The taxi ride was an agonizing 45 minutes, thanks to New York's traffic. The airport was a blur. He was sweating from anger, sadness, nerves, performing, the works. The worker looked at his passport photo and then back to him concerned. He gave a weak smile as the man handed it back slowly.
He shot up the minute his flight started boarding and he sunk into his seat next to two lovers. He turned away and hid his face in his leather jacket. He wanted to punch them in their lovely faces. A long 7 hours later (google says it takes 6 hours and 50 min) he nearly ran off the plane. His head was pounding as he made his way through customs and then impatiently waited for his luggage.
He ran through the parking lot like an animal, trying to remember where he parked his car. Finally, he saw his vehicle and dashed over. He threw himself and his suitcase in and sped away as fast as the law could take him.
His hands tapped the steering wheel at every stoplight, one of his many anxious tics. He turned on the radio and his own band came on, something which normally made him glisten with pride. He quickly switched off the radio again and tried to take a deep breath. He repeated the address over and over under his breath till the sleazy motel came into view. He swerved into its parking lot and opened his glove box. There was a shiny key for the room. He gripped it so tight it left indents in his hand.
As soon as he stepped out into the cold night air (because of time zones) his nerves calmed. He took his time walking up the rusty stairs. No one was working at the front desk so he let himself through. The elevator was broken. He felt cold and alone as his footsteps echoed through the empty halls.
Deja Vu.
This wasn't the first time he'd come here on a whim.
He thought about the way she would always look at him. A terrible thought twisted in his mind like a knife.
Maybe she wasn't waiting for him.
He tried to lift his spirits, but the idea of her waiting for her ex-boyfriend after 6 months of zero connection seemed unlikely. He wasn't anyone special enough to do that for, he assumed. But he had come all, this, way. If the roles were switched, he would still come. Probably.
He had to climb all five flights of stairs, plenty of time to turn back.
YOU ARE READING
505 by Arctic Monkeys
Historia CortaA short story about the song 505 by the Arctic Monkeys. COMPLETED Best ranks: #5 in arcticmonkeys, #4 in alexturner, (i forget who to credit for the idea)
