Page 5 of Nightmare

My dad, born and raised in NYC as well, ran in the same circles as my mother – they were paired up by their parents at a young age. Anything to increase the value to the last name.

I didn’t see my parents much growing up. I idolized them at a young age, but quickly learned I was never anything of importance to them. I was a pawn that they played when they needed to.

I run my fingers through my hair, taking a deep breath in.

I wish I had never gone to California.

I went there a girl with dreams, a girl who loved her life, a girl who had plans. And I turned into a shell, a void, a girl with a taste for thrill and nothing else.

I haven’t pursued anything to do with my first love – music – in months.

I had it all planned out in my head. Graduate, go to NYU for music, get a spot on Broadway, get discovered, and live my dream.

My parents said no. Shipped me off, and I left my dream here. I couldn’t do anything about it in California – under the thumb of the elite academy I was shoved into.

And now? Now I don’t want anything.

I’m not that girl anymore.My words from weeks ago come back to haunt me as I grab my shampoo and lather my hair.I don’t want to be that fucking girl anymore.

I have no plans – no money for college, no trust fund in my name anymore, nothing. Regardless, I knew I needed to come back to the city. To my home, to my best friend. I can build a life without money.

I breathe, once – twice – three times, then finish my shower, scrubbing at my skin and face with Summer’s minty soaps, then I’m turning off the water and stepping onto the fluffy bath mat, wrapping a towel around myself.

“Reservation is at 3.” Summer says from where she’s leaning against the door frame.

My mouth turns up into a smile, wishful thinking has me believing I can find myself again this summer. Get the girl back that left here four years ago.

“Grab my suitcase, will you?” I ask my best friend, and she spins on her foot to head back to where I left it in the bedroom.

I make my way to the closet, then a minute later she’s dragging the luggage through, leaving lines in the pure white carpet behind her.

Throwing the case on the ottoman, I unzip it then go about putting everything on hangers and in drawers on the empty side of the closet – Summer must have cleared out for me – trying to hold my towel up and humming under my breath.

Summer makes herself comfortable on the sofa, watching me out of the corner of her eye as she scrolls on her phone.

Once all my stuff is out of my suitcase, hung up and folded into the drawers on the back wall, I slip on a black lace bra and matching thong. I decide on a plain white shift dress and pair it with my black suede thigh high boots. I guess I still have one good thing left from my parents – all the expensive shit I bought before my credit cards were shut off.

I toss my hair up into a messy bun, slip some oversized hoops in my ears then head back out into the bathroom to do my makeup.

I connect the Bluetooth on my phone to the speaker sitting on the counter then sit down on the white leather chair in front of the mirror.

Post Malone starts playing and I crank it up to full volume, letting his raspy voice flood the room. I start to dig through my makeup case, laying out everything included in the routine I can perform in my sleep.

Foundation, contour, highlight and blush are flawlessly applied to my light skin then I line my eyes with black eyeliner, careful not to get it in the eyelash extensions I had done before I left LA.

I draw and blend my eyebrows, giving them the perfect arch to accent my sharp features. I dip my fingertip in my Kat Von D glitter and put some in the corners of my eyes to make them pop. I finish the look with my favorite lipstick and setting spray.

I’m misting myself with my Burberry perfume just as Summer is dancing her way into the bathroom, “Ready?” She pops her ass out a few times to the music, making me laugh.

“Let’s go, sugar.” I swipe up on my phone to cut the music, grabbing my purse from the bed as we pass through the bedroom, throw it over my shoulder and toss my phone inside.

Chapter Three

Travis

I’m being draggedby my shirt sleeve through the doors of The Top by a busty blonde chick by the name of Sarah. That’s about the extent of the information I have on her, apart from the fact she spent the last four months following me around the city like a lost puppy, always showing up at my shop trying to get me to tattoo her.

I’ve done my best to avoid this chick like the plague, because clingers aren’t my fucking thing. I’m not interested in spooning her to sleep or going on dates, and I’m definitely not interested in tatting her in exchange for a blowie.

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