Page 2 of Reckless

I looked like the devil after he stayed out all night.

Eyeliner was smeared across my eyelids, and dark circles pooled thick under my eyes. Art was heaven for the soul but apparently did nothing for the complexion. Sighing, I attempted in vain to fix my hair, which was tossed up into two slightly askew buns, before giving up and shoving my feet into some black combat boots.

Throwing my black leather backpack across my shoulders, I yanked open the door of my apartment (aka home sweet home), more than grateful to leave my fucked up fairytale tower behind.

-----

Dashing through the city, I tried not to trip. It seemed like half of New York was playing catch up this morning and I was the dashing princess trying to run from her own demise.

I almost laughed at the thought. Me running through the streets in a torn tulle gown, my captor raising a sword at my backside, ready to impale me for my betrayal. After all, the irony of the vision wasn't lost on me.

My mom and I moved to the city because we were running.

If there was one thing you should know about Levingstons, it is that we are always running. Running from unpaid bills left on the counter. Running from poisoned promises made by cheating tongues. Running from empty homes in battered wastelands we used to call our paradise. Only this time, we were running from something I didn't care to think about.

It would only paralyze me.

Mom's words echoed through my head, giving me strength; The damn world doesn’t give a fuck if you’re scared. It still keeps on turning, and if you’re not turning with it, then you're lost.

And we can't get lost, sweetie.

Levingstons don't get lost, we always find our way.

The words were written in sharpie across my wrist.

So, I guess it's a good thing everyone in this goddamn city was always running. Running to work. Running away. Desperately trying to find themselves. Frantically grasping ahold of something silken and soft - claiming it as theirs. Hollow shells trying to feel whole again by stuffing themselves with gaudy materials, overpriced caffeine, and flimsy promises. Hey, whatever makes them feel good at the moment. But if you were already lost then, is there even anything left to be found? With that golden fucked up philosophy it's safe to say I fit right inside of this snowglobe of a city.

I was used to disappearing.

After all, I was broken. Torn apart and dying on the inside.

It was easier to pick up the pieces in a new place. Where no one knew my name. My past. Where my petals could fall silently to the floor.

These months in New York were supposed to save me. Save us.

I only hoped it wasn't too late.

That he wouldn’t find us. For no prince was coming to save me. This wasn’t some twisted fairytale. No broken king was here to pick up my pieces.

I was alone.

But that didn't mean I was not going to fight like hell to survive. After all, fighting was all I knew.

Groaning, I dug my sparkle-covered nails into my palms. The train was running late. Again.

I really, really need this job.

Anxious, my feet began to shift back and forth as I balanced on my tiptoes trying to get a good look at the arrival times, but when I spot them, it takes all of my energy not to release a screech of frustration.

Damn it. I could already tell this morning was going to be an absolute ray of motherfu-

Screeechhh!

And that would be the sound of the subway finally bothering to grace us with its presence. Wasting no time, I hop aboard the train, nearly scuffing my combat boots while shoving my way through the doors. I may be little but that didn't mean I couldn't be aggressive as hell. Especially when I was running late.

Which honestly, was most of the time.

Once inside, my ocean eyes were quick to assess the interior of the train. Finding an open seat on the subway was like finding a reasonably priced mocha latte in the heart of the city. You’d have a better chance of finding a unicorn that shit rainbows.

---