𝙲 𝙷 𝙴 𝚁 𝚁 𝚈

03

WEDNESDAY

9:25AM

SANTA CARLA

MURDER CAPITAL OF THE WORLD

The morning comes sooner that expected. My eyes open and I have to close them again as I'm met with a lurid sun light that burns my retina and makes liquid build under my fleshy lids.The beige curtains around the window are practically useless, though I realise that I did not pull them to a proper shut when I tiredly shuffled into the room last night. I reach over and turn the alarm off that is arrogantly screaming at me; I lay and think, for a moment, about the things that I have to do today. First, there is the shift at Max's store, though I know I have to find a moment to make moves about a permanent place to live; I can't stay in a motel forever, though I shrug off the thought. I have to cut myself some slack, it's only my first day in Santa Carla.

I sit to the edge of the bed and bend my neck letting a crack vibrate through my bones and relax the knot in my muscles; I sigh and stand to my bare feet. I glance down at my olive skin and scratch my shoulder; I'm only wearing my grey cotton underwear, I've never liked sleeping fully clothed. The T-shirt that I was wearing last night was pooled on the ground, I reach out and throw it over my upper body to keep the light breeze from pressing against my bare flesh. My eyes shuffle along the now fully lit square room; last night was a blur and the space was only partly visible due to the makeshift lamp beside the bed.

The floor isn't real wood; it's the shade of cinnamon and designed in little wooden crisscross's, it seems as if it's vinyl. The sort of ground work that you lay down like a piece of paper, though it definitely does the trick. The walls are painted with what seems to be emulsion. It's the colour of eggshells and as I take a closer look, I noticed that the corners are beginning to split. I yawn and ruffle the nest on my head before reaching down to my bag, snaking my hand inside and taking out my medication. I pop the lid off and slip one into my mouth, dry swallowing it and craning my neck back like a seagull. Once It's down, I breath out and drift to the bathroom where I position myself on the toilet.

I don't feel much of anything today, not like usual. I'm greeted with an overpowering nothingness that unsettles me more than my typical status does, though I narrow it down to my surroundings and the city that I now resign in. I've never left New York, perhaps that's why I feel a tad different. I dismiss the intrusive thoughts, stand up to pull my underwear back around my hips and flush the chain. It's something that I feel as if I shouldn't ponder; I run back out to my room and retrieve my toothpaste and brush. Again, I yawn and give my stomach a scratch with my nails, leaving a raw string along my skin. As I brush my teeth, my eyes stay low and as usual, I avoid my exhausted reflection in the mirror directly in front of me. It's my usual routine.

I rinse my mouth and spit, pulling back my hair and throwing water over my puffy face to ease my complexion; my locks are in their usual blonde waves and I brush through them with my wide tooth comb. I begin to think about my mother and wether or not she has noticed that I have left, it wouldn't surprise me if she had but did nothing to find me. She was never the worried sort, never concerned, nor caring and that was something that I was prepared for during my adolescence. It had prepared me for everything to come in life and when I think hard enough about it, I couldn't find a solid enough reason to hate her for it. I'm prepared for the cruel lessons that the world has to give.

I slip back into the bedroom and begin to rummage threw my backpack for some clean underwear and socks; I slip into them along with a pair of mid thigh denim shorts and a white vest top. My eyes shuffle over towards the clock on the bedside table; it's only taken me ten minutes to get ready overall, though it wasn't as if I were trying to impress. I have always been this way, a little careless, free spirited if you will. It's a trait that I have never really been able to grow out of. I run my hand through my hair before tying the faded laces on my black canvas converse before standing and opening the curtains. The sun pours in more than it had been when I first woke and it reminds me to pick up my sunglasses and slip them over my sensitive eyes.

I slip my belongings back into my backpack, snake my arms into a battered red flannel and begin making my way out of the door. The hotel would be silent if it wasn't for the electric fans blowing just below the ceiling and when I look up, I notice a singular blue ribbon tied around the metal net or each one. I swiftly jump down the set of carpeted stairs before reaching the front desk where the woman from the night before sits reading a magazine. She looks up, "Sleep well?"

Despite waking up in an unpredictable mood, I decide to give her the benefit of the doubt and respond, "Yeah, alright. Thanks."

I place the key in-front of her. She takes it and places it on the hooks behind her, "You take care now."

I give her a swift nod before making my way out through the front doors. The sun hits my caramel skin and I close my eyes beneath my shades for a moment before turning left, heading for the board walk. There is no wind; no leeway from the vivid heat that emits from the burning ball of gas in the sky. I swivel my bag onto my hips and pull out my reds and I grumble when I realise that I am down to my last two. I slip one into my mouth and light it with the flame of a lighter that had been in my flannel pocket for the last week. For a moment, I stop walking and stand still to watch the people walk by. It takes me a moment to gather myself and my surroundings before making a swift turn down the board walk.

I walk for a solid five minutes before throwing away my Cigarette and slipping into the coffee shop that I had discovered just yesterday; the balding man is once again behind the counter and he throws me a half hearted glance, "Back again so soon?"

I pause my movement when I reach the glass cabinet filled with assortments of fresh foods and for a moment I study it, "Not dead yet. Can I get a cheese toasty and a coffee? Black."

He turns and begins to fill two slices of bread with cheese before continuing to speak, "Got the gist of Santa Carla yet?"

I lean against the wall and throw one foot over the other, hands buried in the pockets of my shorts, "It's alright."

He chuckles lightly, almost as if he couldn't believe my statement and I watch through his movement through my Ovza's before he continues, "Alright? You move to the murder capital of the world and it's alright?"

I bunch my brows together; he's managed to gain my attention, "The what?"

He's now facing me. His nimble fingers wrap the now hot toast in parchment paper, like he'd done it a thousand times, and pours me a cup of coffee, "I'm sure you'll find out eventually. It's three fifty."

I pull my wallet from my jacket and pass him a few notes before taking my breakfast, "Thanks."

"Stop keeping your money in your pocket, kid." He responds casually, fiddling with his cash register, "Trust me."