Craving Ava

1.2 - Ava meets Easton

Ava

I woke up with the sound of raindrops falling and occasionally crashing onto my little two-bedroom Tudor Home in Forest Hills, a small neighborhood in Queens, on the corner of 70th Avenue and Groton Street.

Out of all the ways I could have been woken up from —dogs being walked outside, neighbors arguing over the silliest things - such as laundry and who will pick up the mail - people honking over not having enough space to drive through the streets due to the cars who have double-parked because of the lack of parking spots — this was certainly my favorite, and it just so happened to also be the most peaceful.

Thankfully, lately it had been a somewhat daily occasion since things were usually calmer when it rained.

Not as many people outside, and the sound of the rain would overpower the otherwise strong noises.

I let myself stay where I was – in the comfort of my incredibly soft bed, with a heavy layer of bed sheets and blankets on top due to how cold it was, for a few minutes, to just exist.

Do nothing more than observing the raindrops as they hit the window glass. After all, even though it was a Thursday, the alarm had not rung yet.

I could afford to let myself be, and I was fully going to take advantage of that fact.

I counted each raindrop, and not a thought was present in my mind. Which was a rare occurrence for me, since I constantly had thoughts just running amok in my brain, and no idea what to make of them.

They were a constant scrambled mess that no one, not even me sometimes, could figure out.

After what felt like not enough time at all, the alarm rung. In a split second of despair, I groaned softly, before rolling onto the side and getting out of bed.

I took a quick shower, standing in front of my bathroom mirror shortly after, trying to comb my rebellious hair into place.

Unfortunately, it had a mind of its own – and today, it had chosen to do whatever it wanted.

So I braided it in one full braid, with a few strands in the front still sticking out. "That will have to do." I thought, hoping I wouldn't look as frazzled as I felt.

I put on my usual makeup - a CC cream, concealer, powder, blush, nude eye-shadow, eyebrow gel, mascara and a winged liner – wishing no one would notice my apparent lack of sleep. Then, rushed down onto the kitchen and cooked my usual low-kcal pancakes with a fruit of choice. This time, I went for cherries.

I ate as fast as I could, ignoring the clock that sat on my kitchen counter, so that it wouldn't stress me out.

When I finished, I swiftly put the dirty dishes into my dishwasher and ran upstairs to get dressed.

I chose my favorite skinny jeans, black sneakers, and a black turtleneck to match. Then, I put on my signature matte red lipstick – Uncensored by Fenty Beauty – before grabbing a grey beanie and a dark red rain jacket, my phone, wallet and keys, and ran out of the door.

Two hours later, I arrived at the 86th Street Station. The second I stepped foot out of the Subway, I was once more astonished by the contrasting difference between the City and Queens.

A myriad of smells – most of them unpleasant – went in my nostrils and almost made me sneeze.

For a few seconds, all I could see were men and women dressed formally, fast-pacing up the infinite amount of stairs.

When the crowd cleared, I managed to get a good look at the corners of the station. Front and center were the artists – some playing instruments, some dancing, and one filling up balloons very enthusiastically.