Neoteric

II

II

Once I land in London and step off that plane it all feels different. I feel different. I feel free. This freedom comes in short spurts. I felt the something similar to this when I landed in Paris, three months ago. I also felt this freedom while downing a bottle of Vodka. I think the mistake before was I was confusing freedom and recklessness. While that recklessness felt great surging through my veins I found out soon enough that is was short lived. I found out that, that recklessness was exactly as it was called: reckless.  This feeling felt new however although similar to that of which the recklessness held. 

"They always said Vodka was a drink for the heartbroken. I had never believed them until now. I guess I really had no reason to believe them. I had never felt heartbreak. But now that I have felt it. I also know that Vodka makes a great equalizer to that heartbreak. They also say that you become more poetic when heartbroken: but that is where I call them liars. I am not poetic. These drunken slurs that I jotted down are not poetic. They can not compare to the way I once described him. The love I had for him was poetic. This.. this is not poetic."

While I wait for my phone to finish charging I pick my outfit for the day. After a day of much-needed sleep, I awoke this morning ready to conquer this city. The first thing on my agenda is to go check out the flat I am interested in staying at. I also plan on popping into a few museums. I have also debated on whether replying to Harry's request of having dinner. He seems like a nice friend to have around. Not to mention we share many common interests other than Suduko. He shared on the plane that while he resigns in here in London he travels quite a bit to do his photography job. Although he says it's less of a job and more of a passion of his. A passion that the two of us share. The difference is he is actually quite good at photography whereas I am not.

I pull a sweater over my head since it seems to be a bit chilly outside this morning and some skinny jeans before tossing on some black booties. I cross the center of my hotel room and stare at my reflection in the mirror. My blonde wavy hair hanging over my shoulders still drying from the shower this morning. I took the time to put on some makeup and I deem my outfit cute enough. I then grab my jacket before crossing the room again to grab my phone from the charger. 

I have decided to grant your request of sharing dinner with you tonight. What time would be good for you?  I send the message to Harry while standing in the elevator. 

Oh, so you did give me a real number. I was afraid you gave me a number to some scary old man. To think I doubted you. I read the message before I make it to the first floor. 

Maybe I should have. But the only scary old man I know is you. And well I didn't think that would work out well.  I recall the conversation on the plane of which we discussed our ages. Him 22 and I just shy of 21. We laughed about the measly 10-month gap. 

Harsh. Well this scary old man would love to have dinner with you. Six it is. 

...

My feet haven't hurt this much since my family went on a hiking trip a few years ago. Although my feet hurt, I feel as if it is worth it. I have seen many flats today and even found one that I am seriously considering to call home. It has a beautiful view not to mention a patio and a nice roomy closet. I look down at my watch and see that is fifteen until six. Harry sent me the address to a little Italian restaurant which had nice reviews on Google. Harry must either be a mind reader or a stalker because Italian is by far my favorite type of food. The thought of him being either is beyond creepy so I just go with the instinct that he has good taste. 

I make my way to the restaurant and I walk inside to see Harry already sitting at a table. It looks nice and cozy, not to mention it smells like heaven. When I reach the table Harry looks up from his menu and his hazel eyes meet mine. 

"Wow, the girl shows. I thought you would stand me up," Harry says with a smile.

"You seem to think wrong a lot. Not to mention I am ten minutes early. You did say six," I say with confidence lacing my voice. 

"Fair enough," he says before directing his attention back to his menu. "You know I was thinking of ordering spaghetti so then we could reenact Lady and the Tramp," Harry continues to say without looking up. 

"What could I get you two to drink?" the attractive waiter who appears to be around my age asks. 

"I'll take a red wine and also a glass of water," I say while I look at Harry's unruly curls. 

"Ohh, fancy. I'll just have a water," Harry says while eyeing the waiter. 

Just as Harry is about to say something my phone begins to vibrate and shake the table. 

The last person I expected to ever hear from, let alone be calling me is. His name makes me want to cry, scream, and leap with joy: Ben.