Pursuing Nirvana.

t w o

After gathering myself and closing up the shop, I began my long walk home.

The hectic city traffic of New York City turns driving into a stress-inducing task so it's much easier to walk everywhere. Not to mention I always enjoy my walks home. Despite it being quite long, it always soothes me when I'm able to put my earbuds in and think about the day.

Particularly today, I have a lot of thinking for my long journey home.

........

The large stone facade of my apartment complex stands in front of me. It's an ancient, but pristine, building in the older part of Manhattan. Despite its age, it was always kept in good hands, so the condition never diminished through its decades of presence on the corner of 17th and 18th street.

It isn't typical for young people to live there, being that it is mostly inhabited by retirees, but I loved every second of it. I prefer older things anyways. I grasp the aged golden door handle and pulled the tall glass door open. The large immaculate lobby was empty, as usual, aside from the concierge. He's a soft spoken old man with wispy white hair and a tanned wrinkled face named Alfred, who is always leaned back in his chair fast asleep.

"Always nice to see you too, Alfred," I greet quietly and laugh to myself, knowing that he wouldn't wake until morning. I step inside the elevator and push the button to the seventh floor.

........

I unlock my door and walk inside my apartment on a direct path to my room. The only thing on my mind right now was sleep. I open a drawer on my dresser and pulled out a pair of athletic shorts and grabbed a sweater off my bed. There's always an odd draft in my room due to the building's age, so I typically sleep in sweaters.

I enter my bathroom, clothes in hand, to take off my makeup from the day. Staring into the mirror, I hold a makeup remover to my cheek and sigh at the girl in front of me.

She has so many insecurities, but the makeup always helps her disguise them.

She has rather large eyes that are a bright emerald green and thin dirty blonde eyebrows to compliment them.

They are her favorite features, everything else repulsed her.

Her blemish free pale skin, which she completely despises.

Her natural long blonde hair that falls perfectly to the middle of her back without a tangle, although she always felt it was 'messy' and 'ugly.'

Her height, especially, she absolutely couldn't stand because she is always shorter than everyone else

Her least favorite part of herself, though, is her body. She was always uncomfortable in her own skin despite being told that she's fit by family.

I shook myself out of my self loathing daydream and put on my sweater, not bothering to wear the shorts, which I can get away with being that I live alone. Before rolling down my sleeves, I glance toward my wrists and frowned. It had been at least two years since I'd done anything, but the trauma-inducing scars still littered my flesh.

They are a constant reminder of my past: the good and the bad.

Of course, the good was always my father. He taught me how to protect myself and inspired me to chase my dreams because anything can happen. He was always my role model in my life, and whenever he was around my family was happy and acted like well, a family.

My father used to show me different kinds of music when I was little, everything from classic rock n' roll to nineties rap. He would take me to the record shop his father had opened back in the sixties and play records for me all day long.

He always called me his "little DJ," because I was always in the shop with him picking out the records to play. In fact, I had learned how to operate a record player on my own by the age of six. For each record I picked he seemed to have an endless knowledge of, there was never one he didn't know. He would give me all this knowledge on the artist and the album while the record played and sometimes even long after it had ended.

He would always tell me that when he was gone, I would be the one to take over the family record shop rather than my older brother, Alex, who was far too concerned with school and impressing girls to care.

My father died four years ago from lung cancer. He was hopelessly addicted to smoking cigarettes, it was his only flaw.

From there, everything went rapidly downhill. My mother walked out on us, she moved to Colorado and blamed me entirely for the death of her husband. When I was only fourteen, I was put in charge of my dad's record shop to keep the tradition alive.

In addition to all of that happening, I became depressed, suicidal and had given up on all of my dreams that my father once pressured me to capture.

It had gotten to the point where I had overdosed one day and would have succeeded if it wasn't for my brother.

He saved me. At the time, I hated him for not letting me escape. Alex never gave up though, he helped me through all my problems and to overcome depression, despite all the times I had relapsed and screamed at him that I hated him. Through all of my repugnant outbursts, aimed especially at him, he never gave up.

It's been three years and I'm still recovering, but to this day I cannot thank him enough for saving my life that day.

........

I cover my face with my hands and snap myself out of the painful reminiscence. Pulling the covers up over my chest and curling into the fetal position, I close my eyes and eventually drift off to sleep. Silently praying to forget my past and that my tomorrow will be better.

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Okay so I know this was pretty boring but I felt I needed to further introduce Cecelia so it's easier to understand her actions and feelings.

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