Chapter 1 (Skylar)

I swear I've been staring at this cement wall for an hour straight. They tell me I only have one phone call, but I told them you're the only one I want to talk to. I'm invisible to them, just another troubled person thrown in until their parents post their bail money. That's comforting to me. I'm just another muddy face in the room, not to be thought of twice. The only sound is the clacking of oversized combat boots and the chatter of my teeth. I'm wondering about all the other people who were in my exact place. I don't think they spent as much time here thinking about you as I am right now. My thoughts flood with flashes of foggy memories and weary dreams. Your face sketched onto my brain in permanent marker. They keep asking me about you, but my words don't make up their mind before they reach my cracked lips. I imagine you sitting here next to me, probably making some poorly thought of joke about the female guard who could pass off as a man any day. That makes me smile. You always made me smile. There's a pea sized mirror across from me on the wall-almost as smudged as the black makeup under my eyes-still, my reflection stares back at me. My hair a stringy mess, and my face a beautiful disaster. I never knew my life would lead me to this. My smile reaches from ear to ear. I can't think of a single regret in the world. They ask me why I did it. My words don't add up, but they don't have to. You know everything, you know me like the back of your own hand. I don't need to explain myself to anyone who doesn't have the same piercing ocean blue eyes as you. I remember the first day I met you. What a mystery you were to me. The way your crooked smile sent chills down my spine as cold as the crisp air. I was hooked on every thrilling word that left your mouth. I was turning the corner on my way to my crummy apartment. I mustn't have been paying close attention when I was thrown to my knees by the thrash and pull of New York City strangers. "You're not from here," I heard as my eyes lingered from your Parma black Oxford shoes to your collar striped cotton shirt. You offered me your hand and I took it. "Chicago," I started. "I'm from Chicago." Your smile cracked and my heart pumped as fast as lightning. Our eyes stayed locked as people hustled past us, bothered by our stop in the middle of the path. "This ain't anything like chicago, is it?" He stretched his arms outward referring to the glistening city that surrounded. My eyes wouldn't dare break away from his gaze. I shook my head at that. He was right. Chicago was nothing like New York City. Chicago didn't make me feel invincible like I had felt the past few days. The feeling that I was who I was for a reason. Nothing made me feel that way, except the city. New York City. He laughed, "I thought so." I didn't expect his laugh to be as silvery as it was. It wasn't a fake laugh like I usually hear from people, it was true. I smiled and quickly looked down to my knockoff brown ankle boots. I could feel my cheeks blush pink. "I'll see you around, Chicago," he smirked. See me around? He said that as if there was even a slight chance of us ever bumping into each other like that again. I stood there until he disappeared into the crowd of nameless faces. I stumbled off in the opposite direction to my apartment. B631, the most affordable apartment in the whole city. It wasn’t even an apartment, it was more of a medium-sized room divided by one oddly placed wall right in the middle. Still, it was all I could afford with my part-time waitressing pay check. Besides, I was there. New york city. I had made it. Every single person there radiates with confidence and it amazed me every time I walked onto those magnificent streets. I sat on my old, worn out mattress and let my mind unravel with excitement. I was a mouse in that city, small and weak, but still existent. I wanted to see everything. If I could not sleep for the rest of my life, I would be completely content. My eyes glistened as bright as the stars in the night sky. My thoughts were interrupted by a bang on the door. Brendan, the first friend I made there. In all honesty, he was nothing to write home about. He was just another souped up rich boy with a trust fund. At the same time, he was irresistibly personable; the kind of person you'd always want to be around but never want to become. I had anticipated his visit all day, hoping he'd show me everything I had been missing back home in Chicago. I wanted to know what a night in New York City was all about. "Well hello there, gorgeous," he snickered, like he had known me my whole life. I sneered. I was lucky to have at least one friend there. Brendan led me out of the apartment as if he was escorting me to a ball. It was magical. "What do you have in store for us tonight?" I asked him, grinning from ear to ear. He took a pair of designer square framed sunglasses out of his hunter colored twill pants pocket and put them on. Ironically, it was dark outside, but as I learned so far, Brendan was very concerned about always looking extraordinary. "Skylar, you're going to live like you're rich tonight," he declared proudly. The insanity of what my world had become in the past few days had blown my mind. The minute my feet tapped the sidewalk, we were greeted by Brendan's driver. Brendan held the door open for me with hands as well manicured as a model's. We drank alcohol that cost more than I'd make my entire time there. I remember that night I never wanted it to end. The way everything felt so real yet so much like a dream at the same time. There was a bar on the corner of my street I had been meaning to go to, but I hadn't had the chance yet. Brendan was more than willing to take me there. He raved about it as if it was the only bar in the whole world worthy of his presence.