This is life.

48 ➤ Tired

Regret. Shame. Sorrow.

It's the three main feelings I can make out from all of the others coliding in my head, acting like wave after wave of overflowing emotions.

It's not fair. Why do I have to feel this way? It's the right choice, therefore I should be happy. I should be smiling at the fact that I'm doing something right for once in my life.

I was bored out of my mind, waiting at the airport for five hours. All I did was think. And think. And think.

The ride its 'self wasn't much better, either.

My body is achingly uncomfortable in the seat during the whole plane ride, and I had to deny their meals more than once in order for them to get the point that I am not hungry. It's only a five and a half hour flight; I'm not going to die if I skip a breakfast just once.

The landing was as terrifying as lifting, and I'm proud to say I didn't end up deaf (thank god). I was so accustomed to having the luxury of riding in one of Jason's private jets, and the fact that I have never been on a plane before just makes the whole experience seem stranger. I never realised how much I hate the public. The constant murmuring, the judgmental glances and stares. Let's not forget about everyone's total lack of common decency. A few of the other passengers decided to have a not so quiet and not so nice chat about me. Can people be anymore rude?

Luckily for them, feeling nice for a change and tired, I simply sat in my seat silently and let it be.

After the landing, brings us to now. The airport was very crowded and noisy as I walked past the numerous people coming and going by. I kept being shoved or pointed at and those actions only made me feel smaller. I will admit the people in LA are less rude.

When I make it outside of the large building I quickly ran into one of the many cabs waiting outside, wanting privacy.

I slammed the door shut as I sighed, setting my bag down. I open it and dig my way around many of the random things inside before finding the oh so important sheet of paper. "Can you please take me to this address?" I hand it to him. Apparently Rachel had moved apartments for some reason a few months ago, and I have no idea which part of Manhattan she lives in now. The cab driver reads the address on the paper briefly and gives me a concerned look. "Ma 'am you do realise this address is all the way in Brooklyn, right? The ride's going to be a bit pricey."

I laugh. "I'm sorry, what? Did you say Brooklyn?"

He nods and my grin turns into a frown. Why did Rachel move all the way to Brooklyn? At least I was smart enough to use the ATM first before grabbing this cab. I shake my head. "It's alright. How long will the ride be?" I asked.

"With traffic, an hour at the least, probably over. We have to go through Queens first."

I almost question him about his answer. Queens is Manhattan's neighbour. If Brooklyn is below Manhattan why the hell would you make the trip longer by going through Queens? Then I understood that being the greedy, sneaky people cab drivers are, they just want to make more money by making the trip longer. I know why I remember hating having to take cabs everywhere for five whole years. "Which part of Brooklyn is this place in, again? Downtown?"

"No actually, in main Brooklyn, around this place called Crown Heights."

He talks to me as if I didn't know Crown Heights or my way around Brooklyn, or New York for that matter. He clearly doesn't notice my accent. In LA everyone would say anyone could tell I was a New Yorker once they heard me speak. This guy is either oblivious or just acting oblivious. Either one is ridiculous.

I sit comfortably in my seat as I did rough calculations in my head with my old memories over the past years of finding my way around the whole of New York. This is where my knowledge on the large city comes in handy, even if it's a bit embarrassing why I know my way around the entire city.