Nightmare on Broadway (California Dreaming Sequel)

Chapter Three

   “Do either of you want a drink?” Henry asked from the kitchen, leaning against one of the smooth, dark grey, marble worktops. His hair was still a little matted from the fact we hadn’t washed properly in a week and his skin was so brown, from all the sun exposure we’d had whilst driving, that he could have passed as being Mediterranean. 

   “I’ll have one,” I grinned, looking back at him from the big, leather sofa. I was lying on Remy, my black hair spreading over her lap as she began making tiny braids in the long, dark strands. 

   “Okay,” Henry jumped up excitedly, spinning around and pulling open the fridge door, posing by it like one of those sales girls on television shopping channels. “I’ll just get you one from our fridge,” he closed the door again on realizing that we hadn’t bought anything to put in our fridge yet apart from some leftover beers, and took a glass tumbler, filling it up with water from the tap before bringing it to me. 

   “Oh, Henry, could you pass me the TV remote?” Remy asked, beaming at him. 

   “Of course, Rem, I’ll just pass you our TV remote for our TV,” he began skipping around the room and grabbed the remote control, handing it to Remy who placed it besides her on the couch. 

   We were all relishing in the feeling of owning our own apartment, of having our own things, not our parents, ours. We’d split the price three-ways, and, okay, our parents had chipped in...a lot...but that didn’t take away from the fact that we were living together in our very own SoHo apartment, in New York. 

   “If you don’t mind,” I sat up, swinging my long plaits over my shoulder, “I think I’ll go use our shower,” I giggled, being pulled up by Henry and danced across the old, wooden floor. He began humming to himself, so blissfully happy, swaying my hips from side to side. “Henry!” I laughed, trying to slip from his arms. He finally let go and I grabbed my suitcase from by the front door and took it to my room. 

   All four walls were plain, red brick, two had huge glass windows that looked out onto Broome Street. My larger bits of furniture had been taken by a removal van, with Remy’s and Henry’s, and delivered weeks before; I had gotten used to living in a totally empty room. My desk was here, up against one wall, with the same desk lamp I’d had in my old bedroom. There was a built in wardrobe, no door, just a wall cavity with a hanging bar going from side to side, and I didn’t have a bed. Instead, I just had a double bed mattress strewn on the floor, with my old bedding and velvet throw laid neatly on top. Last time I had visited the apartment I had pinned fairy lights up around my ceiling and hung bunting across, and, of course, I made sure to bring one of my tall bookcases, half filled with my favourite books. It felt like home, I had lived here for approximately an hour, and it already felt like home. 

   I opened up my suitcase and left it on the floor by the wardrobe before grabbing a towel and walking down the hall to the bathroom we all shared. It had traditional black and white floor tiles, and my bare feet slipped on them as I entered, closing the door behind and turning on the shower. I undressed and stepped under the warm water. Everything about what I was doing felt different, it didn’t feel like I was taking a shower like I normally did, I felt older, more sophisticated. Even washing my hair, which I had done every other day for the past 18 years felt more exciting, this was a totally new start. 

   The warm water passed over my tanned skin, getting rid of the grime and dirt that had accumulated on our days on the road. I still had red dust in my hair from Utah and the soles of my feet were stained brown from when Henry had insisted on playing hide and seek in a forest in Missouri. My bangs were slightly lopsided, from when I’d gone into a phone booth in Indiana to call Gabes and ended up with gum stuck in my hair, Henry had offered to chop it out for me. They had been the best few days of my life.