Passion '3

New York City is the city where dreams are bound to come true.
But what happens when Emily Hawthorne realise that her dreams and love-life doesn't fit as perfectly together as she had hoped?


2. Settling down

In my twenty-two years of living, almost everything I had heard about New York seemed to be good. People said that New York was the city of success and for quite a while it was a calming thought. I knew that dreams could end up never being, but some came true and I was planning on fighting for my dream, no matter what it took. There was just one thing that I didn't know when I promised myself to do anything to reach that dream, was that there were things that had to be sacrificed, left behind and maybe even forgotten. 




A month had passed by quickly and yesterday was the day where my first piece of work had been published. As an ordinary girl from a tiny country, I was as nervous as one could get. My stomach had been filled with butterflies, mainly the beautiful kind, most of yesterday, last night and today. I was satisfied with what I had written, maybe because it had been checked a lot of times and re-written and so on, but when it finally got published, I could proudly say that it was my piece of work. It was an honour to be a part of New York Times business, even though the magazine that my short stories got published in was called; N.Y Feminine. It was a magazine under New York Times that wasn't a newspaper, but more of a monthly magazine like Vogue, Elle and Costume. The date today was March 2nd 2018, which meant that the critics probably would write their feedback today. The thing that made me the most nervous and even a bit uncomfortable was the fact that since I was dating Zayn Malik, my short story would get a lot more attention than usually. 


As I made my way to East Village, where my tiny apartment was placed, I somehow seemed to forget about N.Y Feminine and my thoughts started circling around a lot of different things - Things far from New York City. It seemed to hit me a lot how much I missed London and the people there. It wasn’t easy to travel across the ocean in the age of twenty-two, but it was still harder than I first had imagined. My first move to England a few years back had been tough, but that was after all only a two hours flight back home, this was six hours flight and a stop on Iceland. I still found it hard to sleep at night in a city as big as this; In a city with such an extreme pulse, so many people and not a lot of familiar faces. There was one person that managed to make me feel a bit more like home and that was my older sister, Sarah. She had moved to New York in the age of twenty-four to study Astrophysics on Colombia University for six years. Now seven years had passed, but she had fallen so madly in love with the city that she refused to head back to Denmark. She was married to a Brazilian man that she had met on a trip to Peru a little more than seven years ago. I knew that they were discussing getting a child, but I somehow wanted them to wait so that she still could go out with me, even though it was selfish of me. She had showed me around New York a lot the first week, introduced me to most of her friends and their friends. New York City was surprisingly different from a New Yorkers point of view and I seemed to like that a lot more than from the tourists point of view. At some points the city scared me, because I wasn’t completely used to the Underground system yet and I couldn’t afford riding caps everywhere, so the only way that I had managed to get home safely after a night out was by some of my recently made friends help. It was nice that people where so outgoing and so open when it came to me. They almost made me forget about Clara, my now ex-best friend, but still a part of me missed her to pieces. She had after all been my closest friend for eight years.


I barely got to unlock the door into my third floor apartment before my phone started ringing. I stumbled inside the tiny apartment, kicked of my biker boots and fast dug my hand down in my bag to reach my phone. It wasn’t exactly easy to find down there between my purse, scarf, perfume and work folder and therefore I didn’t get to grab it in time. When I stopped ringing I sighed, but decided to call the person up later. I dropped my bag on the floor, gasping when it hit the floor with a louder sound that I had imagined it would, which only could mean one thing; my phone had to be lying in the bottom. I stared down at the bag on the floor for some long seconds, hoping that it hadn’t shattered. The last thing that I could use was a broken phone, since I didn’t have money for a new one. I took a deep breath, slowly grabbed my bag from the floor again and headed to the biggest room in my apartment, my bedroom, living room, main room and whatever-I-wanted-to-use-it as-room. My apartment had three rooms and a little hallway so that there would be a little more space. When stepping inside of the door, I had been facing the hall, and the first white door to my left (that never was closed) lead into the little kitchen, the next door appeared on the right side (neither did I close that one) and it lead into my bedroom, then there came another door on the same side as the kitchen (I kept that one closed), leading to my bathroom and in the very end of the little hallway there was a closet door where the vacuum cleaner and winter clothing was placed was placed.


The first thing I did when I entered my bedroom was the reach down my bag again, pulling out my scarf and tossing it on top of the chest of drawers where I kept my clothes and then it all of sudden wasn’t that hard to find my phone. As soon as I pulled it out, I threw my bag on the double sized mattress on the floor, it was the thing I called my bed. I had always had a thing for beds on the floor and buying a real bed was not even an opportunity, not with my amount of money. I bet that if a lot of people saw how I lived they would be very surprised, might even a bit shocked, because a lot of people would probably believe that I dated Zayn for his money and his fame which wasn’t the case, at all.


I turned my eyes to the phone in my right hand and my stomach dropped. My front screen was slightly cracked, not a lot, but from the left corner a crack that split into three smaller cracks appeared. I knew that there were worse things that ruined iPhone screens, but the thing was that it would last a long time until I would get it fixed. A very long time. I decided to myself that it wasn’t anything to be so upset about, since the phone clearly still was working. I pressed the home bottom, unlocked it and pressed the little green phone in the left corner, just beneath the crack. The call had been from Zayn, and it seemed to cheer me up a bit. I threw myself in the bed, laid down under the covers before calling him back. 



"One belongs to New York instantly, one belongs to it as much in five minutes as in five years."
- Tom Wolfe 

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