Emily, Please Don't Go Away

One

 It all started so mundanely. There was never really anything special about me. I wasn't really rich. I wasn't just some easy lay. I was just a typical girl who was attending university in New York City to obtain my art degree. Why New York? Well, I had to get as far away from my "family" as I possibly could. Let me back up a bit.

My story began on September 30, 1986. On a particularly warm Alabama afternoon, I was born to Mitchell and Erin Parker. The first few years of my life were great. I was spending quality time with my mom and dad, getting all the love and affection I could ever have asked for. That is, until Erin became pregnant again. I was beyond excited. At almost six years old, I was finally going to have a baby brother or sister. Then, we got the news that she would be having twin girls. Still, I was elated. Who wouldn't want to have baby sisters to play dress-up and have tea parties with? My excitement was soon crushed, as the girls became the entire focus of my "parents". They began to grow tired of me. Everything I did seemed to be the last straw. I was pushed away and left to fend for myself.

It stayed that way for almost a year, until my paternal grandparents took note of the situation. When they offered to take me in, my biologicals basically pushed me out the door. In the long run, it was for the best. Gran and Gramps raised me better than my own mother and father ever would have. Life was going great, until my sixteenth birthday.

I was pulled out of school. As I headed outside, I was excited because I thought they were going to be taking me out for my big day. Instead, I was met by a distraught Gramps, who told me that Gran had suffered a massive heart attack and died. After the funeral, I became a really reserved kid. I didn't talk to many people, aside from Gramps. That's about the time that I got into art. It was something that Gran had always wanted to do, but she always claimed she just didn't have the patience. So, what better legacy than to fulfill her dream, right?

Then, life got worse. Shortly before my seventeenth birthday, Gramps had a stroke, and less than a week later, he died. So, I was forced to move back in with Erin and Mitch. They were more resentful than ever, since Gramps made sure all of the inheritance would go to me specifically. They would say horrible things to me. They would tell me that Gran and Gramps would still be alive if they didn't have to look after me and that there was no reason I should have been the favorite. They would go on and on about how I didn't deserve anything from their deaths and how I was just a disappointment to the whole family.

I held my tongue though, knowing that on my eighteenth birthday, I would receive the funds, and as soon as I graduated, I would be able to go far, far away. I began the process of applying for scholarships to try and cut down on school costs, and once I was approved to one, I began applying for art schools as far away as I could find. Finally, mere weeks before my high school graduation, I received a letter from NYU that told me I had been accepted for the fall semester.

It was after I had told them I'd be moving out that the abuse got worse. They would refuse to buy food, clothing, or even basic necessities. I was moved to the basement, where there was mold and mice. When I wasn't home, they would go through my personal belongings, destroying art that I had been working on, or throwing away things that were sentimental to me. By the end of my high school career, it had escalated to physical violence.

On the day of graduation, I packed my belongings. I didn't have much, but I made sure to pack the things that I would need. I knew that anything I didn't take with me would be thrown out, so I took what I couldn't replace. I had a few pieces of Gran's jewelry, Gramps's wallet, and a couple of things I'd collected over the years. By the time I finished, I only had two backpacks worth of stuff. The next day, I booked a plane to New York, and I never looked back. I had a fresh start, and I planned to make the most of it.

Once I had arrived in the city, I had to spend a few days in a cheap motel. It wasn't ideal, but I wanted to make sure that the money would last me for as long as it could. Within a week, I had found an apartment. I was so excited to have my own place that I didn't even bother to do a walk-through. When I arrived at the address, I was a little disappointed. It was in a small, run-down complex. Half of the lights in the halls didn't work, and there were dozens of leaky spots in the ceiling. As I approached my apartment number, I took a deep breath. I unlocked the door and stepped inside, setting my bags just inside the door.

The apartment itself was a small, one bedroom. It had a small kitchen, with just enough room for the fridge, the sink, the two counters, and the stove. There was a small island that I assumed doubled as a kitchen table. As I ventured further, I found a coat closet. The bathroom was incredibly cramped. The toilet was right next to the stand-up shower. There was a small, stained sink mounted to the wall beside the door, with a dingy mirror hanging above it. I shook my head as I close the door, before continuing on to the final door. As I expected, it was a rather small bedroom, barely big enough for a bed. There was a small closet near the door. After examining the room, mentally laying out the furniture plan, I headed back towards the living room. There was enough room for a couch, a small coffee table, a TV, and maybe a couple of chairs.

After a few hours of debating the furniture situation, I decided to go to the store for some basic supplies as well as food. The furniture would have to be dealt with the next day. After I gathered the things I would need for the night, I made my way back to my new home. I ended up buying a bit more than I had intended to, which made trying to climb three flights of stairs a nightmare. As I struggled up the last flight, I felt one of the bags tear. The contents spilled out onto the floor, and as I attempted to gather them, I saw a pair of worn out converse appear before me.

I looked up and stared in awe at the strikingly gorgeous, raven haired man that loomed over me. He offered a crooked smile as he bent down to assist me. My cheeks burned as he stood, holding his hand out for me. I took it gratefully, and he proceeded to take the bags from my arms.

"Oh, thanks," I said nervously. He gave me another smile.

"No problem. Now, where are you headed?" His voice sounded angelic in my ears. I brushed a piece of hair from my face as I pointed towards the end of the hall.

"302." He raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he headed towards the door. I followed behind him, unsure of what to say. When we came to the door, I quickly unlocked it and stepped inside, flipping the lights on. He set the bags down in the kitchen and looked around.

"Wow, I guess they're all this small," he commented.

"Yeah... It was cheap, and now I guess I know why," I joked. He gave me another crooked smile, but this one made my heart flutter.

"Where's all your stuff? Like, furniture?" My face flushed with embarrassment.

"Oh, I don't have any yet. I'm going shopping tomorrow. I just got my keys today," I explained nervously.

"Ah," he said, clicking his tongue. "That explains it. Well, I'm around if you want some company tomorrow." He turned and started out the door. I followed him quickly.

"Hey," I called. He looked back at me. "How am I supposed to reach you? You know, if I would like company?" He smiled as he reached for the door of 304.

"I'm not hard to reach," he smirked as he disappeared inside.