New York is overwhelming.
The sights.
The sounds.
The smells. Oh my god, the smells.
I narrowly miss getting plowed into by a man talking into his earpiece, gesturing with his hands. My recently dyed hair feels like a magnet for attention. Everywhere I look, there’s another person, and another. Some looking at me, some not.
Ace, thankfully, tucks me into his side and leads me into his apartment. The small gesture of his body enveloping mine, sends a signal to my brain to calm down. I remind myself that the people on the street are too busy going about their own lives, to worry themselves with me. I can’t seem to shake the paranoia of being caught, though. It’s ingrained in me like a second skin. All it would take is someone to yell out, “Isn’t that the girl from the Kingston Misfits”. Or at least, that’s how it feels in my head.
After climbing four flights of stairs, we reach his loft. It’s located in Soho and decorated in an industrial style. The ceilings are expansive, reaching the length of at least two stories. The bathroom, kitchen, and living space are all meshed together on the first level. And a ladder next to the entry door leads to a smallopen concept bedroom that’s enclosed by a wire rail. The decor is minimal at best, with only a lone guitar hanging on the wall and a flat screen tv pointed at his brown leather sofa. The view outside is of another building identical to this one, and the street below.
“Nice place.” My eyes are still heavy with sleep from the ten-hour drive. Somehow, I managed to sleep most of the way to quell the anxiety of what I was about to do. Traveling across the country with my stalker seemed like a moment that required some extra Xanax and maybe a swig or two of alcohol. It’s not my best decision, but it’s one that helped me through the stress.
But all that’s done is make me groggy. And now I have to deal with the emotions I’ve stuffed down. Putting off problems for another time rarely works out well for me, but still, I find myself slipping into that same old pattern.
“I’m going to get freshened up, you can make yourself at home.” Ace says, leaning down to kiss my cheek. His scruff scratches against my cheek and I watch, anxiety rising as he leaves me in the middle of his living room.
It’s weird that I can feel so at ease with him, when just the night before I was pointing a knife at his throat. But life is funny like that. One minute you can trust someone with your whole heart, and the next that trust is being shattered before your eyes. And I guess it works in reverse, too. I went from being suspicious of Ace and his reasons for putting me through what he did, to battling my anxiety and hopping into a car with him. Part of me wonders if I’ve been looking for an excuse all along to face my fears and get it over with.
The constant fear exhausting me to the point of merely existing.
While he turns the water on, I walk around exploring. The space seems minimal, but it’s not until I’ve climbed the ladderthat I see the huge bulletin board full of pictures and string hanging on his wall.
Getting closer, I see a picture of me cut out from a magazine. Aged seventeen, head down, and ball cap on to hide my face. I touch the paper and trace my own face, remembering the way the media chased me. How the people in town looked at me with constant suspicion.
After my interview at the Kingston Police Station, the school thought it best if I go back to live with my parents, to their utter horror and disappointment. I spent days locked in my room, eating nothing but toast whenever my mother decided to allow me to.
I can’t remember exactly the moment I decided when I’d had enough. Perhaps it was a long accumulation of injustices that prompted my decision. I only remember leaving. Waiting on a day when my parents were at a church function to quietly pack a bag and take off for the bus station. The money I’d saved throughout my childhood was just enough to get me to a no name town, far out of the reach of Kingston and my parents.
The dingy red thread that’s attached to my picture leads to a web of others all pointing back to the center where Kyle’s sits. Looking as smug and proud as ever. His clipping is from when Kingston appointed him mayor. Several other articles are pinned up around him, but one that snags my attention is the headline: Mayor brokers deal to put in lake. Tourism now booming.
A lake? In Kingston?
I lick my lips and take out my phone to google this new information. Sure enough, in the time I’ve been gone, they’ve constructed a man-made lake right outside of Kingston Prep… but more importantly, I notice that the location sits right at the bottom of Wixom Manor.
“Hey.” Ace pulls himself up into the room from the ladder.
“Hey.” My voice sounds small. We didn’t get a chance to talk much on the way here, and I still have so many questions for him. I flick the red thread that’s attached to my picture and watch it reverberate. He comes up behind me, pulling me into his arms and smelling freshly showered. Water droplets from his hair fall onto his bare shoulders, landing in the divots of his collar bone.
“The calendar shows Kyle is going to be at the club tonight at 10 pm. Are you feeling up to it?”
I lick my lips. “No. But I want to go anyway. You said we’ll be masked?”
“Right. No one knows who anyone else is.”
“So how are we going to find Kyle?”
“He always wears the same mask and same suit. Armani with a jet-black devil horned face covering.”
“And what will we be wearing?”
He backs up going to his dresser where he produces two identical masks that cover the tops of our faces. “I didn’t want to draw too much attention, so these should suffice for going undetected.” I take my mask and feel it’s smooth vinyl exterior beneath my fingers.
“I haven’t gone out like this in years.” I confess.
When I first left Kingston, it took about a year until I had my first suicide attempt that landed me in the psyche ward. I’ve been a grand total of three times, and it’s not a place where one can make friends easily. Even when I tried to hold a more conventional job, the trauma I’d experienced weighed me down in a way that made it difficult to connect with others.
