SUPER IMPORTANT NOTE: This is a sample! The rest of the story is (freely) available on FicFun. To read it, click the external link! Or you can chill here until chapter five. Your move.

Thank you for all of your support. Enjoy.

*

ERIC SANDERS

Surreal had been the only word to describe everything right now.

 I sat outside a relatively swanky café, sipping white hot chocolate as my parents hovered across from me, their silence speaking louder than their voices ever could.

By the amount of creases appearing on his forehead, and the wary look in his cold blue eyes, my father probably disapproved of this way more than mom did. Even though her smile wavered as she stared up at me, her lovely brown eyes were filled to the brim with tears, more of joy and pride than genuine sadness.

 At least, that's what I hoped.     

"Are you excited?" Mother asked, her smile remaining steady as her gaze swept over me.

 "Definitely," I replied, grinning into my warm beverage.

Mom let out a sigh, her eyes fixating on something in the distance; probably a sure-fire way to stop her from crying or spewing stuttered sentences and half-words that she thought would make me stay.

 Nothing would convince me, though. I'd been waiting for this way too long to simply let it slip out of my grasp because of my mother's tears, or anything else, for that matter.

This trip had been my dream since the day I flipped through my mother's travel magazine, bored out of my mind. I'd been drawn in by the lights, the busy streets, the people who didn't seem to realize that their home was the apple of everyone's eye, and suddenly, my soul lifted and it felt like I'd been caressing freedom.

  In a matter of hours, I'd be part of those massive crowds flowing through the city; brushing against each other, spilling beloved cups of coffee, listening to the conversations of people who shouted into their phones, and becoming part of the city that everyone endlessly adored since its humble beginning.

I'd be part of a well-oiled engine, instead of this tired, dried-out town. I'd be free.

"We'll miss you, son." Dad said reluctantly, clearing his throat rather loudly. I'd managed a small smile, nodding in his direction, his elusive eyes causing my smirk to disappear instantly.

This was bound to happen, though; my father had a terrible time showing any sort of emotion, and even simple things like "I love you" had immediately vanished when he'd found out about me. It stopped being a burden on my soul years ago.

 "I'll miss you too, Dad." I whispered, quickly shifting my gaze to my mother. "Both of you."

We sat in silence, staring at anything except each other, leaving all of the words that clawed at our throats to wander around our minds, the potential tears stinging beneath our eyelids, dying to get out.

I wouldn't cry. I couldn't. Such a wonderful occasion possessed no need for tears. After eighteen years of living with my parents, in a foul town filled with uncouth human beings, leaving for a year sounded like the utter definition of a dream come true.

 "Flight 153 to New York, now boarding." a voice boomed, blaring through the speakers.

"That would be me," I chirped, standing up. My fingers coiled around the handle of my suitcase, the tough plastic familiar against my skin. I grasped the smaller bag, carefully placing it on top of the larger one.

 "Enjoy yourself, honey." Mom told me, her smile widening in an obvious attempt to push the tears away. "I love you."

"I love you too, Mom." I said. She stood up, stretching out her arms as she neared me. I'd been pulled into a massive hug before huffing out a slight chuckle and patting her back, my chin digging into her collarbone.

 "Stay safe," she whispered, pulling away. I nodded.

"I will."

 "Don't forget to make sure that you get the right keys for the hotel, okay?" she boomed. I nodded once more.

"I won't," I assured her. "Bye Mom." She smiled, and I turned to my father, who still put up the front that he'd been wearing for the past eighteen years; the father who couldn't care less. "Bye, Dad."

 "Goodbye son." he muttered, his hands in his pockets. With an inaudible sigh, I turned around, my rather large suitcase trailing behind me, my messenger bag strapped around my shoulder, the hot chocolate still in hand. I rushed towards the boarding gate, anticipation pulsing through my veins.

 If I turned around, if I craned my neck backwards in the slightest, I'd end up running back into my mother's arms, refusing to be anywhere else, except wrapped in the only person I've ever been safe with. But no. This, right here, right now, had been my dream for years, and I couldn't let myself give it up now in a fleeting moment of weakness.

This is what I want, and this will be the beginning of who I want to be.

 New York, here I come.

 *

The flight had been exceptionally uneventful.

 I had a window seat, and, thanks to the rapidly decreasing population of my town – Glenwood – the plane had been relatively empty, and nobody sat in my row.

Until, of course, some sort of incident had taken place in first class.

 Even from all the way in the economy section, I could hear the shouts of a man, presumably drunk. I sat upright, my eyes wandering to the curtain that separated the middle-class from the royalty of this disgusting town. The 'royals' of my town made use of money to climb up every ladder there was, just to look down and piss on everyone below them.

And now, that unbelievably loud man from first class was the cause of the only entertainment this plane offered, all while screaming, "Do you know who I am?" at the top of his tobacco-filled lungs.

 Then, suddenly, a figure pushed through the curtains, her eyes sweeping over the ridiculous amount of free seats available. Her lovely strawberry blond hair cascaded down her shoulders in a soft nuance of curls, her side swept fringe ending just above her green, making the blazing fire in them all the more alive. You could tell she belonged in the various estates in Glenwood; her spotless black blazer, designer denim jeans, Chanel handbag and dangerous high heels screamed royalty.

 And yet, when the flight attended appeared beside her, she smiled before the lady in uniform began to speak.

"We sincerely apologize for that, Ma'am," she said, her voice monotonous, slowly drilling holes into my skull. "Until the situation is sorted out, you can make use of the economy seats. If you need anything, just press the button."

 The flight attended whizzed off before the woman could even mutter a quick 'thank you', but she did anyway.

In my entire life, I had never witnessed a royal treating the working class as actual human beings. To this day, I still have trouble believing it had actually happened, but all the proof that I needed stood in front of the curtains, quietly observing the seats that were free for her to take.

 Suddenly, her eyes landed on me, and she put on a small smile, strolling in my direction. Her heels thudded softly against the aisle's carpeting, her hair bouncing slightly.

"Hi," she greeted. I looked up, managing a smile. "Are any of these seats taken?"

 "Nope," I let out, gesturing to the two free seats beside me. "They're all yours, if you want."

Her smile widened as she took a seat beside me, placing her handbag at her feet. The gentle scent of roses – with a hint of peach – wafted into my nostrils, bringing a soft smile to my face.

 People who smell good are people who should be my friends so I can forever capture their scent.

 "Let me guess," she said, her voice loud enough to reach my ears, "you're jetting off to New York to fulfil your childhood dream?" I blinked, shocked by her accuracy.

"Yes," I breathed rather disappointedly. The one opportunity I find to tell my story, and it's stolen from me before I could even realize it. Rude. "And you? Aspiring model, hoping for better luck in the Big Apple?" She chuckled, shaking her head as if the thought was absurd.

  "No," she gleamed, "I actually live there. I'm only on this plane to make sure that my father travels without creating any scenes, and it seems that I've failed."

"That guy was your father?" I inquired, using all of my restraint to stop myself from keeling over in laughter. She sighed, fiddling with her nails, which were painted a glossy white.

 "Unfortunately." she grunted. "He seems to enjoy not being sober while flying." I let out a hushed laugh, quickly shutting my mouth before it got worse.

"By the way," I said, banishing the silence that had overcome us, "what's your name? I'm Eric."

 "Dina," she introduced as I outstretched my hand. She shook it, and our hands departed. "I have an itching feeling that we'll become fast friends, Eric."

I grinned, my heart warming to the idea.

 "I hope so," I told her, and we both shared a hearty laugh for absolutely no reason at all.

We spent the rest of the flight chatting about the first thing that came to mind, paging through magazines that a flight attendant had provided, and laughing at the old man two rows ahead of us who had fallen asleep and managed to drool his way through the entire trip. During all of this, we'd also exchanged numbers.

 Dina said that if I ever needed a tour guide, she would be the girl to call. I'd felt an odd sense of security in her presence – the kind that only ever showed up around my mother – so I'd trusted her as I saved her number onto my phone.

 Soon enough, the plane landed, and I had never been so excited in my entire life. A permanent grin had plastered itself onto my face as I bustled through the airport, looking for baggage claim. Already, I'd bumped into at least three locals, one of whom – a grumpy man with an aggressively bald head and the demeanour to match – said that I should crash back into earth.

 Already living the life, Eric. Way to go!

I didn't care, though. After years of simply dreaming about this moment, I'd finally breathed in the air that I'd imagined would fill my lungs. The pictures and the several days spent imagining had absolutely nothing on the real thing.

 With a bright smile, I grabbed my bags, heading towards the main doors of the airport. Amidst the eager anticipation that shook my bones, I'd managed to recall the address of the apartment building my parents had given me.

After squeezing through crowds of reunited families, couples, and what seemed to be a school of children on a field trip, I finally reached the outside of the airport. The noise of engines starting and enthusiastic chatter filled the air, meeting the exact expectation I'd always had.

 The uproar of activity hummed across the city, bringing an odd sense of comfort as I hopped into a cab, relaying the address to the driver. My suitcases were in the trunk, my messenger bag still slung around my shoulder, my phone tightly gripped in my hands as my fingers tapped against it with unrealistic energy.

I stared through the window, the bright city lights snatching my breath as the cab casually wheeled through New York, each building seeming somehow more extraordinary than the next.

 Beautiful couldn't even begin to describe how immaculate everything looked; the people, the buildings, even the small puddles near the fire hydrants radiated some sort of magic, capturing your soul as you gazed at it in awe.

Spending most of my life in a dead, fairly insignificant town meant nothing now; I'd been welcomed into New York, and even if it would only be for a year, I'd always be part of this amazing city. And every time I come back, my breath will be taken away even faster than it had the last time.

  Before I know it, I'll be running out of air.

 As we reeled through the twinkling streets, the smell of dreams coming true wafted into my nostrils, allowing a sense of confidence and serenity to pulse through my veins.

"We're here," the cabbie muttered, his bushy moustache brushing against his nose. I pulled a few dollars out of my back pocket and handed them to him.

 "Thank you," I said, opening the door and stepping out. My eyes wandered upwards, taking in the pure elegance of the stunning building that loomed above me.

With a smile, I strolled to the trunk, pulling it open and taking hold of my suitcases. Once I'd reached the front door, the cabbie drove off, and I'd made my way into the lobby.

 A massive glass chandelier greeted me, its light bouncing off of every wall, giving the room an almost enchanted look. The walls were painted a lovely creamy light brown, as was the ceiling. To my right had been a lounge area, with a large Persian carpet, grey furniture, and a table covered in magazines ranging from Elle to Tiger Beat.

To the left had been the reception area; an elongated charcoal desk with a surprisingly young woman sitting behind it, dressed in a red dress shirt and a black blazer. Beside her sat a little bell, the kind I'd only seen on my drama teacher's desk.

 I strolled towards the desk, my bags trudging behind me as I pulled them forward. The lady turned to me, a clearly strained smile appearing on her face.

"Good evening!" she chirped, the enthusiasm in her voice matching the falseness of her grin. "Welcome to The Abbot, one of the finest hotels in the entire Big Apple!" Her voice reached a rather high note at the end of the sentence, causing me to cringe.

"I'm Eric Sanders," I told her, trying my best not to come off as annoyed, "a room was booked for me by my parents." The woman had a hard time not sighing as she turned around, her eyes wandering the vast squares in the wall for the one key with 'Sanders' written on a little piece of paper.

 The woman whirled around, clutching a key in her veiny hand as she tapped the bell, a hushed but clearly audible ping piercing the room.

"Here you go," she beamed, handing me the key. I took it, muttering a quick 'thank you' as I turned around. My breath hitched as a boy dressed in a red jacket, black pants and immaculately polished black shoes appeared in front of me, a warm smile on his face, his deep blue eyes twinkling with eager anticipation.

 "Allow me," he whispered, reaching for my bags. Reluctantly, I let go, watching as the beautiful boy lifted the bags and placed them in the luggage trolley, his fingers wonderfully outlined by the classy white gloves he wore.

 "You're in room forty-nine," the receptionist boomed. Nodding, I made my way to the elevator, the bellboy close behind. The key sent trembles through my fingers as I clutched it tightly, somehow finding comfort in the lifeless, carefully cut slab of steel.

 One day, I'd use the key to open the doors, hoping to throw a party with whatever new friends I would make, or maybe I'd prepare to push the doors open, with my parents standing behind me, keen to see what I had done with the place. Or, maybe a future lover would push me against the door, his hands running through my hair and his lips grazing against mine as I would struggle to get the key through the hole.

The soft chime from the elevator snapped me out of my reverie, and as the doors opened, we strolled into the rather spacious metal compartment.

"Room forty-nine, huh?" the bellboy said. I nodded, my fingers occupying themselves by playing with the icy key. "That's probably one of the best rooms here."

 "Really?" I muttered, gazing at him. The blue in his eyes assured me of this fact, something my parents had forgotten to mention at the airport. "I guess that's cool."

"I'm Connor," the bellboy introduced, the corners of his lips rising warmly as he gracefully pulled his right glove off and outstretched his arm. His fingers were rather long, with perfectly manicured nails and probably the smoothest skin I had ever seen.

 "Eric," I said, shaking his hand. The softness of his palm brushed against my fingers as I pulled my hand away, a smile adorning my face. "Why do you wear the gloves?"

 Connor shrugged, tightening his grip on his glove.

"Some guests are particularly snotty when it comes to who touches their luggage." he explained disdainfully. I nodded, wondering how many people had caused him trouble over something so minor. "Thank God you aren't like that."

 Smiling, I shrugged, my gaze falling on everything but him.

The elevator stopped, the doors opening swiftly on the fifth floor. Connor strolled first, pushing the luggage cart effortlessly. I rushed to keep up with him; Glenwood had always been a relaxed, no-hurry environment, and I'd never had to match pace with anyone before. We all walked around town like zombies who felt no need to run, since we were all dead anyway.

 "Here we are," Connor boomed, halting in front of a crème white door with two silver numbers – 49 – neatly drilled onto the top of the door. I continued to twirl the key around my fingers nervously before I dropped it into his palm, watching while he promptly unlocked the door.

Taking a deep breath, I followed him into the room, my mind unable to properly take in my beautiful surroundings.

 The walls were a soft, elegant grey, and in some cases, paintings were hung on them, giving the entrance hall a pop of colour. A coat rack rested right beside the door, carrying nothing at the moment. The light had been attached to the ceiling, the rays of fluorescent light reflecting off of the sheets of glass that surrounded the bulb.

"If you ever need anything," Connor called out, yet again snapping me out of my reverie, "you can call me anytime." He handed me a torn piece of paper with skilfully written numbers on it, and his name in what seemed like calligraphy. The key also found its way back to my fidgety fingers, almost as if my hands were the only place the key would ever belong.

 "Will do," I said. The boy smiled before making his way out of my room, shutting the door.

I allowed myself a grin of satisfaction, skipping around the commodious hotel room that would soon become the place I'd call home.

XXX

Hi everyone! Before you say anything; yes, I am aware that I probably shouldn't be starting a new story when it's oh so clear that I won't be finishing the others any time soon, but I really wanted this to be out here, and now that it is, I can sleep peacefully.

 I really hope you like this one. The idea for this has been bobbing around my brain since early 2013, and I'm really glad that I finally managed to type it out. Sorry if it's a bit weird and wonky, though.

Thanks for reading :) you rock harder than actual rocks do.

- jay.