Those dark eyes flash in my mind again.
Forget them, Rai. You’re not here for boys. Love is a distraction. I learned that lesson hard in high school, yet I still find it fascinating.
Taking the stairs to the third floor, I head to my room. My steps falter when I realize the door is open halfway.
Shit, I know my door was closed before I left with Anthony yesterday. There’s no way my door was left open all night because I specifically remember locking it. My breath catches, and I clutch my bag tight.
Who could be in my room?
Did someone steal all my stuff?
Oh my God, this can’t be happening.
My knuckles turn white as I approach the room, the rough straps of my purse digging into my skin. I peek inside, and my stomach drops.
Two people are making out on my bed, their hands roaming everywhere as they exchange sloppy kisses.
My mouth drops open as I stare at them, unable to tear my eyes away.
Is this actually fucking happening?
Two strangers. Making out. On my fucking bed!
I clear my throat, but they don’t turn. “Um, hello?”
The girl whips her head my way, looking pissed she was interrupted. “Who are you?”
Crossing my arms, I shift my feet. I hate confrontation, but I have no clue who this girl is. And she doesn’t seem like the type to be messed with. Tattoos cover her arms, and her pink hair is styled with two knots on the top of her head. I can’t picture my hair like that, never having seen that type of style before. And tattoos? While I don’t mind them, I can’t imagine getting something permanently inked on my skin. What if I hated looking at it after a year or two? I’m stuck with the damn thing forever.
I let out a sigh. I’m judging her, but I can’t help it since I caught her in my bed. “I should be asking you that since it seems you enjoy having fun on a bed that isn’t yours. And if I remember right, this is my room.” I wince inwardly, hoping my sarcasm wasn’t too harsh. Some people don’t get me right away, and I come off as a bitch. I’m not.
She pushes herself off the guy and gives him a side glance. “I’ll meet up with you later, okay?” She pecks him on the lips and steps aside.
He grumbles the entire time. “What the fuck, Mable? You said—”
She cuts him off, her tone harsh while she speaks to him. But I don’t hear what they say. All I can focus on is her name.
Mable.
That’s my roommate’s name.
Fuck.
Well, this sure is a surprise.
Welcome to college, Rai. What did you fucking expect?
He lives inside me,
Under the walls I’ve built.
They only grow higher,
With every breath he takes.
I go over the lyrics a thousand times, each read making me hate them more. My frustration gets the better of me, and I rip the paper out of my notebook, crumple it into a ball, and hurl it across the room at nothing in particular.
“Raina,” Mable says, but I don’t answer. A week has passed, and things have settled down. Mable came back at me with the same sarcasm, and we’ve hit it off ever since. But for some reason, I can’t write. A week is a long time for me not to put words to paper.
Lyrics pour out of me every night but here? None.
I tried people watching, the city offering multiple choices for me, but nothing sparked me.
I feel blocked.
My mom tells me I’m too stressed. Anthony says I need to find my spot. He felt off when he first moved to California until he found his peaceful place.
I’m not patient enough.
I want to find my balance, my spot, and write freely.
But it’s not happening, and I’m losing my patience. Fast.
“Raina,” Mable tries again.
She actually is a pretty cool person, and I shouldn’t have judged first. Claiming it was simply because her bed wasn’t made, she apologized and took me out to dinner.
Her appearance throws off her actual personality. Mable is a sweet, loudmouth cussing city girl who grew up in New York City. She knows all the local spots, including the best places to get late-night pizza, my favorite food in the entire world. I can put back an entire pie myself. I kid you not. Anthony and I used to have competitions over it.
Mable knows the campus inside and out, having stalked the school the entire time she was in high school. She always knew she wanted to be here at NYU. Her drawings are a part of her. Beautiful watercolor scenes of nature that pull the beauty out of the world so many of us don’t see.
“Bitch, you gonna answer me?” Mable laughs, and this time when I crumple another piece of paper, I turn around and toss it at her head. Direct hit.
“What? I’m trying to write,” I grumble and stare down at the blank sheet in front of me.
“Still having trouble?” Mable asks. She comes over and sits down on my bed. My desk fits snug against my bed, so we’re so close our knees touch. Her pink hair glitters in the low lights of the room. The harsh overhead bulbs were too much, and thankfully, Mable agreed. So we shut them off, plugged in a few soft glow lamps, and strung twinkle lights across the room. We also hung a few paper lanterns in the shapes of stars.
With my scent diffuser and lots of fluffy pillows and blankets, this room really is super cozy. So why can’t I fucking write?
“Yeah. I don’t know. Maybe stress? Missing my family? Anthony thinks I need to find a sweet spot.”
Mable snaps her fingers, and I jump, not expecting the sudden loud sound. “I think I can help.”
“How?” I toss my pen down as defeat settles around me. I’ve had enough for tonight. I’m ready for bed, grateful tomorrow is Friday. I’m looking forward to the weekend. We didn’t get a chance to do much last weekend due to the orientation events we were required to attend as freshmen.
This weekend, I plan to explore and have some fun. I’ve heard college parties are insane around here. Considering the various campuses, the sororities and fraternities constantly have a steady stream of parties, and the city’s nightlife itself. This is the city that never sleeps, right?
“I know this city inside and out, girlfriend. There are a lot of places I could show you, but I have a feeling you might just like this one place I know.”
“Is it quiet?” I ask.
Mable nods and slaps my arm playfully. “Of course. I know what you want.”
I laugh. “How do you know so much about me already?”
“You’re not that hard to figure out, Rai. You wear your heart on your sleeve, and you don’t hide who you are.” Mable shrugs her shoulders. “Besides, you’ve said how important silence is a thousand times this past week. I’d be dumb not to know.”
I laugh. She’s right. I have said it. But that’s because the dorm is loud and busy. And not writing is so foreign to me. It’s thrown me off.
Ever since I could remember, I’d been writing in journals. I used to describe my day, boring shit that would make even the best book lover fall asleep. Then as my imagination ran wild, I began jotting down short stories, more so in the form of poetry with quick, short sentences. I realized after a while I was writing song lyrics out of the short stories I made up.
My writing shifted after that. I let my creativity run free, and the songs flowed out of me. As I grew older, the lyrics changed. I saw more, experienced more, so I had more things to write about.