Bisexual in Manhattan (boyxboy & lesbian stories)

prologue | welcome from hell

Taylor Swift's "Welcome to New York" plays aloud as I climb out of my first ever cab ride. The opening credits to my movie can be read at the bottom of the screen, while the New York City anthem plays from speakers that only, you, the audience can hear.

Okay, okay, to be honest, the song is coming from the speakers of my iPhone, and my life is no movie, but that doesn't make this moment any less cinematic than it truly is. I promise.

I tug down the ends of my shorts that have risen all the way up my thighs during the hot, sticky cab ride, and place both of my feet onto the sidewalk. Finally, I'm here. As I look around in astonishment, I waste no opportunity in tidying up my appearance. I slide the bracelets down my arms, shake some life into my sleepy hair, recenter the cat ears on top of my head, and adjust the straps of my tank top.

I, Ariana Grande, a small town girl from Virginia, then take the first step into my new life of independence and success, my black Nordstrom flats leading the way. My stride of confidence is short lived as the bottom of my right shoe mushes right into some not-so-pink bubblegum, which I don't realize until my next, naive step. My entire life flashes before my eyes as my bare foot dislodges right from my shoe and I nearly stumble onto the sweltering, New York City pavement.

"Holy Moley!" I yelp, grabbing for my foot and immediately beginning to hop around like a mad woman. I'm not sure what hopping has to do with helping my aching limb, but it serves as a coping method. It's just one of those things you do on instinct; like eating an entire tub of Ben & Jerry's ice cream after a messy break up.

Focusing my 20/20 vision onto my foot, I examine the unfortunate and painful situation at hand. The tip of my freshly manicured toenail is chipped, and a spec of blood surfaces. It's enough to make me sick.

Of course this all happens right in front of my new neighbors, like some awful TBS sitcom of epic proportions.

"It's alright, I'm o-kay!" I notify the old woman on the nearby stoop, who is using her last hours on earth laughing at my misfortune. Even from thirty feet away I can see that she only has one tooth, and a five o'clock shadow; despite it only being two in the afternoon.

I recover the near death experience with a stubbed toe, a cracked and bleeding toe nail, and face flushed crimson with total embarrassment.

"Will you hurry up, lady? I can't sit out here all day. Time is money," Rajeeb, my cab driver, complains from the car.

"Yeah, sorry," I oblige, pulling my heavy duty pink suitcase free from the cab. The rest of my stuff would be delivered later today.

"Thanks, Rajeeb!" I start to say, but he drives away before I even get the chance to double check the backseat for my belongings. I then bend over and collect my shoe, tucking it under my armpit. I'm nearly ten feet from my new apartment, so there's no sense in staining the inside of my shoe with bodily fluid.

It's okay, I tell myself, a little blood never ruined anyone's day. Evenso, I still feel a little queasy.

Wheeling my suitcase down the sidewalk, my uneven footing causes me to waddle like a sad penguin. I could only imagine how ridiculous I look.

I quickly perk up as I come across an African-American woman, exiting the building next door to mine. I don't even have the opportunity to introduce myself as her new neighbor before she curls up her lip in a very unflattering way.

"Shut that cracka' bitch music off, cunt," the woman snarls, stopping my heart right in my chest.

I swiftly, and frantically press the pause button on my iPhone and tuck it safely into the back pocket of my shorts. It's now clear to me that New Yorkers aren't so friendly.

I take a moment to collect myself, performing some deep inhales and exhales that I learned from a yoga video on Youtube. The air around me smells like piss and burnt pretzels, just like the online bloggers described it to be.

"Namaste," I whisper aloud, something that I also learned from the online video. I have no clue as to what it actually means, but it sounds calming. Nothing is going to get me down today, absolutely nothing. How could I let it? I had just entered the greatest city in the world, to live in an apartment with my very best friends and in a few days I start my internship with Seventeen Magazine. Not to mention, my outfit is looking exceptionally Carrie Bradshaw from Sex in the City, today.

With my new-found sense of serenity, I place my hand on the door in front of me and push it open. A tall staircase stands before me, no elevator or escalator to accommodate me and my heavy suitcase. I shrug, and begin dragging my suitcase up the stairs. The wheels hit each wooden step with a hard thud, but I don't have the upper body strength to stop it from happening.

Climbing three flights of stairs really makes a person realize just how out of shape they are, especially while dragging a suitcase that nearly meets their own weight.

Huffing and puffing, I reach my floor and throw my head back to take in the cheers from an imaginary crowd.

"I climbed that bitch like Mount Everest," I silently commend myself, as my hand goes down at my hip to retrieve the apartment key in my purse.

My eyes widen as my hand hits my hip, and not my Michael Kor's bag.

"Oh my gosh," I utter in disbelief.

Then the realization hits me like a swift kick to the face.

Rajeeb had left with my purse!!

For a quick second, I see black and my knees go weak. I don't think I'm going to make it.

"Guys," I whine through the door for my friends, my knuckles barely making a sound as they hit the door with hardly any stamina. I could already feel the tears surfacing in my eyes. My keys, my wallet, my entire collection of EOS chapstick, my seven tampons, everything had been in that bag. "Guys, can you let me in, I'm locked out. Harry? Shay? Louis? Anybody?"

I press my forehead against the door and close my eyes in defeat.

"Welcome to New York, its been waiting for you", ran through my mind.

Thanks Taylor Swift. Thanks.

//////

hello readers, i'm john !!!

hopefully you enjoyed the prologue for bisexual in manhattan! lmk what you think in the comments, please! i have some very exciting things planned for this story, however not everything is set in stone yet because i'm not using a strict outline. my goal is to have fun writing this and make it as cute, humorous, and super feelsy as possible.

oh yeah, also, the chapters go back and forth with narrators, so get ready to dive into harry's, louis', and shay's minds next. hopefully that's something you find interesting.

this story is dedicated to one of my best friends, brittany aka okbritt. thank you so much for always supporting me in whatever i do and spending countless hours of your time helping me making edits and trailers for my books. u da realest in da hood.