The Story I Paint, The Story You Chase

New York, New York. Where there was some flurries, and the wind cut you with it's sheer raw power. New York in autumn wasn't always like this, it seemed to be just this year. The trees weren't stark, but they were quite close to it, however they held their colour. Another few weeks and the trees would be naked, and I would be just as unfortunate. The streets were busy with people going to work, rushing across town, going to meetings, or simply shopping. It was hectic and it was hell. People don't care for running you over. They will run you over unless they're a cabbie. The sky was grey yet showed blue undertones and was quite the artwork. It was the perfect scene for photography and that's exactly what was done. The photo came out beautifully. While walking, people opened shops, and closed them. They were closing up the farmers market at this time. Too cold for fruits and vegetables. Most of them anyway. The coffee shops were the only places to keep warm. New York is so fucking close to New Jersey, geographically of course, and it probably wasn't the most happy feeling ever but that was okay. after all, Belleville was around 37 minutes away without traffic. No disturbances happened and that's what mattered to everyone here.
New York was the land of dreams of sorts. People saw it as that. It is to an extent but truthfully, living there on your own is hard. Most people who worked here lived in one of the surrounding cities, or in Newark or Summit, New Jersey. I couldn't blame them.
I made my way to work... Wednesday. Bookshop. I wanted to bury myself. Working four jobs isn't fun to just keep up with rent. Truth be told, it's exhausting. I wanted out. Maybe to live with someone where we could split rent. It would be easier by the dozen. That wasn't available yet... I stepped into the bookstore and the smell of old books, and coffee flooded my nose. We ran a small coffee shop at the check out and I'd manage both on days where I worked. People who came here we sweet and business wasn't bad. The downside was that it was busy and the most people that come here are thinking it's a bookstore for business related crap. The one time I had someone come in who wasn't looking for a crappy company was when this man came in looking for comics. He was pretty- beautiful in fact, but describing him is a story for an other time. He asked for the new Doom Patrol, Batman, some obscene stuff from Grant Morrison I'd never heard of, and Fangoria. I couldn't believe my eyes when he told me what he was looking for. He was dressed business casual after all. Together we found the comics and he headed his way after paying. That, by far, was the most intriguing thing to have ever happened here.
Mostly I worked other jobs, whether they be bar tending, working at a grocery store, or a coffee shop. It was busy during the week and I worked four days a week. It was all the job could offer. Except Friday's. Friday's were where I had to balance out all four jobs on four to five hours a job.
Today people came in and out, not buying, just looking. The occasional person asked for a coffee but generally, people observed. Nobody wanted anything special. My hope was that, that stranger would come in again, but no avail.
I worked until roughly closing time, and then the little bell dinged. I was about to turn and tell the person off but I looked at who it was. The stranger. He threw me a smile and headed towards the art section. He picked up books on graffiti art, classic art, and then ran across the store to look at the books about bands.

"Is there anything you're looking for, sir?" I asked the black haired man who was dressed yet again in a business casual manner.

"Yeah- yes." He spoke up. His voice was soft and velvety. It was such a sweet sound. "I- can you help me find a book on Morrissey?" He asked and I nodded. He was cute, but I don't think I'd date him. It's all just pent up feelings from my ex. Everyone has a velvety voice compared to her. I motioned for him to follow and I pointed him to the 'S' section and pulled out a stack of books that had to do with Morrissey.

"There's more than one there. Sorry about that. You never gave a specific name." I giggled and sorted through them until the man picked one up.

"Thank you." He smiled, came to the counter with me, and bought a coffee before paying for his books. With that, he thanked me once again, and left. I locked up and went home, with this man in my head. Maybe- maybe I'll see him around. Maybe I won't. Part of me wanted to while part of me decided against. It was utterly stupid, and I couldn't even get an apartment. I have select clothes and I have my guitar.
I made it home after walking for half an hour through the dead cold of fall. I unlocked the door to my apartment, and entered. It was horrid. Floor boards creaked and cracked. Most were loose and the finish was chipping off them at a steady pace. Nails stuck out and I swear I got hurt in a daily basis. The walls had this sickening blue paint chipping off of it to reveal an off white, and the windows I had faced other building or an alleyway. I had a small fridge, and I slept on a mattress. The one thing I was happy about was that my curtains and mattress were intact. My covers were from IKEA and therefore were comfy. I wasn't poor. I could afford some luxury but not a new apartment or paints. The landlord won't let me fix anything about the floors either. He was so temperamental about anything. Any changes had to be run though him. Everything we did or tried to do had to be run by him and was probably banned by him as well.
I went to sleep that night, reading Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and thinking of the stranger. The stranger who had really good taste. The stranger I'd never see again. I fell asleep soundly and softly, with my book open to the wrong page and my mind stuck on the past and possible future. I was stuck thinking of that one book the raven haired man bought. The one about graffiti... There was something about it... The art on the cover was something I'd seen before. I'd seen it out of state, on a quick trip to Newark.
I woke up in the morning and worked until late. Work was troubling and so was my current state. I was getting evicted in two days so I needed my stuff packed, and I needed to be out. I was supposed to get a month's notice, but no. Now work... It wasn't as fun as it used to be. I used to work at the coffee shop part time and perform there as well but now it's both full time and I have to perform almost every week. I didn't have time for new material, or for practice, and performances were getting poorer and poorer. After finishing my performance, and my shift, I headed home down one of the alleys I normally take, not thinking far too much of the situation. Not thinking too much of what could possibly happen to me, and nor did I care. It was the back alley I generally took and was relatively safe most of the time, however the only thing I ended up hearing after I walked down the most familiar alley was a blood curling scream and then gargling. As soon as I looked up, I was met with a sadistic grin of a cold blooded murderer, and the next person to scream was me but I ran. I turned and ran for my life, guitar in one hand and some form of hope of getting away in my heart. Footsteps followed behind me, the sound injecting me with fear. I took the long route home, not stopping until I managed to make it to my apartment. I ran in, unlocked my door and packed my shit up. I couldn't have possibly packed it up faster. I had everything that was important. With that, I ran out the fire escape and didn't turn back. I ran and I bused as far as I possibly could. I bused to the next state over, New Jersey, and I fucking bolted after I crossed the border. I had my wallet, my credit card, my passport, and my shitty computer if need be. I had everything I needed, including that letter of eviction I was given this morning. I had my clothes and my guitar, and the one book I owned. Everything was right, except, you know, getting chased by a murderer. I ran and ran as fast as I could as soon as I got off of the bus, sprinting down the winding streets, the names flying by me in a whirlwind of a single colour. I jumped into a few cabs when I found them parked on the side of the road, and two more buses when I managed until I made it to Belleville. I tried to avoid alleys- I swear I did, but then I smashed right into someone after having no choice but to turn down one. Fear stuck me immediately. What if he found me?
"Shit- shit- sorry- fuck- I- I had to run- I had to- I- I'm running. I-" I rambled but no coherent words managed to come out. It was all a jumble of my thoughts, words, what I wanted to say, and how I felt.

"No, no. It's okay. I promise you that it's okay do you want to come over to mine?" The kind and soft voice said. I felt as if I knew that voice. It was so obvious, so painfully obvious who it belonged to. With a quick glance up, I was met with eyes of hazel, reflecting the silver moon that painted the sky. "I'm Gerard, we'll have time for formalities in a bit. You uh- dropped..." He picked up my letter of eviction. Shit. He was the stranger, and he was getting a look at my life. "Shit. Okay- I- I think, if you'd like you could stay at mine. You work at that bookshop in New York, near the Cartoon Network building? You helped me find the books. You gave me a coffee on the house. The least I can do is give you a house for a temporary amount of time. Come on." He smiled and I smiled back.

"Yeah. That's me. I'm Frank by the way." I managed, out of breath still. "Can- can we please hurry- I- I'm from New York- you see, I ran, bused, and took cabs here. I am a witness to-"

"Don't tell yet, come on. My loft is just around the corner." Gerard told me and helped with my things. We made it to his home at a fast pace and I drew all the curtains shut as soon as we walked through the door, uttering apologies along the way. The man only excused them. I didn't take in the beauty of the apartment, or that this was the stranger I met in the bookstore. The stranger I found attractive to an extent, and to say he wasn't would be a lie, but it was in the way that a girl calls another one pretty. I paced back and forth and took my shoes off, placing them by the door, shrugging off my coat, skeleton gloves, and beanie.

"You don't know how sorry I am. I truly am sorry. I- I witnessed a murder. I was simply going home. Home, the only safe place I had, the place I was evicted from due to not paying rent on time. The murderer ran after me. They followed me and went as far as I could tonight. I'll be out of your hair as soon as possible- I- wow." I stopped and looked at him for a good bit of time. I looked around, and then to him. He held this crooked grin and this posture that spoke all that it needed too.
He stood at around 5'8" and his black hair was messy. His face was round but thin and his cheekbones stood out. His lips were thin and chapped probably due to his bad habit of chewing them, or so it seemed. He seemed to also constantly rest on one leg, having his hip jut out slightly. His frame was thin, not really fit, but strong and he had some chub, but not all too much. He had it just right. What I noticed soon after was how his eyes were boring into mine. They were a beautiful, yet intimidating hazel colour, similar to mine, yet drastically different. Prettier of sorts. They smiled for him, and it was incredibly attractive. His small pixie nose followed and was something I really wanted to plant a small kiss on. He was pale, but he made it look attractive. He made it work. My gaze traveled to his hands and I noticed how long and elegant his fingers were. He had to be an artist. There wasn't a way he wasn't. The way his fingers were suggested he wasn't all too straight. There was a science behind it where gay men had longer and thinner fingers, especially the index, middle, and ring finger. I discarded that quickly. I looked back to his crooked smile and noticed how it was on one side of his face mostly, and goddamn was I in love with it. I noted from this small particularity that he smoked, and I swear, I never found it so attractive.

"Don't worry. I'll make my home yours as well. If we can get along we'll be fine. I'll let you know when I get sick of you." He joked around. I didn't know that me witnessing a murder was what would lead to a beautiful friendship, and goddamn, am I ever glad it did.

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