Found by Elle Field

one wants to be pounding the pavements in New York when it’s hot because the smell leaves something to be desired. I’ve experienced nausea already from some nasty garbage-like whiffs.
    ‘Shall I see you in the morning?’ he suggests.
    ‘Are you sure? I can come back later.’
    I feel bad leaving Piers here on his own, plus I feel like I’ve barely seen him today, but then I look at him. If I feel exhausted, how must Piers be feeling? He had surgery yesterday , so he shouldn’t even be up and awake. I need to let him rest, let him build up his strength.
    ‘The morning it is,’ I say before he can answer me, ‘although...’
    I hand over the Barnes & Noble bag which contains a few magazines, The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini, and the latest James Patterson thriller. For myself I’ve bought Vogue – obviously – and a vampire book called Dead Until Dark by Charlaine Harris. I figure escaping into a fictional fantasy world will help my current state of mind far more than reading the latest Jodi Picoult book. I need some light relief.
    ‘Take these.’ I lean over and kiss him on the cheek. ‘Don’t stay up reading too late,’ I tease with a wink.
    ‘Goodbye,’ I call to the nurse who is already bustling around Piers. She seems completely charmed by him, and I wonder if that’s the effect of Piers’ accent. It wouldn’t surprise me: British accents are like crack in this city.
    ‘Which floor?’ I’m asked as the lift doors ping open and I step inside.
    ‘Ground floor, please,’ I chirp.
    ‘I love your accent.’ The man in the elevator smiles at me.
    See .
    Right, back to the hotel I go. Again.

Chapter Seven
    It hits me like a heavy weight pressing down on my chest. It’s as if my clothes are filled with those rubber bricks they have at swimming pools to test your diving skills, yet at the same time I feel like I’m floating. How can I feel light yet those bricks are dragging, dragging, dragging me down? I am drowning, and each breath I gasp doesn’t make me feel steadier, doesn’t make things right, but instead makes everything feel more swirly and fragile. Like things will never be the same again.
    When I’m back in the UK, I’ll never see Felicity again. When Mum calls me, she’ll never have another amusing anecdote about an afternoon spent with Felicity. Everything has changed . I feel clammy and dizzy yet, at the same time, I feel nothing. Numb, raw, nothingness, like I could be quite happy if there was never another tomorrow. Is this what grief is?
    I was fine, taking one step at a time, focusing on Piers, until I spoke to Mum and she confirmed what Tabitha told me – that Felicity may have done this to herself. Every time this thought pops into my head it feels like my heart is caught in my chest and I can’t breathe for a moment. It’s one thing for Felicity to die, but if she chose to do this to herself? I have no words to–
    ‘Miss? Excuse me, Miss. Are you OK?’
    I look up from my position at the hotel bar to see the barman looking at me with great concern. I follow his gaze to my hand, and see that I am shaking. The ice at the bottom of my drink is clinking softly against the side of the glass.
    After that shocking conversation with Mum I decided to have a drink in the bar – not because I wanted a drink, but because I wanted to be around people. But, even though it’s after six in the evening, I’m the only person in here. I had hoped being around people would help me, would calm me down as I’d be eavesdropping on their plights; instead I’ve been hit by a barrage of thoughts and none of them are pleasant.
    I’m sitting in an opulent, dusky-pink room, lit up by the large candles that are flickering on every table. There’s also a long line of candles in varying sizes on top of the gorgeous limestone fireplace. The black-and-white floor tiles match those in the lobby, and the furnishings are plush and luxurious like the ones in my suite. This bar screams of money and