Inevitable H.S.

1.

M

I wiped my hands on my bleach stained smock after I finished the last hair color of the day.

As much as I loved my job, I silently celebrated the end of a long day of work.

"You all done for the day Margo?" my manager, Celeste, asked with a quickness, as she foiled up a woman's unbleached roots.

Celeste was a firecracker. She knew every client that walked through the door, even if they weren't her own. She built this place from the ground up when she was in her early twenties, and she hasn't looked back since. It worked out in her favor though, considering Bellezza Vintage was one of the highest rated salons in all of Boston.

"Yeah, I just finished up. As much as I love hair, I'm so glad I didn't book any clients for the next three days. I'm exhausted," I laugh, as I clean my station off.

I moved here almost five months ago from my home in Cape Cod. The second my feet kissed the city sidewalks, I haven't slowed down. I've worked almost everyday since moving here, only taking one day off a week.

What can I say, money and success is my motivator.

"I'm glad you're finally taking some time to yourself. I figured I would have to pratically force you out of the salon for a few days. We all need a break sometimes," Celeste eyes me lovingly, finishing up her foiling job.

Moving here, I was terrified. I had never left the comfort of home, unless on vacation. I certainly never left on my own.

Everyday leading up to me leaving Cape Cod, I went through every scenario imaginable. What if you can't find a decent apartment? What if noone thinks you're good enough to hire on at a salon? What if you barely make any money? What if the move is all for nothing, and you have to go straight back before you even make something of yourself?

I figured I would find a job in a small shop somewhere, or even a job in a chain salon. I never imagined I would be working at Bellezza Vintage, but I guess Celeste saw something in me.

We ran into eachother at my apartment complex, funnily enough. She lives in the penthouse, and saw me moving my bags in. We had a brief conversation about where I was from, and what I moved into the city for. She asked me what kind of work I was looking for, and when I told her I was a cosmetologist, her eyes lit up and she asked to see some of my work. From there, it's history.

She took me under her wing, and told me everything there was to know about our small part of Boston, from the best places to eat, to where I can find the cheapest gas.

After I finally finished cleaning, and counting my total for the day, I headed out to my car. The second I got in, I felt my whole body relax. I don't notice it when I'm in the thick of things in the salon, but the second I leave, I feel a weight lifted off my shoulders. I can finally relax.

My drive home is short, with very little traffic, and as soon as I walk through my door, I sigh so loud I'm sure every one of my neighbors can hear it.

Working almost every day, time starts to melt together. I don't have as much "me time" as I would like to. Relaxation to me is curling up on my couch with a bowl of pasta, a glass of wine, and a good True Crime documentary on Netflix. I feel like I've grown up so much in the past few months since I got here.

Back home, I was a party animal.

Friday nights my friends and I would hit every bar we could get our hands on, and we would finish out our night with a bonfire behind my parent's beach house. We never slowed down. I wish time could've slowed down, because as much as I love it here, I long for home.

I long to walk in my mom and dad's beachfront resturaunt. I long to sit on the back porch of the beach house and listen to the waves at midnight.

Here, all the sounds you hear are cars. The quick paced life of the city. All you see is lights from condos and skyscrapers for miles. Nothing can even compare to the sound of the waves, or the light the moon greets the sand with.

I can't just keep sitting around my apartment every night. I have to get out and remind myself what a good time feels like before i forget altogether.

It's 5:00 PM on a Saturday afternoon, and I just know that the streets will be busy tonight. The bars and clubs will be filled. I want to remind myself how to let loose.

I go over the idea in my head a few times, weighing my options, before I pick up my phone and call Ryan.

Ryan is one of the first people I met arriving to Boston. She works in the salon with me, and I know she left work right after I did. I also know she's always down for a good time. She's been begging me for weeks to come out and party with her, but I always turn her down.

"What's up Mars," Ryan chirps into the phone.

I don't know where she picked up the nickname "Mars" from but it's cute, so I never tell her otherwise. Noone has ever given me a nickname before I met her.

"Okay Ryan, hear me out. This may be a crazy request, but I really want to go out tonight and I just need you to come with me," I say dramatically.

I hear her pratically squeal on the other side of the phone. All I catch from her outburst is that she will be here at 8:00 PM for us to start our first adventure out together in the big city.

I procrastinate getting ready for almost two hours until I finally realize the time.

I shower, and refix my hair and makeup from the day, after it almost being completely ruined by the steam in the shower.

The only obstacle I face is what to wear. Back home when we would go out, it was all shorts and crop tops with bikinis underneath. I haven't had to navigate the wardrobe change side of things yet.

I finally decide on a black romper. Simple, but effective.

As soon as I'm dressed I hear a pounding on my door, and I guess she realized the front door was unlocked because within five seconds she's running through my living room.

"Mars!" She practically screams out, "You are about to have the night of your life."

I laughed and followed her out to her car, but little did I know, she was right.

My life was about to be turned upside down.

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I never thought I'd be back on here writing a story, but here I go again. I can't wait to really get into this story. Also, I have loved Harry Styles since I was 12 and have yet to write a story about him. Better late than never I suppose.

After every chapter, there will be a song that goes along with the chapter. Once I get far enough into this, I'll  make a spotify playlist for the story!

Chapter song:  Brand New- mike.