Adrenaline

20 | last night in new york

By Sunday morning, Everleigh is on her flight back to London so she can make it home in time for clinical. I try not to dwell on the fact that the weekend didn't go as smoothly as I had hoped it would, but she puts on a brave face when we met for a quick coffee before she leaves for the airport.

        Brendon and I don't leave until tomorrow. After seeing Everleigh off, I wobble back over to his hotel room where we spend most of the afternoon watching shitty movies. Between the two of us stationed on our own queen-sized bed with an arsenal of snacks from the hotel lobby, it becomes a whole event.

        (I choke on a chocolate-covered strawberry we order from room service when Werewolf in the Catacombs comes on.)

        It's the perfect way to wind down from the weekend, and by the time the sun begins to set, I've already lost track of time and nearly forget what day it is.

        Brendon stumbles over to the window and pulls the curtains back to allow a blanket of burnt orange light to seep onto our skin.

      "Do we dare venture out into civilization tonight?" he asks. "Last night in New York."

        I roll over onto my side, soft curls falling onto my cheek as I stare out of the window. My view from this spot, while nothing to complain about, isn't as good as the one from where Brendon is standing, so I watch him instead. Behind him, flakes of white snow dance toward the ground, giving him the illusion that he's sitting inside of a snow globe.

        "Maybe we can find some greasy pizza. And a hot chocolate."

        Brendon fixes a pointed glance at all of the garbage from our snacks strewn across the two beds. "I think my trainer will be upset if I indulge in another cheat meal."

"You're already past what's acceptable. I'm sure it'll be fine." When he doesn't respond, I sigh. "Fine. Maybe I can find some greasy pizza."

"I can definitely help you with that."

Instead of making the short trek down to my room, I borrow some of Brendon's clothes, opting for a baggy long sleeve shirt (on top of the borrowed shirt I'm already wearing) and puffy jacket over my sweatpants.

Before we exit his hotel room, Brendon gives me a quick once-over to make sure I'm bundled up warm enough for venturing outside, pulling out a dark green beanie at the last minute and sliding it onto my head. Once covered, he taps it gently once, rubbing his thumb along the edge before ushering me toward the door.

With no destination in mind, we wander for a long time. Every time we pass a group of people, we whisper into each other's ears stories we imagine they could fit into.

At some point, we come across a tiny pizza shop busy enough that we can assume their food isn't terrible, but not enough that we'll have to wait. Brendon jogs ahead to hold the door open. A blast of warmth rushes over me as I inhale the savory scent of melted cheese and buttery garlic bread.

I clutch my stomach. "I can't believe we didn't eat real food all day."

"May I remind you it was your idea to order the chocolate-covered strawberries and cheesecake from room services."

"Yeah, and those were so good."

He nudges me closer to the display case. It's not like there are any other options besides plain cheese and pepperoni when I'm trying a new place for the first time, but we go through the motions like we've done this a hundred times before together.

When the owner hands over two slices—one of each type—that are almost as big as my face and a large drink without a lid so we can share, I walk over to one of the empty tables while Brendon pays.