Pretty Boy [bxb] | ✔️

• Chapter sixty (SC): The Big Apple

The Big Apple

T/W: discussion of suicide (not an active attempt)

Kenzie, Jake, Lucy, Alex and I made a last minute decision to take a trip to New york.

I have no idea where the decision stemmed from. The day after sending that letter to Luke, all five of us hung out a Kenzie's house. While they were having a conversation, presumably about New York, I was busy worrying myself silly over this whole letter business and how I pissed off Sofia. I could hardly eat with worry, nor could I sleep. Alex tried his best to comfort me, but it was no use.

Because I was occupied overthinking, I only found out about the decision when Kenzie, who had her feet rested in my lap, poked my cheek with her big toe, asking me what I thought. Unknowing to what I was agreeing to, I said "Yeah, good idea". I remember Jake saying he'd 'look it up', and it wasn't until a couple of hours later, when Alex said that he thought a trip would be good for him, when I found out I had agreed to go to New York.

By the beginning of August, we've managed to get plane tickets, as none of us felt up to driving there and certainly not cycling, and book rooms for three nights at some good enough, well rated but not too expensive hotel we found online.

My mom frets over me as I'm about to leave the house.

"Stay safe," She tells me, pointing an index finger at me. "If a strange man comes up to you, claiming he is a photographer and wants you to go back to his place for some modelling job, offering to pay you for it, do not do it or else this may be the last time I see you alive. Alex, look after my baby boy, OK?"

"Of course, Tina," Alex responds, taking my hand in his as if to prove that he would look after me.

"Mamma, what kind of idiot do you think I am? Why would I go to some random man's house? I can look after myself, I don't need my boyfriend to do it for me. And I'm not a baby."

"No matter how old, you will still my little baby boy in my eyes! Just do not be silly and get on the wrong plane. And do not do drugs! I am only letting you go on this trip because I know you are mature, but that is as much as I know. I have no idea what you get up to behind my back. No drugs, not too much alcohol, no going to photographers' houses, go it?"

"Yes, I've got it. Lots of drugs, lots of alcohol, and go to random photographers houses," I joke, and my mother frowns, clearly not amused. "Kidding." I give her a toothy, exaggerated smile.

She sighs, "You are a good boy, really. I just worry."

"I know you do, mamma."

"Remember to call when you get to the airport, and as soon as you are off that plane, and then when you get to the hotel," she tells me, then she gives me a stern, mother look. "If you don't, I will call FBI! I know you watch all those crime documentaries, and I do not want a documentary on you!"