The End of All Things

1. The City That Never Sleeps

Nine thousand, two hundred and fifty six miles around the world - and four hours earlier.

RYLEE

Sprawling buildings with shiny car rooftops crawling between them is my current view, one so incredible I'm still struggling to comprehend that I'm seeing it with my own eyes. New York - or, "New Yawk", as it sounds to my foreign ears - where everything is so busy all the time.

I stare lazily at my phone screen, editing a photo that I took last night of the view. "It's true, this city never sleeps."  I tap out the caption with a slight grin. Genius. Notifications of people 'liking' and commenting light up the screen as soon as I post it. Smiling smugly, I stand and stretch.

"I love my fans," I declare in my most obtuse Hollywood voice; a few thousand followers might not make me famous, but it's sure a nice ego boost. I notice the time as my phone's lock screen displays continuous alerts. Crap - I'm meant to be meeting Jeremy in the lobby in ten minutes.

I position myself in front of the mirror, roughly pulling my damp brown hair into a bun, no time to iron out the curls today. While I'm trying to make myself look more presentable before leaving, there's a crashing sound outside my room. My entire body freezes for a second and I meet my own frown in the mirror, the hell was that? I urge my legs to move and edge over to the door to stare out the peep hole. Someone has knocked over my room service cart from last night, they're stumbling further down the hallway to my right.

The door opposite mine opens and a guy sticks his head out, so I open my own, mimicking him.

''The fuck's going on?'' He looks at me, dishevelled black hair and stained grey t-shirt suggesting he has just gotten out of bed.

''Drunk dude, I think.'' I incline my head to the guy who turns at the sound of our voices. I'm ready to go anyway, so I slug my backpack on and step into the hallway, the door automatically locking behind me. The guy opposite just grunts and his door shuts with a click as he disappears back inside. Sighing, I set off toward the elevator, stopping at the drunk man as he fumbles with his key card.

"Need a hand?" I ask, looking the rugged guy up and down - he smells like a brewery.

I know one's not supposed to talk to strangers, especially filthy ones who couldn't look more out of place in a Manhattan hotel, but maybe that's why I do.

He doesn't answer, but gives me a sarcastic smile when he finally gets the door open. I roll my eyes and carry on down, trailing my gaze admiringly on the photographs of New York lining the walls.

"I hope you're leaving for good." The voice is harsh, raw like a chain-smoker and thick like an alcoholic, but still quiet enough that I barely catch the words.

Is he talking to me?  "What?" I turn around, noticing half a corn chip in his straggly beard.

"Leave this city, get as far away as you can."

I pause for a second, staring incredulously at his hunched form. Creep. Chuckling under my breath I wave at him to go into his room and walk the last few steps to the elevator, tapping the button for the ground floor. I watch him shaking his head as the lift's doors close.

I scroll absentmindedly on my phone, tapping my feet to the music playing on the lobby's stereo, until I hear my name being said behind me.

Jeremy's standing a few feet away with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets and a snapback sitting backwards on his head. He's the only child of the family I'm staying with in a small town, which is a three hour drive from here. His mother was the one who volunteered to host a high school exchange student from New Zealand, but soon realised that maybe it's not worth her slightly elevated status in the school committee.