Page 211 of The First Time
Chapter Two
Work drags on forever. By the time I collapse on the subway, my ankle is throbbing.
Two people squeeze onto the bench next to me, a woman and a man in their 30s.
He wraps his arms around her waist.
She climbs into his lap.
The two of them mash their mouths together like they're competing in some sort of face-eating contest.
I scoot to the edge of the bench, but it doesn't help me escape their groans.
It's almost sweet how badly they want each other. It must be nice to need someone so badly you're willing to dry hump on the L train.
Is Blake into that kind of thing?
No. He's far too polite to screw in public.
But then, it's always the quiet ones…
I let my head fill with ideas about the stoic CEO. Images form in my mind. A short comic strip.
A sketch of him standing there in that suit. Blake stepping onto the subway, his eyes streaked with confidence. Blake ordering some pretty woman to strip out of her coat and plant on the bench.
It's been forever since a comic has floated into my mind. Since any image has floated into my mind.
Once upon a time, I spent all my free time drawing. I wanted to be an artist.
But that was before the accident.
That was back when I had the time and space to think about things like hobbies and guys and sex.
I'm so lost in thought I nearly miss my stop.
The horny travelers are still going at it.
I fight the jealousy that rises in my throat. I want to lose myself like that.
I step onto the platform as lightly as possible. My work shoes—thick, black, non-slip sneakers—soften the blow. But not enough to ease the ache.
Usually, I relish my walk home. The Manhattan skyline is gorgeous against the dark sky. Silver steel and yellow fluorescent bulbs against a brilliant blue. It's a color that belongs only to New York City.
I pass rows and rows of brownstones. A few trendy restaurants. People smoking on their stoops. Cars circling the block for a space.
It's quiet by our apartment. I climb the porch and check the mailbox. Angry red letters readpast due. The bill for the mortgage.
It's a steal compared to rent anywhere nearby—our parents bought this place before Brooklyn was an It Spot—but it's still too much. I could afford it if I got a job like the one I lost out on today. I could even help Lizzy with school.
Right now…
Ankle first. Then my future.
There's a bunch more junk mail. Electricity bill.From New York University.
Lizzy's letter.
It's thick. Legal-pad sized.
