a long way from home ; g.d.

t w o

I had finally managed to book a room at the Freemont, and it was ready for check-in at 11 a.m. It was currently 10 a.m., so I had some time to spare.

I sat on a park bench in front of a small and crowded pizza joint named "Arnold's." Although pizza sounded amazing, I wasn't in the mood to fight my way through dozens of angry New-Yorkers, so I reached into my backpack and pulled out my sketchbook, flipping to my most recent page.

It was a sketch of the sky I had started before I left. What the sky had looked like that night. I guess I wanted to remember at least this one small part of that hellhole. I took the pencil that was attached to the rings of the book and began working on it again.

Sketching has always been my safe place. No matter how upset or uneasy I am, every feeling besides comfort seems to just dissolve when I draw. I have stacks on stacks of sketchbooks I've finished over the years at home, all hid away at the top of my closet. Home.

About 45 minutes later, the alarm I had set on my phone went off, and was blaring a tacky windchime ringtone. I turned down the volume, put my sketchbook back in my backpack and stood up from the bench. "413 Brooklyn Avenue," I whispered to myself repeatedly as I headed down the street.

The sidewalks weren't as busy as you'd expect, considering it was now 10:45 in the morning on a Tuesday, and most people were at work. I slid my hands into my pockets as I walked, and finally arrived at the front door of the Freemont.

I grabbed the golden bars of the large glass doors and walked in. Man, if this is the cheapest hotel in this part of New York then I'd love to see the most expensive one. It had black white floors, with large fake bonsai trees at both sides of the door. The staircase behind the front desk was all polished spruce wood, and the smell of freshly-made hotel food from the cafeteria filled the lobby. The lady sitting at the desk greeted me with a warm smile. "Hello dear, how may I help you?"

"Hi, I'm Chavelle Jordan, I had an 11 o'clock check-in." She looked away from me and down at the computer, clicking and typing away. She then stood up from her chair, leaned over the desk and handed me the keycard. "You will be on level D, room 154. Enjoy your stay." She gave me another smile, then sat back down in her chair.

"Thank you," I said as I took the key and headed towards the elevator.

The room was pretty spacious. It had a large, queen-sized bed with all white bedding, and a T.V. sitting on a shelf right across the room. The large sliding-glass door opened up onto a balcony, overlooking the street and buildings on the other side of it.

I dropped my bags next to the bed and fell down onto it. I ran my hands through my tangled hair and reached for the remote on the nightstand. The channel that popped up first was HGTV.

After laying there for what felt like forever, I forced myself to get up and walk to the bathroom. My breathing felt heavy, and so did my steps. I stumbled through the bathroom entrance and turned on the light. There was cream-colored marble vanity, a toilet, an excessive amount of toiletries, a large walk-in shower, and a golden towl rack.

I made my way over to the sink and turned on the water. After splashing myself in the face a few times, I threw my hair up in a messy bun and took my chapstick out of my pocket, applying some to my lips. The smell of it reminded me so much of home. It smelled like caramel coffee, and it brought me back to those Saturday mornings when I was a kid, drinking a cup with my mom before watching cartoons for hours.

I felt tears began to fill my eyes, and before I let them fall I wiped my eyes with my jacket sleeves and shook my head a little bit. I took a deep breath before turning off the light and walking out of the bathroom.

I let myself have a moment to just take in the atmosphere around me. Okay, I did it. Now what? I was free from my parents, and their constant, neverending abuse, but I had no idea what to do now. Is this what freedom feels like? Okay, maybe that was a little melodramatic.

Whatever, let's just go shopping.