Hi! This is my new story and I think you'll like it. It starts out a little slow but it's well worth the wait. I could be biased ;)

All characters belong to Stephanie Meyers.

August 29th, 2014

10am

The smell of the train's exhaust permeated all around me. It was hot outside and the train's inside was full of sweat from the heat. I smelled overbearing perfume and fumes from people that just plain objected to societal hygienic standards. My hair was sticking to my face slightly but I was, otherwise, still hydrated far better than those around me. I despised taking the train, yet owning a car in the city was just a ridiculous notion. New York had no parking spaces and taking cabs made my stomach nauseous each and every time. The train was my only option, until I could afford to move away.

I had people standing in front and sitting to the side. People were standing because there were no more vacant chairs. I was sitting on the part where it was against the train's wall. To my left sat an old lady with blue hair. Her overbearing geriatric perfume smelled like she had just stepped out of a doctor's office, very sanitary. She was wearing a floral dress that clung to her person, making visible what I did not want to see. Her wide flats had no sense of my personal space, since they kept touching my ankles, and stepping on my feet occasionally.

To my right sat a teen punk. He had piercings visible everywhere and a mohawk dyed in black hair with purple highlights. Anytime he moved, whether from inertia or by his own volition, he also violated my personal space, pushing me into the geriatric. Either way, his chains clanked

against each other and he annoyed me with his punk music, blaring loudly out of his small earphones that were clearly not completely in his ear. My guess is, if he continued with this loud obsession, he would be deaf by his 30th year.

In front of me stood a well dressed business man in what looked like an expensive, more than likely overpriced, fitted suit. I didn't know if it was Italian-made or in a sweatshop somewhere in Asia. Everything seemed to be made in Taiwan nowadays. His shoes were shiny, as if he made sure they looked like they sparkled from being new. I wondered if he was the type of person that would only wear things once. As I continued my gaze, my eyes wandered north, noticing his hands. His fingernails were polished in an amazing manicure. I briefly wondered what salon he visited for them to be so perfect. They would make most women, including myself, ache with jealousy.

My venture north did not deter, as I was sure he wasn't looking my way anyhow. I saw how broad his shoulders were, as he had just turned to the other way. My eyes went south, seeing the results of physical movement, since his rear was delightfully strong and I was absolute that it was calling to me, begging to be squeezed. I considered it for a moment, then chided myself on behaving like I belonged on the street, instead of the lady my parents had raised me to be.

Not that they achieved it fully. Instead of marrying their choice, I began my collegiate experience at the early age of 16, skipping two grades by hard work and forcing myself to greater standards. I knew the day would come where they would expect me to marry old money and I had no desire to do as such. My little sister, Alice, would happily take on that role.

Getting back to Mr. Fitted Suit. As my eyes worked back north, I distinctly felt someone watching me. I turned to my right, the punk kid had his eyes closed and was still engrossed in his loud music. I looked to my left and the geriatric woman was staring straight ahead at something on the other side of the train, humming to herself. I knew, then, that I had been caught. My eyes met the business man's and I was sure my face turned into a pond of red wine, as I felt heat surging through it.

His green eyes had this unique intensity, like they were penetrating yet scrutinizing me at the same time. I noticed a scar above his right eye. I didn't know what he thought when he looked at me. His eyes traveled over me, north to south. I couldn't tell if I looked pleasant enough to strike up a conversation with or if he was disgusted at my ogling. My query was not satisfied, as we came to a stop and he turned to look toward the doors, fully intent on exiting here.

I sighed. Only I would find a man so nice to look at, yet not even know his name.

Eventually, we came to my stop and I lifted my blue backpack, keeping it close to me. I did not carry a purse, as most women do. No, all my necessary possessions were kept in my backpack, never to be seen unless I was alone.

I stepped off the train, making sure I was careful and didn't catch my foot in the space between the train and the platform. One sprained ankle was enough of a lesson for me.

I made my way over, adjusting my tank top to not display my chest to the rest of the world, and headed up the steps to get out of the subway stop. I breathed in, as fresh of air as New York would provide, and walked the two blocks to get to my class through the NYU campus. Since I was in my second year of college, I needed to fulfill my English requirements. I chose to learn more about Medieval England.

Waverly Hall was a building made of grey stone and windows. Lots of windows. There was nothing special about it. Like me.

As I came upon it, I resisted the urge to stop at the juice/smoothie truck and found a bunch of my classmates sitting outside, enjoying the sun while I was determined to get into it, as climate controlled weather was just within my reach. On hot days like today, we should've bowed down to whoever invented air conditioning.

Opening the door, the gust of cold air blew at me and I relished in its temporary relief. I made my way to the lecture hall, not knowing what my first day was going to be like. Would the professor be nice, or harsh? Would he or she see me as a person, or as a number? Would I get a lot of homework that I enjoyed, or despised? Only time would tell. I was in a hurry to get on with it and let the questions be answered.

Two hours later, my brain felt like mush. Professor Cullen went through too much, too fast. Luckily, I had my recorder with me, so I could transpose his lecture into some semblance. Listening to him was absolutely exhausting. I'd rather have been on the hot train, ogling Mr. Fitted Suit.

I made my way out of the lecture hall, my feet hesitating to move into the heat. I had arrived mid morning, so it was now half past noon and the sun was blaring incredibly more, yearning to toast my fair skin. I walked out of the building and quickly made my way down Greene street to Waverly Place, where there was a slight relief from the building's shadow. I stopped at the truck, taking out my last bit of cash for a cold drink and hydrate somewhat.

As I walked further down, sipping my cold goodness, I took in my surroundings. My first year had been terrifying, everything was new and intimidating. It was my first time being truly alone, as my parents wanted nothing to do with a daughter who refused their choice in marriage. I wanted to be able to stand on my own two feet. I had seen too many ladies, divorced in a loud scandal, with no money to their name and no profession to fall back on. That would not be me. My parents tried to promise it would never happen to me. I agreed.

And so I applied and got into NYU. Because my parents were so well off, there was no chance of a scholarship. So, I took out as many loans as I could and it got me through the first year. However, I needed to not get out of college with thousands of dollars in debt on my head, so I decided it was time to get a job. I would not count on my loans for my room and board. However, I had a slight problem. Where did I find employment? Since I was now in my second year, I didn't have to stay on campus in a dorm. I found a cheap apartment with several other girls at a place in the Bronx. Well, at least it wasn't Queens.

All job inquiries eventually would be answered. Mine came from my school's advisor. Mrs. Dube was a wonderful, if slightly off, woman. She seemed to always be in a happy mood. That might be from all the extra curricular activities she enjoyed every time I came into her office. The woman reeked of pot and I had no idea why she hadn't been fired or removed from her position. I had my theories, but would not believe anything until I had concrete proof.

She told me about a job board at D'Agostino Hall and gave me directions. I had not been there before, as my first year had been spent relatively in my dorm as much as possible. I concentrated on my studies and refused to go and get drunk at parties, much like my other classmates. I held myself in a higher standard. That would not change, regardless of my surroundings. I was not a snob, but I was not about to do anything that would push me toward hitting rock bottom. It was a sad thing - to watch the girl I had a dorm with - had done. Jane had come as my dorm mate when the original girl left.

I made my way over, shaking my head of those thoughts and concentrating on any questionable people. I'd learned a great deal about people throughout my years at boarding school and beyond. You couldn't take anyone at face value. More often than not, people got to know you because they wanted something from you. It could've been anything from helping pay for something or to have made a contact and possibly need them in the future. People always had an agenda.

I opened the door and was, once again, relieved of the heat blaring down on my skin. It made me wonder how long I was going to wait here until it cooled down enough outside to go back to the subway stop. I decided to find the job board, get some leads, and do some homework. May as well be productive.

I searched through many of the want ads, showing the multitude of minimum wage positions I'd have abhorred in previous years. I'd lived a life of fair luxury for so many years that it was going to be difficult to go to such lengths for barely a paycheck. I'd have to make the paycheck stretch, if this was the case.

I wrote down what were the least terrible options and went to a beanbag chair, relaxing into it and closed my eyes to savor it. After a minute, I got nervous and opened my blue backpack, grabbing my laptop and going to the class's website. I found I could download the lecture in video and transcription. Well, there went needing a recorder.

That was helpful, though, so I wasn't very irritated. I was able to download and install the program and templates the professor insisted were necessary for the progression of the course. It was not difficult to do and, after what seemed like an hour or two, I lifted my head from the screen, seeing as many of the lights had been turned off. I quickly put my laptop back in my backpack and hurried out of the building. I didn't want to be locked in.

I checked my cell phone and saw it was 8pm. How did the time move so fast? Granted, I managed to finish the majority of the homework, but still. I was proud and nerved at the same time.

Finding the same subway station, I slid my crinkled season pass through the machine. The metal groaned due to its age and the fact that it probably hadn't been as well taken care of as it should. Not my concern, I thought.

The train was about to leave, the bell chiming in warning. I quickly ran and got through the doors before they slid closed. My heart was beating fast and I realized I really needed to do some kind of physical activity. At boarding school, I was an excellent swimmer, managing to get several medals in competitions against other private and elite schools. It was rewarding yet disappointing, since my parents and sister had never visited me at any of them when they were hosted at my school. They were busy and just couldn't find the time. Eventually, I swam for me and set my goals higher than the others, just to prove I could be better, regardless of how they treated me.

Alice appeased them better. She wanted to come but I actually believed her when she told me she was busy. She was in her own competitions and her preparatory school was much further away than mine. Apparently, my parents found time to go to her events. I didn't fault her for the attention she received but I had shed plenty of tears regardless.

I sat down opposite the seat I was earlier in. I held my bag close to me this time and closed my eyes, enjoying the movement of the train and drowning out the sounds of those nearby. I would look into a swimming club tomorrow.

As I walked in the door to the apartment, I should've expected what greeted me. Instead, I was slightly surprised and moreso annoyed. My roommates decided a party was in order, to celebrate us not being in our dorms, even though we'd been here for three months. Granted, we vegged out and I kept to myself, as usual. I would go to Central Park or visit some free museums. I wanted to enjoy New York as much as possible, before my collegiate education's completion.

I headed to my room quickly, not wanting any part of this deterrent to my sleeping haven. I'd been able to tune out the most annoying or loud sounds, as evidenced during my first year at the dorm. I slept in the same room as Jane, who snored like a thunderstorm. It was loud, scary, and a necessity to overcome. Then there was Gianna in the other room next to me. She spoke in her sleep. I learned all about her and her boyfriend's adventures. I also learned her boyfriend was one of the dean of students. I never told anyone I knew. It was one of those golden nuggets you kept in your pocket, just in case. Thankfully, I never needed to use it. That's the great part of being a loner. You became near invisible.

Before I reached my door, a hand shot out and grabbed my arm. It was clammy and cold, very wet against my heated skin. The train wasn't as hot as this morning, but it was still plenty warm.

I looked down at the hand, counting to three before I tore it off. "You have three seconds to remove your hand, before I tear it off." I always warned those that dared invade my space intentionally. I took hapkido classes and, along with my swimming, my body was strong. Not as strong as my last year of boarding school, but still.

"You look bootifel," he slurred. "I just wanna tek. Really." He nodded his head, as if to convince me but probably himself, as well. That was not going to happen.

"One..." The hand tightened.

"Two..." It loosened, as if not sure I would actually go through with my threat.

"Three!" He quickly removed his hand, terror displayed on his face from the anger I was sure was on mine. "Lesson One. Never, and I mean never, touch me without my permission," I hissed. "Leave!" I instructed. He scurried away, the stench of his alcohol consumption still invading my olfactory sense.

I finally, finally, entered my small bedroom and shut the door. I made sure to double lock it. In this neighborhood, it was important not to take any chances.

Sleep consisted of dreams entirely of Mr. Fitted Suit.

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