For Us

Since Stella didn’t have to be at work any time soon, we went around the city some more. We had close to four hours, and we were gonna use them wisely.

When the sun set in New York, things got even better. Times Square was insane! The colorful lights everywhere, the excitement . . . I could see myself adjusting to this place. The hardest part wouldn’t be getting over my fear of all the people around me. It would be adjusting to the temperature, but I would adjust. Stella and Sean had.

New York, I may soon become a permanent resident here.

Just the idea of moving to New York was exhilarating. Everyone’s dream is to move to New York City at some point in their life, and I had the option. And for some stupid reason, it was just an option. Not the definite future like it should’ve been.

The only thing holding me back were my parents that I could go visit from time to time. It wouldn’t be any different than now, and if Sean and I became anything, being apart for movies and things of that nature would be hard enough. If I don’t actually live in New York? How would that work?

Could it work?

It didn’t matter. That was the deciding factor, period. In two weeks, when it was time to head back to Savannah, if Sean and I weren’t together, I wouldn’t move to New York. If we were, though . . . I had a lot of packing to do.

Stella noticed me getting lost in Times Square and smiled. “You’ve gotta come for New Year’s. I’ll fucking get off if you do. It’s . . . amazing.”

“I’ll be here,” I promised, and I was gonna keep that promise.

This guy, out of nowhere, roughly slammed into me. Didn’t look, care, or even stop. He just hit my shoulder and kept going.

My eyebrows furrowed. “Are all people in New York like that?”

“Not all, but most commonly the pickpockets,” she muttered, and she immediately turned and took off after the guy. When he saw her chasing him, he started sprinting.

It was hopeless. By the time he knew she was behind him, she was close enough that she jumped the guy and had him pinned on the ground.

I ran over to them out of fear for my friend’s safety, but she had it handled it because she was Stella. Because she knew exactly how to defend herself and protect me.

When the guy tried to squirm away, she grabbed his arm and locked it behind his back in a very uncomfortable looking way. “Give me the wallet, now.”

“Okay, okay!” the guy exclaimed, and sure enough, he threw my wallet on the ground.

Stella pushed a little on his wrist, and he started crying out in pain. I thought for a second she was gonna break his arm, but instead, she shoved herself off of him and slammed his arm down on the concrete, letting whatever happened happen.

She handed me my wallet. “You’ve gotta get a purse or something, dude. You’ll never survive here otherwise.”

“Teach me how to protect myself,” I said, though I made a mental note of her “purse” comment. “I . . . If I move here, I can’t expect you guys to take care of me all the time like you did in high school.”

Stella got this huge grin—how long had she tried to get me to let her teach me how to protect myself? And then Sean came along, and she just wanted to teach me even more. So now she was getting her chance.

“I would love to, El, but with work, I’m always so busy,” she admitted. “Besides, you know what Sean and Norman would do if they come in and we’re grappling in my living room floor?”

I felt like the answer was something besides the first thing that came to mind, but I just went with the first thing that popped in my head. “Stand there and watch us?”

“Well, yes,” she agreed, and she laughed. “But, I mean, wouldn’t you want the old sensei himself to teach you? I mean, the fucker taught me Brazilian. He’s more qualified to teach.”

That brought up some interesting memories. A week or so before Sean got the call about the part, Stella was stuck in class with this shitty mid-term, and Sean and I were at the gym. They always made fun of me because I couldn’t actually protect myself, but I worked out anyways. So, technically, I could run away if someone was chasing me, and I’d get a lot farther than them.

But I could never fight hand-to-hand.

Well, anyways, I was on the treadmill, and Sean was shirtless by the punching bag. The only other people in there were a couple other guys, but he started jump roping and punching and kicking the punching bag. His muscles, seeing them move as he did, seeing him glistening with—stop that thought right now before you turn yourself on even further.

Needless to say, I fell off the treadmill and bruised myself up so bad that Stella thought I had been attacked. I never told Sean why I fell, but it was pretty much entirely his shirtless self’s fault.

“Erm, I’ve watched Sean train before, and it’s, uh, a bit distracting . . . .”

“Ew,” Stella groaned, and she covered her eyes as if it would magically make the bad images go away. “Forget I asked. Alright. I can teach you basics, but you’re gonna have to do a lot on your own. Running, swimming, jump roping. All that shit on your own.”

“I love running,” I reminded her. “I’ve never swam as a workout, but it sounds like fun. But jump rope? Fuck, Stell, do you remember what happened last time I tried to jump rope? I nearly killed myself. Had to go to the fucking ER and everything!”

“Well, you’re gonna have shitty footwork then,” she said.

I sighed and let my shoulders slump in defeat. “Okay, okay. I’ll try it, but no promises that it’ll work out.”

“You don’t have to be a black belt tomorrow, El,” she reminded me. “All Sean and I want is for you to be able to protect yourself so we don’t have to worry when you’re not around. Cause trust me. I fucking worry. Especially your trip to LA? I was a fucking wreck. Almost got fired. I just . . . I’m really glad you asked me to do this because my stress level is gonna go down so much that I’m gonna forget I’m even stressed at all. Sean’s too.”

I had something sweet and not-Elli like at all to say back to her, something that would’ve made her feel good inside even though she would’ve acted like I was being icky with all those “feelings.” But I didn’t get to say anything because out of nowhere, this . . . painful and sudden nausea hit me. I didn’t feel like being alive, much less standing up, but it didn’t matter. Up or down, I was about to vomit everywhere.

“Nearest bathroom,” I breathed, and Stella immediately yanked me into a store directly beside us.

She pulled me past the people, past the cashier who was yelling, “The bathroom is for paying customers only!”

It was a stupid rule, but I wasn’t about to puke all over the streets of New York. Not exactly a good image to have going around.

When I threw up, it was the most violent and painful throwing up experience I had ever had. I’d had all the stomach bugs growing up, more than once, but this? It was absolutely miserable.

Stella pulled my hair that wasn’t braided up and out of the way, and she stood there while I threw up so much. But the worst part was, it wasn’t all coming out. The nausea wouldn’t go away, and I felt like I might die.

Literally. I thought I was dying.

“Fuck, El,” she breathed. “I can’t take you back home by yourself like this.”

“You have to,” I whispered, but my mouth tasted bad. The back of my throat burned with the fragments of chicken parmesan and Coke. But it was straight acid from Coke, and it burned like a motherfucker.

Stella had a wet paper towel that she pressed against my forehead, cheeks, and neck. Instead of throwing it away, she wrapped it around my neck to soothe the fire that had started all over my skin.

While I tried to just breathe and keep the contents of my stomach in, she helped me walk out of the bathroom, past the still angry cashier who yelled, “There better not be a huge mess in there!”

Are people really such dicks?

I kinda knew who she was calling before he even answered. “Sean? You back home yet? Great. Um, we’re kinda on Times Square, and Elli’s not—chill out, okay? Let me finish before you have a heart attack. She’s fine. I think she’s got food poisoning. Are you busy tomorrow? Cause I’m working all day tomorrow when I’m not sleeping, and Norman’s not even in the city right now.”

I hadn’t realized he left the city. Huh.

“Yeah, Times Square,” she said. “Don’t come here. I can get her to Madison pretty easy whereas you can’t get your big ass Escalade here easy. No, Sean—no! Just let me at least get her to Midtown! Fuck! There’s a bunch of people. Lots of traffic . . . no. My car’s on Lexington. I’ve gotta get to work. I have—well that’s my point. I need you to do something with her.”

“Thank you for making me sound like such a fucking burden,” I groaned. “I’ll be fine. I’ll just spend the night by the toilet anyways.”

“Well, you’re gonna spend the night by Sean’s toilet,” Stella said, and by the tone of her voice, I knew there was no point in arguing. With either of them. “Come on. Sean’s on his way to Midtown. We need to get you home as soon as we can.”

So, with Stella’s help, the two of us slowly made our way to Midtown. I was hanging on for dear life, and she wasn’t struggling at all.

I remembered things being the other way around growing up. Stella would be so fucking hammered that I had to help her to her bed. In college, Sean helped because Stella and I were one in the same—same height, same weight, same bra size, same shoe size—so it was harder for me to carry her.

I swear, though, we were like fucking twins or something.

Over the course of our life, so many people asked if we really were twins, and sometimes, we would tell them yes.

Because to us, that’s what it felt like. We were more than sisters. We were twin sisters.