black treacle - matt sturniolo

Chapter Seven, I Hate New York

Honesty is a virtue, but deceit was what had been saving Matt's ass. In his defence, it wasn't a complete lie because he did leave to tell his brothers where he was going.

Well, it was a quick text telling them they better fucking save him dinner if he came home late, but he still told them he'd be gone.

Tonight they were having fettuccine alfredo and if the fridge was barren of his dinner, he wouldn't be morally opposed to murder.

Fate truly was a cruel mistress because Matt was once again crammed into a bathroom stall, changing into his suit. It was the best opportunity to count his blessings because he had never been this lucky.

With the end of winter approaching, the weather was at that perfect mix of not-too-cold where he wouldn't freeze through the thin nylon while swinging through Times square but still warm enough to be able to hide his suit under layered clothing.

Most importantly, the bathroom was empty. Going into a stall in his haste manner gave off the wrong impression. And frankly, he didn't want to be next to someone who was actually using the stall.

It truly was conflicting because, on one hand, he got to spend time alone with Robyn. Sure, they spent hours together in the newsroom, but it wasn't enough (they were also not together most of the time but he chose to uphold the optimistic perspective on life).

Robyn had enough on her plate and Matt... Matt still had to figure out how to play poker.

Nick suggested that he ask Robyn for lessons but he'd rather suffer alone than turn it into a shared punishment. Teaching Matt to play poker was torture definitely prepared by Satan in hell.

On the other hand, Matt had to do everything he hated about New York City along with the added stress of concealing his identity. Was this karma for sending Robyn here to photograph him?

He'd never send his worst enemies to Times Square but apparently sending the girl he liked there was perfectly fine. His photographer mindset blinded him because no skyline was worth it.

It was a forty-five-minute ride on the Subway from Queens to Times Square.

Once again, he felt blessed for the cool weather. It seemed like an exaggeration but he'd had to learn the hard way. Imagine being trapped in a metal sauna, he'll spare the details on his other senses.

Two words, though: hot piss.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose when Matt noticed the man standing close to the both of them. It was New York public transport, and a third of the passengers there were probably random bystanders who just happened to look a little sketchy, but he didn't want to take any chances.

Robyn checked the map schedule of the trains, absent-minded to her surroundings as the sway of the carriage camouflaged his attempts to stand closer to her.

His instinct taking over, Matt held a grab handle beside her and peered over her shoulder, pretending to check the maps, but really he was glaring at the man. He got off the next stop and Matt's shoulders relaxed.

He hated the Subway.

Robyn nudged Matt and gestured towards the newly-freed seats. Only thirty-two minutes left on the ride. He let the motion of the coach lull him, his movements following the buzz of the air with less control of his stance because he was furious at Chris for stealing his headphones and in all honesty, he was growing tired of being there.