Noted

Chapter 4

"What time is it?" I asked, and Troy looked at his phone.

"Almost seven." he said, "Do you need to go home?"

"I don't want to."

"Why not?" he asked.

"Long story." I said, not wanting to share too much yet. I looked up at him, he looked concerned. "It's nothing serious, I promise." Not a complete lie.

He took my hand once more and said; "Let me walk you home." I nodded.

Upon arrival to the apartment, I could tell Troy felt out of place. I hadn't been living there my whole life but this place was far colder than our old home. Metaphorically and physically. The whole apartment was in dark wood and grey marble, which gave the house a haunted feeling (at least to me), and the rooms were so large you could get lost in them. The view, however, was simply breathtaking, it was probably my favourite part of the whole apartment. I would often sit by the window looking out at the city, writing or drawing whatever was on my mind. I couldn't help but notice Troy looking around in awe. He was clearly impressed by my hell-home.

"I know, sorry...it's so cliché," I said, trying to lighten the weird vibe. I wasn't used to people caring about things like apartments or shiny decorations worth thousands. We made our way down the main hallway filled with pictured memories of my family and I on vacation in almost every part of the world. None of us ever really smiled like we were having fun or even stood close together; simply positioned close enough to be in the same photograph. The more the years went by, the more the smiles seemed forced and uneasy to look at. I usually ignored them when I'd walk down the hall. I hated inviting people over for this exact reason, they'd find out I didn't actually have it all, not that any of my friends that I'd invite over ever took a second glance. Troy stared at every picture as we moved along. I tried to walk faster hoping he'd follow suit and stop looking at them. I don't even recognize the people in those pictures anymore.

"So, this is my room," I said as I entered and sat on my queen sized bed. Unlike the rest of the house, my room was bright, but it was not colourful. I had loads of pictures; mostly of my friends and I, none of whom Troy had never seen me with for specific reasons that I hadn't told him about yet. I had large windows that overlooked part of the Empire State Building and a tiny bit of Central Park, which at that moment where lit up with bright lights. Troy just stood there staring. At that moment, I realized maybe his family didn't come from the same kind of tax bracket as we did.

"Are your parents home?" asked Troy.

"No. My father is never home before one a.m., and my mom's away for a couple of days. She comes back tomorrow."

"I can't believe you live here," he said, walking around my room, examining the details of everything and looking at my things that laid pretty much everywhere. If I knew he was going to come over I would've cleaned up but I didn't mind. I just watched him seeming to enjoy getting a load of my old life that was either framed or drawn, or collected in various items. It was like high-school-me threw up all over that room. It was the only place left that still felt like my home.

"I wish I didn't," I replied, all the while observing Troy as he studied his surroundings and suddenly stopping at my wall of art projects.

"Why? It looks like you have it made here. I think I even saw a maid when we walked in." Troy said and it kind of pissed me off. Not because of him but because I don't like the idea of everyone thinking just because you have a lot of money or go to a fancy school, or have a maid that you somehow own the world. I don't want to be a part of the whole scheme of it anymore, I'm over it.

"I've always wanted a studio in Brooklyn," I said, changing the subject. "It's more me than all this glamorously useless stuff that I never asked for. That's why my room is so simple. I only hung up a couple of pictures and some art I made in high school." I pointed to a painting of the Brooklyn Bridge hanging on the wall behind him.