King's Orders

Chapter One

"Baby, don't you ever give up on your dreams. Don't you ever stop working hard. Do you understand?"

Her voice was gentle and smooth. You loved to hear her talk. Every night before you went to bed she would sing to you. Her voice was harder and harder to remember as the years passed. You worked hard every day to remember it, remember her. You missed her. You sat up in your bed rubbing the sleep from your eyes before stretching your arms over your head. You yawned loudly. It echoed off the walls in the tiny bedroom you had in the shared two bedroom apartment you shared with your roommate April. The room wasn't big, this was New York after all. Everyone was condensed in this city paying an arm and a leg to breathe polluted air, live in small apartments and hear the constant beeping of car horns and traffic through their windows.

You'd lived all your life in New York. You were born in the Bronx but moved around the city a lot. You now lived in Harlem, not quite downtown but not quite uptown either. You'd lived in West Harlem for the last two years while you pursued your medical degree. The neighborhood wasn't bad, it was cool, not too far from midtown, but not too close either. There was a lot around to do. Good food, lively entertainment, it was cool.

Beep, beep, beep, beep.

You snapped out your runaway thoughts and heard the annoying sound your alarm made off the nightstand. You reached for your phone and saw you'd slept right through your 8 am alarm. It was now 9 am.

"Shit!" You exclaimed.

You jumped out your bed and nearly slipped on your towel that you'd dropped on the floor the night before instead of hanging it up. You were going to be late. You ran into the attached small bathroom and proceeded to brush your teeth and do your daily grooming. After completing your morning beauty routine, you hurried out while glancing at the clock.

"Fuck, I overslept." You scolded yourself.

You hurried to your closet and dug through its contents trying to find a suitable outfit for the day. You hated being late, whatever you missed would not be repeated, and you didn't want to have to ask anyone for the work you missed. You grabbed your cream colored jeans and the pale pink light sweater that was next to it. For April the temperature was mild. One day it would be fifty degrees then the next was seventy degrees and then back to fifty. Today would be no different, rounding out to almost seventy. You tossed the ensemble to your bed and tiptoed to get the pale pink flats you'd gotten two weeks ago but hadn't had a chance to wear yet.

You glanced at the clock and saw it was five minutes past nine. No matter what you had to be out that door by fifteen minutes past if, you wanted to catch the 9:20 train to get to class by 9:50 am. You wasted no time in getting dressed and decided to put in a little effort. You put your hair into a ponytail and applied some neutral lipgloss to your plump lips and just a touch of mascara. When you had the time you liked makeup, it was fun. After grabbing your handbag and your crossbody bag you grabbed your phone and dashed out the door. The music was blasting in the small apartment.

You heard April singing along to Rihanna's "Bitch Better Have My Money." You shook your head; she swore she was some world-famous singer. You approached the kitchen and saw her in the living room standing on the center table singing loudly. You grabbed a bottle of water and drank half of it while watching her make a fool of herself. The scene was hilarious; she wore a tank top and oversized pajama bottoms and was holding the remote up to her lips as if it was a microphone. She screwed her face as if she was really feeling herself. You tried to hold the laughter because the scene was sad. Not only could April not sing, but she was a white girl who swore she had black in her somehow. When she started to try to twerk you'd had enough. You laughed your ass out the door and down the stairs. You glanced at your phone. 9:15. You were making good time.