So here it is guys, the rewrite.
And if you're new, welcome.
I hope you like it. Let me know what you think! :)
New York City. Greenwich Village, West 12th street. 7th floor, Apartment 7. The brown door at the end of the hall. This is where I laid in anguish, dreading to face the day. Attempting to open my crust ridden eyes, slits squinted at the alarm clock. 10 AM. Groaning, I willed my eyes open. Another day, another victory.
I threw my legs over the edge of the bed to slowly get up, stretching out stiff arms. The room was a mess, with random balls of clothing all over the floor. In one of those balls, I manage to find a shirt, my favorite pair of jeans and the one thing I was looking for: a black hair tie. Yawning, I pull my hair up in what can only be described as a mess.
Walking barefoot over the cold wooden floor to a shelf along the wall; I scan over the CD's, one by one, looking one that would start this day off perfectly. Ah, there it is! Perfect.
Knowing the track list by heart, it takes me seconds to find the essential song. I turn the volume all the way up on my old stereo, and Foo Fighters' 'Learn to Fly' blasts, like a perfect wake up call to all the newly resting neighbors of the apartment.
It's the same routine, every day. Find pants and some music. Take off the makeup I was too lazy to take off the night before. Brush my teeth; wash my face, put on some useless moisturizer. Light up a cigarette and continue on my way to the kitchen for the heavenly espresso machine. Make much needed coffee, whilst ignoring my roommates, who are already used to this modus operandi. Do not speak until halfway through the first cup.
The three of us were scattered around our large, open kitchen; my brother rummaging through the fridge and my best friend-also his girlfriend-with her face buried into a mug much too large for an espresso.
Theo pops his head out from the fridge with a sly smirk, "Foo, huh? Personally, I was expecting 'The Smiths'"
"Theo, you know she listens to The Smiths when she's happy." Jess replies, tucking a strand of dark curly hair behind her ear whilst sipping from her mug "She wasn't happy last night. No Smiths today."
Jess was beautiful. It never ceased to amaze me how the darker girl was able to contain her frizzy fro into neat curls after sleeping on it. Maybe it was a witchy gift? Her natural slim body was a constant punch to my self-esteem as all she functioned on was espresso and take-out pizza. Regardless of her alluring beauty, she had my brother to increase her hotness scale. Theo was a looker, even if neither one of us was blessed with our mother's green eyes. He was slightly taller and broader than Jess's 5'4 frame, donning dark brown wavy hair as I did. With same hair and same eyes, both inherited from our father, you would know Theo and I are siblings from a mile away.
"-it's not like she's been getting Simon's dick lately, no wonder she's been in and out"
Catching the last end of Theo's sentence, I cranked my head towards him with a death glare. Obviously the two had been in one of their 'Why is Zoe depressed' debates, which happened quite frequently. I'm not really "depressed" per say, I'm just in a seasonal rut. I'm in productive mode, not making the effort to feed on small talk or engage myself in activities I didn't care for.
"Quit your gossiping children, I'm going downstairs to work for a bit. Will I see you later?" I asked, placing my finished mug in the dishwasher. Jess sheepishly moved away from Theo, attempting to remove herself from the line of fire.
"Nah we're heading out to Angela's, we'll be back for supper though. Enjoy your morning alone Miss. Celibate." Theo replied, snickering at his own joke. That marked my leave, folks. I stomped to my room, ignoring Jess's immediate lecturing of Theo and the smacking sounds I heard afterwards. Goofs.
Changing into some workout clothes quickly and grabbing a change of clothes for after, I made my way out of the apartment to our downstairs apartment, commonly used as our work area. I threw the clean clothes and pack of cigarettes in the corner of the room and pulled open the large, dark blue curtains hanging over the windows. Ah, sunlight.
The room is largely empty, apart from exercise equipment close to the walls; two of the four walls are covered with floor length mirrors which reflected bright rays. The other two walls are completely glass, on the outside it's reflective glass for people passing by, which means I can work out and look like a complete mess in full liberty.
Walking over to the CD player, I throw into it a CD with "Workout" scribbled down on it. Shuffle chooses the music and I smile as soon as 'Can't Stop', by the Red Hot Chili Peppers starts playing. What better way to start your workout than this? I usually rotated between strength exercises, cardio and a solid 45 minutes of boxing. My view is that as long as you're working out, it doesn't matter how strict your workout is. You're still bettering yourself.
Boxing was what I liked the most. It made me feel in control, strong and tough. There was a period in my life when I had no control over anything; which is why I strived for the feeling of domination. Hating and fearing the memories from those times, I'm able to push them away with boxing and training in general. Nothing would ever catch me by surprise. I would make sure of that.
Dripping of sweat before I even reached the punching bag; curtsy of being a heavy smoker for a bigger part of my life. I persevere, hitting the bag as if my life depended on it.
"Son of a bitch!" I immediately stop and curse, feeling pain in my hand. Taking the glove off of my left hand, seeing the cause of pain. A thin ring with a turquoise stone in the center of it, a ring much too large to make boxing comfortable. Making a move to take it off, stopping at the tip, I sigh and push it back down. Every time I hurt myself during boxing, the ring will serve as a reminder; not all that looks good also feels good.
I continue on with makeshift kickboxing, avoiding punching with my left hand for the remainder of the workout. Out of breath, I finally stop and go straight to the only bathroom on this floor, picking up the change of clothes.
After scrubbing the sweat and stench from my body, I bunch up my wet hair into a messy bun and change into old jeans and a random gray shirt. I make myself an ice coffee and go to the other side of the apartment, commonly known as my office. In theory, I shared the office with my roommates, just like the upstairs apartment. Being practical, I was the only one using it.
Cracking open the cassette player in the office, I pop in Madonna's greatest hits. There wasn't a moment in my life where music was not present. Most people prefer to study and work in silence, but I am not one of them. I hate people around when I'm trying to focus on something; hence the closed door. Music, on the other hand, was always there, silently playing in the background, as a perfect soundtrack to both pivotal moments and everyday life.
It was there for my first kiss; it was there for my first time too. For my first party, for my first day in New York, it was there even for my birth! As it was a story Dad liked telling, I was born to the sound of Roy Orbison's "Pretty Woman". I'm so connected to music that I even listen to it as I sleep; a playlist going on a loop, in a very low volume.
Lighting another cigarette and taking a big chug of coffee, I opened the document I've been working on for the past few days. Psychology again? Bring it on.
….
Without noticing, the sun fell behind clouds and tall New York buildings. I was neck deep in "Stockholm syndrome", learning how and where it manifests the most. Though I'm fascinated, it's an easy way to forget about time; one day, more or less. It means nothing, in the bigger picture.
"While considered irrational, from a distant point of view, it makes perfect sense to the victims." I voice out loud, trying to test how well it sounds. "Nah, that's shit. While considered irrational by those unaffected by it, to the victims, it appears to be as normal as it is confusing." I repeated, nodding in approval as I type it down.
"Although often connected to cases of kidnap and hostage, Stockholm syndrome appears in a variety of situations." I mumble aloud as fingers slammed over keyboard. "Victims of domestic or child abuse, incest and human trafficking can be subjected to one or more aspects of the Stockholm syndrome. Prostitutes, cult members and prisoners of war are part of the same category as well."
There's a reason as to why I avoided studying psychology for so long. It will hit your core, making you wonder and truly think. It makes you see just how fucked up a human mind can get; Stockholm syndrome being just one of the finest examples.
Facing such terror, often both psychological and physical? It's fascinating as much as it is scary. There were even cases of affection, not just emotional connection. This is not a "Criminal Minds" episode, this is real life. There's a fine line between being a self-defense mechanism and becoming an illness. Never being kidnaped, tortured or harmed in any similar way, I can't relate to it. The only thing I can do it try to understand, from a standpoint of someone who studies it, safe from the sidelines.
"Zoe!" Jess call from the hallway, jolting me out of deep thoughts.
"Come in Jess!" I yell back, looking away from the computer screen. Jess peeks her head through the door with flushed cheeks and a dorky grin. "Hey, we're back. Sorry we're late, are you coming out with us tonight?"
I glance at the time in the bottom corner of my laptop. 9PM? Already? How?
"Where to?"
"West Coast party in Brooklyn." Jess elaborates, widening the door to show off her sexy velvet dress. Clearly the couple had not just got back, otherwise she wouldn't look ready to hit the streets.
"West Coast party on the East Coast?" I ask with a raised eyebrow. "That sounds like a good idea."
"Oh come on!" Jess whines, still grinning at her, "Why not take a trip down memory lane? Plus, I'm pretty sure Simon's going to be there." She adds, with a wiggle of her eyebrow, thinking that might change my mind.
"One more reason for me not to go." I conclude in laughter, "No, you two have fun. I have more work to do on this one. And all jokes aside, I don't feel like dealing with Simon tonight."
"We'll tell him you said "Hi"." Jess teases, blowing a kiss swiftly making her way out of the door.
"Oh, don't you dare!" I yell, hearing Jess's giggles as she exits the apartment. A grin escapes as I try and keep up the front of tough and dangerous. That's Jess; even though you want to hate her, you just got to love her. Once again, I continue on with my work.
...
As Jess and Theo were dancing the night away to 90's West Coast finest, I couldn't help but wonder if it was bad that I passed up on a fun night out. I have work to do. Work that could have waited one more night, but still, it was work that needed to be done. One of the excuses I gave to Jess was true: I didn't want to deal with Simon, not only tonight, but not in the foreseeable future either. Besides, it's not like I hadn't experienced the West Coast first hand; "been there, done that, can't remember most of it" is a fitting explanation.
Checking the clock, I realize how late it's gotten. 2 AM. Time to call it a night. Tidying up before heading to bed I washed the dishes, emptied the ashtray and continued to the upstairs apartment, stopping only to lock the apartment behind me. Hmm, no sign of Theo and Jess up here. Without a doubt, I'm going to have to listen to how good the party was tomorrow. But Simon, ugh, missing out on a good party is a price I'm willing to pay.
Noticing my cellphone on the kitchen island, my interest peaks as I see I have a missed call. From an unknown number. In a normal situation, that would hardly be a cause of worry. This is not a normal situation. 9 people. Only 9 people know my number, and two of them are my roommates. To call? Or to ignore the possible telemarketer? Meh, to hell with it. I called back the number, figuring if it was someone I knew they won't care for the returned call past midnight.
It rang for four times. As I was about to hang up someone finally answered.
"2 AM? Seriously?" A groggy voice I recognized asked.
"Damon?" I haven't heard that voice in months. It was the voice of the man who's considered to be one of my closest friends.
"You changed your number?" I ask in surprise, knowing that I definitely had his original number memorized.
"Yes. That's not the point." a sleepy Damon replies, "Look, can I call you in the morning? And can you actually answer this time?"
"I already woke you up; you may as well just keep on talking." I reply, shrugging my shoulders while walking to the fridge to crack open a beer. If Damon is calling, something is up and would be worth drinking to. "While you're at it, you can explain why you broke your own record."
"What record?" Damon asks uneasily, probably knowing that I'd have a snarky response.
"Record of how long you can go without calling your only friend to reassure her that you're alive?" I suggest, not hiding the fact of how irritated I am… what kind of jerk goes on a hiatus for four months? Damon should know, no matter how sleepy he was, that I'm not going to let this one drop.
"You're not my only friend." He corrects, a smirk being heard through the phone.
"Yes I am." I snip back.
"Your brother's my friend. His girlfriend is too."
"Nah, they just tolerate you because of me." I say, grinning. No matter how much time had passed, I can still grill Damon effortlessly; that's an important piece of information. It's nice to know that I can fall back on my ability to annoy the hell out of him.
"So? Explanation time? Where the hell have you been?" With that question, the wrath of Zoe appears. I've been friendly for long enough, but I can no longer ignore the fact that Damon needs to know that I was genuinely worried about him. Never before did the two of them gone without talking for such a long time.
"I was busy." Damon admits nonchalantly. I can imagine him picking at his nails in ignorance. Bastard.
"You know I'm going to need more than that. Spit it out." I order him, taking another swig of beer.
"I'm in Virginia." Damon says. If he were in front of me, I bet he would laugh at my look of surprise.
"Virginia? Back to the roots, huh? Why Virginia?" She asks.
"It's a very complicated story, one I do not wish to share at 2 AM." Damon admits, finally being awake enough to act like hit normal asshat self. "It started with me following my brother here, to make his life a living hell. Let's just say it escalated."
"Are you kidding me? You still haven't given up?" I ask in disbelief. I would have hoped that over the past few months where I haven't been in touch with him, he might have grown up. He didn't.
"Now is definitely not the time for a lecture, Zo." Damon warns, my eyes twitched in annoyance. Warning, eyeroll coming.
"Fine, then. I'll take care of that at a more decent hour. Now, get to the part where it escalates."
"That's the longer part of an already long story." Damon explains, making me roll my eyes yet again." It's why I called you. I really can't do this over the phone and I might need your help."
That's when the act dropped. He called for a reason.
"When and where do you need me?" I ask, all joking matters dropped.
"Mystic Falls, Virginia? As soon as possible?" Damon suggests.
Damon is a sarcastic, often reckless and irresponsible idiot. The fact that he actually sounded serious about something just made this situation a whole lot more worrying.
"Okay. Go and get some sleep. I'll do the same. I'll call you when I get there tomorrow." Not waiting for a response, I hang up the phone and toss it back on the island.
Gulping down the rest of the beer, I take a seat on the counter. There are very few people in this world that I love and care about. An even fewer number could call in the middle of the night for help, yet I'd do whatever they need me to. Three people, to be exact. Theo, my baby brother. Jessica, my best friend and unofficial sister-in-law. And Damon Salvatore.
Damon Salvatore is my friend. My best friend. My occasional partner in crime. Well, with the two of us, it was the other way around; I was his occasional partner in crime. Years ago, Damon Salvatore reserved his place on the list of people I would do anything for.
Wow. I realized this is the first time that Damon asked for a favor. It would only make sense that it's a dangerous favor of him to ask. Jumping off the counter and heading to the fridge, I take out and open a blood bag. Dangerous or not, Damon Salvatore saved my life. And I will never forget that, no matter what he asks.