Waves Don't Die | Chris Brown

1. Upper East Side

Chapter 1: Upper East Side

"And ... done" I sighed heavily, releasing all my stress in that one breath as I close my laptop. I had finally finished all my first year essays and exams which meant that I could finally enjoy the summer without having that gnawing thought in the back of my head telling me I should be revising for something.

College has been a big change for me from high school. The classrooms were a lot smaller, nobody knew who I was, or anything about my past. Everyone was somewhat mature, which meant that I could go through the halls without some stupid jock trying to trip me up. Honestly it was great, aside from the nagging demands of assignments and my looming student debt, I was finally happy.

"Perfect, now you can help me with my essay" A warm smile instantly stretches across my lips as I spin around in my purple desk chair to see Sabrina Davenport in my doorway, her big green eyes gazing at me with desperation.

Bri had become one of my close friends here at NYU, and very quickly at that. She was my neighbour at our accommodation, along with ten other students, but she was the only one on my floor that I really liked. Her long, wavy brown hair falls down the length of her back in a way so effortless that I often find myself gazing at her beauty. Her round rimmed glasses, that she'd never be caught dead in, sits on the end of her nose and when it falls to the tip, she scrunches up her nose to push it back up. It's honestly the cutest thing I have ever seen.

As she wrapped her big fury nightgown tighter around her body, her bathroom slippers still on and my keys I had copied and given to her in her hand, I could tell that she had just woken. It was midday but this was normal for Sabrina. She was not a morning person whatsoever. I found that out the hard way when I had walked into her room at seven in the morning to see if she wanted to get breakfast. Let's just say her foot ended up in my face, I was left with a bloody nose and a personal vow never to enter her room at any given hours of the morning.

I glared at her and shook my head. On the first week of living at this accommodation there was some student union party happening. It was a way we could all let loose, have some fun and try to make some new friends. The night got pretty wild and Bri had found little old me huddled in the corner of someone's living room, completely mortified as a group of drunk college kids created what closely resembled a mosh pit in the middle of the room. Lamps smashed and tables ended upturned. Sabrina looked at me, her sincere green eyes twinkling in the poorly lit room and my face filled with complete horror, and said, "from the look on your face I can tell this isn't really your scene, wanna ditch and head to the pizzeria across the street?" I was probably a little too keen with my response when my head nodded rapidly and I had latched onto her arm for dear life, hoping that she wasn't a maniac and could get me out safely. She simply laughed at me and it's what sealed the deal that we'd be very close friends.

"How many times have I told you not to leave your essays till the last minute?" I scolded, the same way my mother did me when I did something bad, my arms promptly crossing over my chest.

Bri mimicked my action. "I lost count, but that's beside the point. This one is hard and I need your brain for this"

I stood from the chair and walked up to her, turning her by her shoulders and pushing her out the room towards hers. "I'm not even that smart, all you gotta do is read the syllabus and you'll be fine" I sighed once we made it to her room next door and I plopped down on her bed next to all her bags of candy.

It was always a big difference when I left my room and went into Bri's next door. The hermit in me rarely allowed me to do so, but whenever I did Sabrina's bright white room with black accents, lots of hanging plants, ageing books on a rustic dark brown shelf and her big soft bed made me feel welcome. It was like something out of those aesthetic Pinterest rooms. It was so different to my lilac room, filled with textbooks and photos of my life back in Oakland and all the memories that came with it. Bri often asked me about the twin girls in the photo frame on my vanity mirror and we'd end up talking into the night about the mischief and trouble they had regularly gotten me into. But whenever she'd ask me about the hot model looking guy on the motorcycle, with the freckles, blonde hair and golden eyes, her exact description, my throat would tighten and the words would never come out. Eventually she just stopped asking and instead admired the photo from afar.