"Wow. This is nice," I managed to say.
Aunt Claire was already in the kitchen. "Would you like something to eat? You didn't have anything in the plane," she called out.
"No, I'm good," I responded. "I'd like to see my room, and unpack if that's alright."
She came out from the kitchen and nodded, but from the way she was scrutinizing me with her dark eyes and knitted eyebrows, I knew she was deciding if she should force me to eat or not.
She must've decided against it. "First door on your left," she headed back into the kitchen, her dark brown hair swinging in her ponytail.
My aunt was my dad's sister, but I'd only actually met her a couple times before... everything went so wrong. She lived permanently in New York, where my dad was originally from until he decided he was tired of the loud city all the time. I guess Ontario was better, even though it was just as loud of a city as this one. Aunt Claire was my only living relative as my grandparents from both sides had already passed away, and my mom had no siblings.
I made my way to my new room, my eyes trailing over the empty white walls in the hall and stepped inside. I was not surprised at the luxury it held. There was a queen sized bed in the middle of the room, leaning against the wall, already set up with baby blue bedsheets, comforters and pillows. There was a desk in the corner of the room, with pens and paper neatly stacked on top. The wall was painted white, and completely bare.
It was a gorgeously elegant room, I couldn't deny it. But as I sat down heavily on the soft bed, an empty feeling settled in my stomach. This was a nice room, but it wasn't my room. My room back home was painted pink from my more shameful pre-teen years, with mounds of priceless pictures and drawings I'd accumulated throughout my life taped on the walls. I sighed a deep sigh and began taking out my clothes from my suitcase.
I hung them up one by one, trying to push away my thoughts of home. The closet was a small walk in closet, which was more than what I could ask for, and way larger than my old closet. But still, my old closet and my room had a cozy feel to it, this just felt foreign.
When I finally unpacked and felt a bit settled in, the sun had already disappeared behind the large skyscrapers. I hastily slipped into my pyjamas — the ones my mom had gotten for me last Christmas — and plopped down on the bed in the dark, staring at the photo of my mom and I that I'd set on the nightstand.
I'm going to be strong. This place could be worse, and I could be thrown into the foster care system if it weren't for Aunt Claire.
And to think that I was a huge brat to her today. I felt a pang of guilt about not saying a word to her the whole plane ride, but truthfully, I just couldn't being myself to say anything at all. How could I explain this heavy feeling in my heart?
I'm going to be strong. I repeated to myself. People have it way worse than you.
My eyes burned into the picture and they began to sting with unshed tears again. I turned and stared up at the foreign ceiling above me, letting my tears soak the pillow.
My mind drifted to the funeral we had just a few days before. My friends from home all came and sat with me, offering their condolences but what did it matter? They hadn't a clue how this felt. They had both their parents, alive and well, and I had none. I couldn't save my mother, it all happened too fast.
I gave my speech successfully, and never shed a tear at the service. Not even when they lowered her casket down to the ground.
My mom had always taught me not to show weakness in front of others. They would find a way to take advantage of it one way or another, and use it against you.
This was the first time I'd let myself cry since the night of the funeral. I didn't even when I sat alone at my mom's gravestone for hours afterwards, asking and demanding my mother to tell me why she'd left me all alone, just like how my dad left us so suddenly. I shouted and screamed, but got no response, just the rustling of leaves from the trees around due to the relentless wind.
I remembered through my anger a yellow and red caterpillar that crawled it's way onto my shoe. It sat there for a good few minutes, unmoving, and it wasn't until then when I began to let it all out.
Through my tears, I remembered how my mother always talked of caterpillars, and how fascinating they were. She said that their unconventional bright colours always caught her eye.
Tears streamed down my face from that thought as I laid in the foreign bed beneath me. And now that I started crying, I couldn't stop.
This wasn't fair.
Life wasn't fair.
I'm sorry I'm not strong mom. I'm not as strong as you.
I buried my face into the pillow and sobbed, hoping that it was enough to muffle my cries. My rib cage threatened to collapse into my lungs. The pillows smelt like strawberries, my pillows at home smelt like lavender from my mom's favourite detergent. And that was enough to remind me that I wasn't home anymore. I'd left home, along with my mother and father back in Ontario.
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I got up late the next morning, slowly sauntering into the bathroom. When I looked into the mirror, I was horrified with what I saw.
My hair was a tangled mess atop of my head, my eyes bloodshot and swollen from the crying that I'd done all night. I wasn't sure what time it was when I'd finally drifted off, but it definitely wasn't at a good hour.
I sighed, brushing my teeth and washing my face quickly. I covered up my red and swollen eyes with concealer, and brushed on some mascara. In record time, I threw on a floral dress and a pair of white converse sneakers.
I made my way to the kitchen, still feeling like a zombie. I was not surprised when I found it empty. It was late Tuesday morning after all, Aunt Claire must've been at work already. I could almost imagine my mom in the kitchen, whipping up a tall stack of pancakes like she always did.
Reality hit me hard in the next second, and once again I was faced with an empty kitchen. I placed my hand on the fridge, my stomach grumbling slightly since I hadn't eaten since yesterday's lunch.
I stopped short when I noticed the note stuck into the fridge.
I've gone to work, join me for lunch at 12:30 and I'll take you somewhere nice.
Aunt Claire.
Vaguely, I remembered her telling me the name of the law firm she worked at. I placed the note back onto the fridge and grabbed my purse that Aunt Claire had stuffed some American dollars into for me to use, and also a card for unlimited 30 day subway rides throughout New York.
On the elevator, I tapped away on my phone google mapping my way to the nearest subway station. The directions were easy enough to follow but truthfully, my mom was the one that always did the navigation. So, I felt a sense of accomplishment when I made it without getting lost, and without accidentally bumping into anyone in the large crowds on the street.
As I walked down the stairs to the station, a middle aged man rammed into my shoulder, scurrying off down the stairs without an apology. Why is everyone here always in such a hurry?
"Jeez, could've at least said sorry," I rolled my eyes, rubbing my shoulder where the man had hit. I stared at the map of all the routes for each line, and it took me a good fifteen minutes to figure out the way to get to the street Aunt Claire worked at. Thankfully, it was just one line that could take me there directly.
This is harder than I thought it would be.
I followed the signs until I reached the correct line and hopped into the car, narrowly missing the gap between the car and the platform. I grabbed ahold of the rail near the door and just about toppled backwards when it began moving.
It was clear that I was the only one struggling however, when I glanced around and noticed people not even holding a rail. Some just stood there, holding onto nothing but their phones or a newspaper. I felt lucky that the subway was relatively empty.
I looked around some more, curious to see what the social dynamic was like in New York. Most people just focused on their phones and didn't bother to acknowledge others. My eyes stopped short on another boy, about the same age as I was just a few meters away. He was looking at something that must've been interesting on his phone in one hand, and the other holding the bar above his head.
He must've sensed me watching, because he looked up, making direct eye contact with me with his dark eyes. His high cheekbones and sharp jawline only made him more intriguing. Immediately, I tore my eyes away from him, feeling my cheeks heat up in embarrassment. I had literally just been caught in the act of being a creeper.
I looked up again a moment later, only to find his gaze still on me. His warm brown eyes scrutinized me for only a few more moments before the train stopped and he stepped out.
I watched his retreating figure through the large crowds of people trying to get into the car, until he finally disappeared. But even after he was out of my sight, my mind couldn't help but drift back to him.
How his dark hair was combed back, with a few rebellious tendrils that sprawled across his forehead, and how they complimented his jawline. And the way his dark eyes had watched me the way that I'd watched him. Normally, it would have creeped me out, but instead, his stare gave me a warm feeling.
I shook my head free of those weird thoughts. I shouldn't dwell on it, and it wasn't like I'd see him ever again anyways.
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~SweetnessInTheSalt