There are over 70 thousand apartment buildings and over a million residential apartments crammed into New York City's 300-square miles. One may say it was the low, yet still ridiculously high, rent at The Mare's Nest that drew her in. Or the fact it...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Blotches of textured walls come into focus. Shadowed, raised plaster lines her bedroom, forming minimalist mountains. A tiny version of her body jumps over the obstacles and runs through the valleys of the layers of thick, old paint.
She presses the balls of her feet against the scuffed hardwood of her bedroom and stalks to the kitchen. Her antique refrigerator creaks open, the fluorescents spill across the grain beneath the soles of her legs. She digs her toes into imaginary sand. For the first time in a very long time, she felt a sense of freedom. She can practically feel the rush of ocean water overcome the tops of her feet.
The pit of her stomach drops to her heels with every step. A half-eaten wedge of sharp cheddar is the only illuminated item in the ice box.
"Well, shit," Mara whispers to herself. She's motivated and ready to take on the world but the lack of sustenance in her fridge brings her back to square one. A sudden knock on the front door takes her out of her self-imposed pity party. "COMING!"
The top half of her door swings open. She's blissfully unaware of the attractiveness of the oversized white under tee she wears. The deep v-neck plunges down her chest bone and the bottom hem sits happily atop her miniature plaid shorts that her mother bought her years back for a comfortable night of sleep.
"Harry!" Mara comments in response to the sight of the handsome man on the other side of her threshold. "Come in!"
Harry is disheveled, wearing a white button-up tucked into light-washed jeans. He's been excited to see her since he awoke. To see the bare face of the girl that had bewitched his being. The face that made him feel as though he was walking in a dream. He's halfway embarrassed of his look. He tried. There is no flannel. There are no tears in his denim. The blotch of paint at the lower half of his shirt remains hidden behind the fly of his jeans. He opted for his most studious shirt and bottoms. The garments that he felt made him look most presentable.
He's startled by her adorableness. The sight of her face, makeup-less and framed by natural curls. He thinks himself unworthy to be in her presence. She, however, thinks the opposite. He's reached a godly level of attractiveness that all men strive for. How she adored his ability to flash a sparkling smile and be comfortable amid the early morning discomfort of the stark sunlight.
How is it that this man has never been on a date?
He holds more than a couple dozen eggs in a basket. His arms shake as the bottom half of her door swings open, her braless breasts swaying under her thin shirt, tempting the pieces of his psyche he never knew existed. Her hard nipples lightly press against the fabric, vanquishing the inner corners of his mind and threaten to throw his consciousness into a universe his nerve endings have been dying to explore. She is his Halley's comet. An uncharted piece of land needing to be dug into for a source of truth and hope. Her freckles are the stuff new zodiac signs are created from to give solace to the deeply tragic.
