A/N Alright, I'm not too proud of this first chapter, but I just had to get the story started. I promise it will get better in the next chapter. It's short, I know, and I'm sorry. I'm sure there is a bunch of stories like this already out there, but hopefully might be different. It's a crellie story and as much as I hate to do this, I'm creating my own character for the story. Now, I'm sure you are probably thinking, "hmm this story is going to suck," but if you're patient it will improve. Enjoy and don't forget to review!
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.
As I closed my suitcase, I wasn't sure I was doing the right thing. I wanted to be a rock journalist. I wasn't going to pursue that career to the furthest in Canada. I needed to get away to somewhere I could; somewhere like New York.
At 4,000 feet above the air in seat 32C, I was almost positive that moving to Soho was the best move for me. But at 4,000 feet, it's not like I could change my mind.
Sitting in my Soho efficiency that smelled like cat urine, I knew I belonged here. This was my city. It was fast and chaotic and so me.
I walked over to my iBook sitting on the antique coffee table and opened my Yahoo! account to check my email. I had six new emails from Marco to make sure I was safe and that some rapist hadn't jumped out of the bushes and attacked me and another from Jan Wenner, the editor of Rolling Stone magazine, to remind me of our interview tomorrow at 10:00. I logged off of my account and walked over to the window by the couch.
I perched my elbows on the window sill and looked down on the hundreds of people walking down the streets: mothers with fussy toddlers, taxi cabs being hailed over by twenty-something women heading to the newest fusion restaurants, and businessmen practically screaming into their Blackberries. And looking down on all the women and men and teenagers and elders, I felt strangely lonesome. It had finally occurred to me I had nobody in this huge city: my only company coming was from unpacked boxes and the couple in the efficiency next door arguing. I had only been in New York a few hours, but I was already homesick.
I wanted to go back home. I wanted to have all my clothing on hangers in my closet and my books on their shelf instead of in boxes. I wanted to be getting dressed to go out to the Thai restaurant near my old apartment with Marco and Dylan. I missed being with Jesse and cuddling with him on his suede couch at his place. I missed the calendar I hid under my bed, counting the days until Craig came back home from rehab.
Hell, I missed him.
And right now, it was even more apparent about why I left Toronto. It had nothing to do with my career; who was I kidding? There were tons of great bands in Canada and great magazines and newspapers I could write for. It had to do with him; Craig.
He had been on my mind ever since he left for rehab. I had wondered on a daily basis about how he was doing and if he meant what he said, and if he ever thought about me. It was obvious that I was unhappy with Jesse; everyone around us knew that, except maybe Jesse. I didn't have the heart to break up with him because I had feelings for a guy who didn't have them back (or did he?).
So, New York was my excuse; my excuse to break up with Jesse, my excuse to shutting the door on everything I didn't want to remember.
"Jesus, Ellie," I yelled at myself in my head. "Stop thinking about Jesse and Craig and Toronto!"
And, God, could this place be anymore quieter!
I abruptly pull open the window to fill the silence and to get me out of my head. I listened to everybody else's problems; about how that report was supposed to be on his desk yesterday, and how the lady just wanted her daughter to stop pulling on her dress, and how the sluttish women just needed a taxi.
It was so peaceful to me. In Toronto, the only noise would be crickets chirping at this hour; but here there would always be noise. This was what I needed most right now.
This is why New York was the right fit for me; whenever I needed an escape all I had to do was open the window. I hated the quiet; it was always too ominous and it always made it feel like something bad was going to happen. When I was younger, right before my father would phone from overseas; it always seemed to get quiet. No matter what was going on; whether my mother was vomiting in the other room, or I was arguing with her, or a construction worker was jack hammering the street or sidewalk-- it would just instantly become dead silent.
I laid my head on the sill for what I thought was a minute or two before my cell phone went off.
It was Jesse, of course.
I hit the ignore button and let it go straight to voice mail. I glanced over at the clock; it was only 10:00, yet New York looked like it was only 6:00.
I looked into the dirty window across from me. There was a boy with dark curly hair strumming on an acoustic guitar. I could of sworn it was him, until he stood up and perched his guitar against the window. He was significantly more buff than Craig and wasn't as tall. He gave me friendly smile from across the way. I just closed the curtain I had for the window.
The last person I wanted to see tonight was a look-a-like of the guy I was trying to get away from.