Graffiti

I stepped outside of the airport. The sun shone down, nearly blinding me. Cars whizzed by, sending a pleasurable breeze through the air. It was around noon, I'd just travelled from Amsterdam to Jersey. Someday soon I'd go home – but not yet. I still had places to go. I'd been travelling for a while now, so I'd gotten used to only needing a limited amount of things. I had a rather large black rucksack on my back. The inside of it contained, two extra sets of clothes, a few family photographs, my phone and its charger, a pair of earphones, a spare set of shoes and my purse, which contained an awful lot of money, excluding my debit card. I walked down the path, over the bridge, the rush of cars whizzing by in my ears, the hubbub of strangers as they passed by. After twenty excruciatingly long minutes of walking, I was panting and out of breath. I reached the hotel that I would be staying in. The Merton Hotel, it was enormous. I had to crane my neck to see the roof of the building, which, may I add, touched the clouds. The walls were white, and there was a staircase leading upwards towards the circular glass doors that led into the grand entrance.  This place was very posh. What the hell was I doing here? Before I could run off, I brushed past the huge potted plants and into the lobby. The smell of coffee and cinnamon wafted up through my nostrils. The floor was a shining orange marble, with intricate designs that squeaked as I walked through the white marble pillars. I got to the front desk, placed my hands on the shiny black marble and waited for the clerk. I tried to ignore my childish fear as I waited, I could hear it before I saw it. The chandelier, it hung from the circular ceiling, crystal shards glinting in the fading sunlight. I shuddered at the thought of it smashing on the ground, injuring and possibly killing a few people. A young woman entered through the back room and smiled sweetly before coming over to me, she had dark brown hair and watery grey eyes. "Hi! How can I assist you?" She asked. Yup. Definitely a posh hotel. It was good job that I'd been saving up for this since I was twelve. "Room for one. Under the name Rosewood, please." I'd said this so many times in the past months that it was like I was reciting a play. I knew what she'd ask next. "How long will you be staying for?" Yup, bang on. "At the moment, three weeks." "That will be one-thousand-pounds, please." I cringed at the price, it was just so expensive! Oh well, I could still afford it, next time, though, I'd have to stay at a Travelodge or someplace cheap. I handed her my card and typed in my  pin on the machine, she handed me the keys and I took the lift up to the third floor. My room number was 345.  I trailed my hands along the crème walls, my feet sinking into the plush blue carpet of the hotel hallway. The golden lettering of 345 came into view and I opened the door. I threw my backpack into the king sized bed, the bag landed with a thump! on the satin blue quilt. The floor was, again, a plush blue carpet. The walls were a light golden colour and were littered with a few random paintings of the sea, or the land. There was a bathroom, with a shower and a bath. I had a wide window with silk curtains, a massive TV and a black leather sofa to lounge on. The kitchen was the biggest room, with a fridge, cupboards, microwave and a stove! An actual stove! There was also a basic sink and kettle. I was about to make myself some tea, when I realised the only tea bags here were the ridiculous hotel ones, the ones that tasted like cat piss. No thanks. Grabbing a ten pound note from my purse, I headed back out. I found a local supermarket not too far from the hotel, a few turns away. It was called 'Stop 'N' Drop' I had no idea what the name was meant to imply, and to be quite frank, I didn't want to know. The greyish floor was smooth and I felt like, if I wasn't careful, I'd fall over and die. Okay, so maybe that was a bit melodramatic, but you get the point. I passed all the aisles with different variations of foods and drinks and skipped right to the tea section – which took a bit of time, and the task of having to ask somebody, since I had no clue where I was going. I got to the checkout, paid for the tea bags and left. However, I think I used the wrong door, since I was faced with an alleyway. My black jeans and red and black chequered shirt fit in here, with the group of guys dressed in black. My long, dark brown hair cascaded down my back as I sneakily crept towards them. The brick wall they were facing wasn't a brick wall at all. It was a graffiti wall. Four guys were standing around a lanky boy, who was spraying the wall with red paint. He had black hair that fell into his startled green eyes. I didn't get the chance to check him out even more, because, suddenly, he was up and on his feet.  "Who are you?" He asked in a rather hostile voice. Although, I had to admit, his voice was attractive, it was deep and husky. Rawr. I rolled my eyes and took a step closer; looking intently at the graffiti. YOUR GONNA DIE!  Was scribbled in messy handwriting on the wall. I cringed at the grammatical error and held out my hand. "Give me the can." The guy continued to glare at me; confused. "If you're going to graffiti a wall, the least you can do is spell 'you're' correctly!" I snatched the can off of him and resprayed over his words, spelling it correctly. In the distance, I could hear police sirens. I turned around, planning to hand back the can. "s**t!" The lanky guy – who I now assumed was the leader – muttered. He grabbed my hand and pulled me further down the dark alleyway. "Hey! Where are we going?" I yelled as I nearly tripped over the debris on the floor. "The police are coming! We have to get out of here!" He shouted behind his back. I used all of my force and stopped us both. "What?" I deadpanned. "Well, can't we just, I don't know, explain that-" "Listen here, sweetheart, you just illegally graffitied a wall, even if you were just correcting a stupid mistake. Do you honestly think they're going to let you explain? Now, you think about that as we run and hide, okay?" He asked me in the most patronising way ever. As we started running again I thought: What the hell had I gotten myself into?