5. New York and Lady Gaga

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Born this Way-Lady Gaga

Cold as Ice- Foreigner

I woke up, and realized I wasn't at home in my bed. I was on an airplane. Sitting next to a gay guy. On the run.

I was also lying on his lap. I looked up, and he was leaned back peacefully sleeping. Should I wake him up? I mean, he's letting me stay in his condo. But if I don't wake him up I'll have to stay lying here.

He was really handsome. Too bad he was gay. I mean, he was like those guys in the movies. Not bulky, but fit. Like a marathon runner. His hair was short and spiky. His eyes were gorgeous too.

"Are you done staring?" he asked, opening one eye.

"Are you done sleeping?"

"Not really."

"Deal with it," I lifted my head up, and sat straight in my seat.

"You have beautiful eyes. Like, they're just amazing. I've never seen someone with purple eyes. I bet you get complimented on them a lot." he told me wistfully.

Oh I didn't have my contacts on. "Not really, I usually wear brown contacts." I really hated when people only paid attention to my eyes. It was irritating. It's supposed to be complimenting, but I really dislike compliments. What's the point of pointing out someone's "perfection?"

"Why?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I'm already so different, I rather not have one more thing set me off from being remotely normal."

"You know you stand out on a crowd no matter what. That long dark hair of yours. How confident you stand. Your eyes. Your maturity. Well, at times. And how amazingly beautiful you are"

I blushed. I don't blush. 

"Aww, I haven't seen color in your cheeks yet. It's cute," he commented.

"Shush." I said,

"Well, we have one more hour on this flight. You can start explaining."

I gave him an overview about my parents dying, my uncle going to jail, (not really true, but I couldn't tell them the main reason), me and my brother, getting into street fighting, and how it became and addiction. It wasn't very deep. It's much darker and deeper than I make it out to me. I make the joke about being a hooker, as always.

"But wouldn't he be happier with a foster family? I mean, he'd have a family to care for him, a father figure, all that stuff. It would probably be better than living alone. Not to be insensitive."

I thought about it. Grief and regret flooded me. "Do you think I'm being selfish?" I thought I was all he had. I couldv'e survived in my own. I didn't have to bring him into this. He couldv'e had a foster family. Maybe's he's not happy with me. Maybe he does it for my benefit. I mean, it must be horrible with me acting as a mother and father figure. I don't even have enough time for him, I spend all my time fighting.

Oh god I'm horrible.

Maybe he's happier now. He has a small family that has "adopted" him for the month. Will he be happy in New York? Even in New York, he wouldn't be normal. Not until he goes off to college. But that's 10 years from now..

"No NO, I'm not saying that. Honestly, you guys seem to live a happy life, with both of your parents dead. I mean, you have a good life. Except for the fact that you're now wanted for street fighting."

I looked up at him. "You know what I've always wanted?"

"Hmm?"

"I want to go home from school, with my mom making dinner at the table, my dad coming home from work, and my brother playing a video game. I want those family nights, where we sit by the fire place. I want a family meal. I want to not have to worry about bills. I don't wanna train every day. I wanna make friends. I just want to be normal, for once, you know?"

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