Page 2 of Unforgivable Sins

Hell, at least I managed to get some sleep, even though it came at the most inopportune time, when I desperately need to submit something. My blog had just started to really take off and I started seeing more income than just barely enough to pay my bills and eat ramen noodles every night when life decided to say, fuck you, Dee, as my life so often does. I haven’t written anything worth a damn, much lessinspired, in the past year and my readers are noticing.

I can’t sleep.

I can’t write.

I don’t even want to leave my apartment togetinspired. I can’t seem to get my head on straight or do much of anything these days.

I walk over to the window, unlatch it, push it up and open, and step onto the fire escape landing. I inhale the hot, smoggy city air but instead of my shit reality, I imagine I’m on the porch of a remote cabin in the woods, cozy mug of coffee cupped in my hands, as I look out over a crystal-clear lake. I’d rather be anywhere else than here, but the honking of horns and people yelling obscenities at each other quickly dissolve any pretenses.

This is my sad and pitiful reality.

The sun is setting somewhere on the horizon, not that I can see it beyond the metal, mirrored skyscrapers surrounding me. Even on the fifth floor, I’m dwarfed by buildings as tall as mountains. Maybe I need to get out of the city. Maybe I should look into getting a cabin or house somewhere Upstate for a relaxing and renewing getaway.

Definitely a thought.

But for now, I just need to get out of this pathetic excuse of an apartment. I can start there. Baby steps. Get out into the world and be open to the stories, people, and places, that are out there waiting to be discovered. Waiting to be written. I can do this.

I take the time to care about my appearance for the first time in a year. I line my eyes with a thick layer of black eyeliner and a healthy coating of mascara that makes my green eyes pop in contrast, a light dusting of blush, and a bright, scarlet and sinful shade of red paints my lips. I style my dark brown hair in large, swirling curls, pinned down on the left side, behind my ear, the rest is free flowing down my back and over my right shoulder. A sleek black dress hugs my curves and ends just below my knees. There’s a slight plunge in front, showing off my generous chest, but the selling point of this dress is the view from behind. The barely-there straps leave my back completely exposed from my shoulders all the way down to the base of my spine.

Sexy as hell and not at all slutty.

I smile at my reflection for the first time in a long time. Other than the dark circles under my eyes, that I can’t completely hide with makeup, I look good. I feel good, too. It’s a strange and new, yet familiar, feeling. I can do this.

The summer heat extends into the night and there’s no need for a sweater or coat. I grip my clutch tightly as I walk down the bustling sidewalk. It doesn’t really matter what time of day or night you decide to go out, it’s always loud and busy. New York never sleeps and it sure as hell never notices you. All the people crammed into this city, these streets, these sidewalks, and no one fucking notices you. And why should they? There are a million others, just like you, walking these sidewalks. What makes you special? What makes you noticeable? The answer…abso-fucking-lutely nothing. You’re no one here. Less than no one. That used to be a huge appeal to me. Now? It just makes me feel angry and sad.

And lonely.

How can I feel so alone when I’m literally surrounded by thousands of people?

I push those thoughts away as I enter the bar district. I slow my walk and finally lift my eyes up from the sidewalk, inspecting the illuminated signs, contemplating which one of these despicable places I’m going to step into. Marooner’s on the Rocks, Mermaid’s Saloon, Hangman’s Hideaway? I shake my head and continue walking, nothing catching my eye. I’m about to close my eyes and randomly walk into one when a bright neon sign catches my eye.

Salvation Lights.

True to its name, the sign is glowing intensely, unmatched by any others. It stands out like a flashlight beam cutting across the darkness. I’ve never seen this place before, not that I’m surprised. I’ve been out of touch for a year and places come and go quickly here. Maybe it’s the new type of atmosphere I need to bring back my inspiration. Just as I’m about to reach for the handle, a cold shiver runs down my spine, as if a finger just blazed a cold trail down my back. I spin around, my heart suddenly in my throat at the thought of some random stranger touching me so daringly and intimately.

But no one’s here.

I let out a shaky, relieved breath, and then I see it. There, across the street, is another bar I’ve never seen before. It’s shrouded in shadows, almost completely unnoticeable, but the neon sign is buzzing, flickering on and off.

Sinful Delights.

Before I even realize what I’m doing, my heels are clicking against the cobblestone, carrying me to this new, dark, and devious bar. Promises of danger and excitement whisper across my skin, calling to that familiar toxic, yet comfortable, feeling inside of me. This is what I know. This is what I’m good at. This is where I thrive.

Sinful Delights indeed.

Ready or not. Here I come.

I’m sitting alone at the bar, nursing my drink. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t shake this unsettling feeling in my gut. This instinct that something isn’t right, but what?

What’s wrong with me?

I’d never consider myself to be a whore, by any means, but I am rather…promiscuous. I usually flourish in a place like this. I shine my brightest under the attention of men, with the help of a little liquid courage, a sexy outfit, and a lot of fucking confidence, which can go a long way. I know because I’ve done it before, time and time again. A little dancing, a little eye contact, a little touching, and a whole lot of flirting, and I could probably have any guy in this bar. So why am I sitting here, with my head down, trying my hardestnotto be noticed?

I pick up my drink and take a big swig, the whiskey burning on its way down. They definitely aren’t stingy with their alcohol here but that’s about all I’ve noticed, not nearly insightful or inspiring enough for an article.

A sinfully hot new bar where you can get your money’s worth of alcohol!

I mean, it’s an attention-getter, sure, but what else is there about this place? Since I haven’t taken my eyes off my drink, I can’t tell you. I don’tactuallyknow if it’s sinfulorhot.