***

I hated riding the subway. Not just any subway either. The subways in New York City to be exact. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. I completely hated everything about them. It was that simple.

Who wanted to ride on an underground train that smelled of stale play dough and old people? Maybe it was just me or maybe I was over exaggerating, or maybe I was losing my sense of smell, but that's definitely the smell that came to mind when I stepped foot in a subway car.

I hated how crowded they were. I received an elbow to the ribs or a hard shove from someone's shoulder almost every time I was forced to ride that thing. I always walked out looking like I had just taken part in a mildy ferocious fight with 10 year olds.

There was never anywhere to sit, and if all the seats were taken by the time I got on, and they usually were, then I was forced to stand among the crowd of swaying bodies, where perverts would "accidentally" rub up against me. It was like a game of musical chairs where the loser gets felt up by a bunch of strange old men as punishment.

And as if all that wasn't bad enough, the trip itself took at least twenty minutes and I had to ride the damn thing twice. And why did I have to ride it twice? Well, that's because my parents decided to move us right outside of my school's district. So, "technically" the school bus couldn't pick me up, but we lived close enough so that I could walk to the subway station and get a ride closer to school everyday and walk the rest of the way.

I was eighteen, I should have been riding back and forth in my own car, but NO. Having the lovable parents that I did, they thought it would be better if I rode the subway every day, despite the fact that I kept reminding them that my luck was bound to run out and I was going to be kidnapped, robbed, shot, or a mix of all three one of these days. I did live in New York after all.

When they saw me on the news with the caption 'Missing Girl' underneath my hideous high school ID picture it was going to be all their fault. With all the money I spent riding the subway I could have bought my own car by now, but did my parents let me? No. Apparently, I wasn't ready for that big of a responsibility yet.

Insert eye roll here.

So, basically they trusted me to venture into a crowd of strangers everyday that could easily be hiding mass murderers, serial killers, and knife wielding maniacs, (yes I know I really needed to lay off watching so much Law and Order) but they didn't trust me with my own car.

Parent logic.

But what happened on that one day I rode the subway, that one day that was supposed to be just like any other, I don't think anyone saw it coming.

Not me, not my parents, not the unsuspecting passengers on the subway.

The day that I'd really be living in my own episode of Law and Order and unfortunately I'd end up being the victim.

My luck finally ran out.

______________________________________________________

Whoever decided to make an alarm clock sound like the siren for the end of the world was an idiot. If I didn't die from the small heart attack that stupid thing gave me then I'd end up smashing Satan's creation against my night stand.

I'm currently on alarm clock number three.

Lucky for my alarm clock, I wasn't in a complete hostile mood when it abruptly woke me up this morning.

Groaning, I blindly slammed my hand down until I found the snooze button and rolled out of my warm bed, blankets and all, only to land on the hardwood floor with a loud thud, the air leaving my lungs in a woosh.

My mom's voice rang from downstairs right after. "Gemma, what was that?! You better not have broken anything up there!"

Yeah mom, don't ask if I was the thing that fell and possibly broke.

I didn't even bother getting up or untangling myself from my blanket. I just rolled over to the door like a giant baked potato and yelled down, "I'm fine! Thanks for asking!"

"Well hurry up, you're going to be late!"

There a slight pause and then, "Again!"

Groaning again I sat up and threw off my blanket, goose bumps instantly appearing, and quickly made my way across the hall to the bathroom grumbling. I was not a morning person.

Who cared if I was late? Was I really missing out on something important?

Lord forbid I miss out on my science teacher teaching us that the nucleus was the powerhouse of the cell. Or was it the mitochondria?

See? I couldn't even bother to remember.

And don't get me started on the whole y equals m times x plus b thing.

I'd definitely need that information later in life.

After showering and my usual morning routine I brushed out my hair so it no longer looked like a bird had made a nest in it, and it fell in a dark sheet down past my shoulders. I got dressed in a simple long sleeved shirt, white zip-up hoodie, and jeans that hugged the slight curves that my mother "claimed" I had but I was pretty sure were nonexistent.

I'm sure she only said it to try and make me feel better.

After slipping into my slightly worn but favorite pair of black converse, I did a once-over in the mirror to make sure I passed the "Acceptable to be seen by society" test, which really just consisted of me making sure I didn't look like I had been living in a cave for the past three months when I went outside.

Satisfied with my look I grabbed my backpack off the desk in the corner of my room and bounded down the stairs one at a time. I tried the whole taking two steps at a time thing once, and my face paid the price.

As soon as I reached the bottom step the smell of bacon assaulted my nose, making my mouth water. Stepping into the kitchen I saw my mom, her dark brown hair pulled into a messy bun, still in her pajamas, and leaning over a frying pan full of bacon.

My dad, with his graying black hair, was sitting in a chair at the table in the center of the kitchen with a newspaper in one hand and a white World's #1 Dad mug filled with coffee in the other. He looked like a dad straight out of a TV series.

Who even still reads newspapers these days?

He was dressed in a white button-up shirt with a red tie, black slacks, and a pair of glasses sat on the bridge of his nose.

Your typical family image.

Walking over I plucked two pieces of bacon off his plate and smiled sweetly at him as he looked up from his newspaper with his eyebrows raised.

"You weren't going to eat it anyway." I said as I shoved a piece into my mouth.

I walked over to my baby brother, Aiden, who was sitting in his high chair with a bowl full of, for lack of a better word, slop. I ruffled his brown fluffy hair and leaned down and whispered in his ear, but loud enough so that my parents could hear me clearly. "If you want live to see three I wouldn't eat that." I said gesturing at the unidentifiable contents that I'm pretty sure just moved in his bowl. To this Aiden smiled up at me like he knew exactly what I was talking about.

My dad chuckled and my mom turned around to glare at me.

I hunched up my shoulders and kissed her on the cheek before heading towards the front door.

Before I opened the front door I yelled over my shoulder. "Just eat the bacon, anything else and you'll end up in the hospital!" I quickly ran out the door before my mom could throw the frying pan at me and I could hear my dad's laughter echoing outside before I shut the door.

My mom would swear up and down that she was a good cook but after last Thanksgiving, I'd beg to differ. That year we had pizza for Thanksgiving so I think that pretty much explains itself.

Smiling to myself and munching on my dad's last piece of bacon I made my way down the sidewalk, the cold air stinging my cheeks, and towards the subway not knowing what exactly would be in store for me when I got there.