I didn't tell my family that my first night in New York was lonely and depressing. I didn't want them to worry.

Just because I moved in, doesn't mean my roommates' lives should stop. And yeah, the people weren't as friendly as compared to Stony Point.

But it was only my first night. I couldn't, and I didn't let myself complain or give up - yet.

I didn't know anything about Liz, Zara or Mallory, only that they had something to do all the time and were never home.

Whenever Liz was home, she was always sleeping.

If Mallory and Zara were home, they were locked in their rooms.

Adam was not a roommate and was here whenever Zara and Mallory weren't, and sometimes even when Liz wasn't.

He didn't do much.

Just eat, watch TV, and sleep on the couch.

I learned quickly that Mallory and Zara didn't know he was crashing on the couch most of the week when they weren't around. On my second day there, everybody was in the kitchen getting breakfast.

I brought up Adam and got pulled to the bathroom by Liz, who told me to keep my mouth shut. He was in a tight spot after a bad break up and was trying to find a place to stay. Which I knew from experience wasn't easy to find in New York.

It was definitely a bad idea for him to be there. Not only because he wasn't on the lease, but because Mallory and Zara didn't know he was there.

At the same time, though, he didn't bother me.

It hurts to admit, but Adam barely looked my way.

I didn't have a reason to snitch, and I surely didn't want the drama that would ensue if I did.

I spent the next few days before school started, getting accustomed to my new job and fixing up my room.

Since I had to fly, my parents had to ship most of my stuff to me.

I put my art on the walls, photos of my family, set up my desk, and even gave myself a creative corner.

I had one in my room back home.

Whenever I was in the mood to make an art piece, I'd sit in my beanie chair in the corner of my room, put in some earphones, and doodle until I came up with a masterpiece.

It was a huge stress reliever aside from photography.

Thankfully I had a dresser and a big enough closet to put all my clothes.

My room was the only place that felt like home aside from the rooftop. When I felt homesickness trying to bring me down, I'd often go up there and sit alone. I'd look at the city, and dream about having my art in some show or festival.

I hate being in the apartment, eating breakfast and dinner by myself at the dining room table.

What's the point of having a dining room table if you don't even sit at it?

Just like they barely talk to me, the girls don't even talk to each other. I don't know if its because there's drama or what.

They only seem to talk about the rent, when maintenance has to come, or they're banging the bathroom door down because they have to pee.

It was baffling to me.

I wasn't sure if it was a New York thing or what, but it was a culture shock on its own that my roommates didn't seem to bond.

All I knew was how to bond with people. You cook together, you sit at the table, and you eat. You talk about your day, and your dreams, even tell a joke.

But they weren't like that. I didn't understand, and it kind of made me sad as crazy as it sounds.

My job was also a lifesaver. I lucked out, getting a kennel attendant job not too far from the loft.

Telling them, I've lived on a farm all my life, helped me get the job.

I'm not as into animals as much as my mother. But I have been around them so much that I know how to take care of them.

Cleaning out cages isn't ideal for most people, but getting to handle dogs and cats was fun for me. I wasn't getting much attention at home, so the animals lifted my spirits. Plus, the job paid very well.

Soon, school started.

Being at home sucked so bad, I forgot to study the subway lines to figure out how to even get to my University.

To be brief, I was very late to my first class.

I came in there, a sweaty, panicky mess.

People looked at me like I was crazy. I thought my peers were judging me for being late until I heard someone whisper, "what the hell is she wearing?"

All I wore was some light blue jeans, a gray t-shirt, Maks' red flannel he let me keep, one of my grandfather's hunting ball caps with my ponytail sticking out of the back, and some sneakers.

Yes, I noticed that I wasn't as flashy and hipster-like as the kids around me, but I was comfortable.

I lived on a farm where you get dirty, being "cute" or "sexy" wasn't a thing.

Was I so weird for not coming to school in a tight ass outfit or a crop top?

People were judging me but didn't have the courtesy to get to know me.

It was embarrassing, and for the first time, I felt insecure about myself. Not to mention, I live with three girls who are always in their underwear.

Living at home, I never really had anyone to compare myself too.

I looked in the mirror recently, and even I realized I'm bigger than a lot of other girls too. But my family never said anything.

My family always told me I was beautiful, but now that I was in the real world, I didn't know what I was.

Things didn't get better.

Despite being an art major, my schedule was full of general ed classes that I had to get out of the way.

For the first three months, I didn't create anything. I did actual homework, you know, the boring stuff. Papers, math and the list goes on.

For classes that don't go toward your major, I sure had a lot to do.

Between work and school, I was a mess.

It didn't help that I was always alone in the loft.

I hadn't told my family how life really was because I was still determined for things to get better. But it seemed the more I hoped, the more depressed I became.

Homework, work, empty loft, no friends, and my family far enough way that I couldn't get the affection, I longed for so much.

I thought outcasting was a high school thing, but I was proved wrong.

People just looked at me, whispered about what I wore and where I might have been from.

I was sinking, and I was sinking fast.

A breakdown was coming. I knew it, and I felt it.

And on all the days, it could have happened; it happened on my birthday.

Oddly, all three girls were home but, of course, doing their own thing.

I was in my room, sitting in the creative corner with my earphones in.

I hadn't created anything in three months and didn't seem to have the juice to do so.

I just stared at the blank page, wanting to draw something, but not finding the inspiration to do so.

I can only sit there for about five minutes until I give up.

I take my earphones out, and there's a knock on my door.

I open the door, and standing there is Zara with a medium-sized box in her hand.

"This came for you," she hands it to me and walks away.

I close the door, sit on my bed, and I open it.

Immediately I am hit with the smell of my favorite dessert in the world: my mama's salted caramel chocolate cake.

Comfort food was just what I needed.

Then I see that there's a card.

I open the card to see that each of my family members has written happy birthdays, and I love yous.

It isn't until I get to my mom's, that the weight of everything I've been holding in crashes down on me.

She told me she was proud of me. That I was strong, fearless, and could conquer the world.

To read that at a time where I felt so weak, unimportant, useless, and alone broke me.

I felt that familiar tinge in my chest. It felt like an invisible force had just sucked the breath out of my lungs.

With the card in my hand, I rushed to the bathroom.

Lucky for me, Liz was just walking out.

She was not happy that I almost pushed her over to get inside that bathroom.

"What's your problem?" she banged on the door.

I sat on the bathroom floor with my knees to my chest.

"What is going on out here?" I could hear Zara say.

"I don't know. Savannah nearly ran me over trying to get in the bathroom."

"Is she's sick?" Zara sounded concerned.

Surprisingly.

"I don't know. Ask her."

Zara sucked her teeth, knocking on the door, "Savannah, are you okay?"

But I couldn't answer, I was hyperventilating mess.

Last time this happened, I had my brothers. But they weren't here. None of my family was there. The thought sunk me deeper into that dark pit.

"Savannah?" Zara tried again.

"She's probably fine," Liz hadn't walked away.

"Does she sound fine to you?" Zara snapped at her.

Then came Mallory asking, "what is going on?"

"I think something's wrong with Savannah," said Zara.

"Her name is Savannah-Rae," Mallory told them matter-of-factly. "And did you knock?"

"No," said Liz sarcastically. "We're just standing here for fun."

"Grow up," Mallory twisted the doorknob.

"Savannah-Rae, are you -"

She opened that door and trailed off a the sight of me.

I don't know how I looked, but the way their eyes were budging out of their heads, I must have looked like I was about to keel over any minute.

"What's wrong with her?" Zara asked, standing outside the bathroom with Liz.

"She's having a panic attack," Mallory knelt in front of me. "Savannah-Rae, look at me."

But I couldn't. I didn't want to. I wanted to go home, to my family, where I belonged. I wanted to be back in Stony Point, where people talk to each other and ask about each other's day, sincerely wanting to know.

"What do we do?" Liz asked.

"Well, don't stand there," Mallory yelled at them. "Help me calm her down!"

They came in, kneeling in front of them.

Just like my brothers, they were a confused messed. They fussed, and they fought, trying to figure out how to fix me.

I thought for sure that I was a goner. I was breathing so hard that the room was beginning to spin.

"We have to figure something out before she passes out!" yelled a panicked Zara.

Then, the unthinkable happened.

Liz began to sing.

"Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter. Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here."

I focused on her voice and began to calm down.

At first, Zara and Mallory were going to give her crap for doing something so stupid. I could see it on their faces. But when they realized it was helping me, they joined in.

"Here comes the sun, doo-doo-doo-doo, here comes the sun. And I say it's all right."

They were much better singers than my brothers.

It was soft, kind of like a lullaby.

Soon, my breathing was back to normal, and I could think straight. Sadly though, it didn't stop me from balling my eyes out.

God, I missed home so much.

Neither of them hugged me. Though I could have used one, they probably thought because we barely knew each other, it was a bad idea. Instead, they sat there with me quietly.

When I managed to clam down the for the second time, they took me to my room and laid me down.

Zara went to get me some tea, but by the time she came back, I had clocked out.

Panic attacks take a lot of energy.

I had slept for hours and woke up a little over six.

The memories of what took place hours earlier shook me to my core. I had a meltdown in front of three girls that I barely know.

I felt embarrassed, but appreciative that they helped calm down. I didn't know how they knew to sing the song, but I was still thankful.

I leave out of my room and find them at the dining room table. For the first time, the girls were talking to each other.

Unfortunately, though, it was about me.

Zara was the first one to notice me. She quickly shuts them up and smiles at me.

"Hey! How you feeling?"

"Better," I gave a smile small.

"You gave us a scare back there," said Liz with her feet popped up in her chair.

"Yeah, I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize," Mallory gave me this look of respect, I guess you could say. "I've been there."

I only nodded.

"Sit," Zara pulled out the chair beside her.

I sat down, slightly uncomfortable.

They were only talking to me because I had a panic attack. If I didn't, they wouldn't even be at this table, talking to one another.

"What's been going on?" Mallory asked.

"Have you been having panic attacks a lot?" Liz raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, no," I chuckle nervously. "No, haven't. It's only the second one I've had. I had one before leaving home. It only seems to happen when I keep my emotions in. I just pop, I guess."

"Right," Mallory nodded thoughtfully.

"Where are you from?" Zara pushed her red curls behind her ears.

"Stony Point," I answer. "It's a rural town in Southern Georgia. My family owns a farm, so -"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," they all sang in unison.

They laughed a bit, especially Liz.

"That makes a lot more sense now," nods Zara.

"What do you mean?" I looked between the three confused.

"Nothing, nothing," Mallory quickly changes the subject. "I remember you saying on the phone that you're going to NYU?"

"Yeah, I'm in the art program, but I'm only taking gen eds, right now. It's been stressful, doing school work, working my kennel attendant job, new city and -"

"Is that why you had the panic attack?" Zara asked. "Because you're stressed?"

"Yeah, and the package I got, it was a cake my mama makes for my birthday every year and -"

"It's your birthday?" Liz asked.

"Yeah," I nodded. "It is."

"How old are you?" Mallory asked.

"Eighteen."

"Cool, what are you going to do?" Zara questioned.

I shrug, "eat the cake my mama sent me."

The three girls exchange glances and suddenly burst into laughter.

I wasn't sure if they were trying to hurt my feelings, but they were.

"We're sorry, we're sorry," sighed Liz. "it's just . . . that's so boring. You're eighteen, in New York City without your parents."

"I don't . . . I don't think I'm following," I frown at her.

"What she means is you should be having a party, or I don't know, going to a club with some friends," explained Zara.

"Well, I don't have friends. It's been kind of hard. I stick out like a sore thumb. People make fun of what I wear."

The girls did that thing again where they exchange glances, saying something without actually saying it.

"And I know you guys do too," I crossed my arms over my chest.

"We're not making fun of you," Mallory denies. "It's just that you dress like a redneck. It doesn't help that you're a black girl, its confusing to people."

"And your name is Savannah-Rae," Zara pointed out. "That one of the most country names I've ever heard in my life."

I'll admit, I understood their points. I may have been a little blinded to how different I really was, but it wasn't my fault.

I didn't get to choose to live on a farm or even my own name. Frankly, I wasn't the one with the problem either.

"And," I changed the subject, "I'm only eighteen, I can't get into a club."

"There are plenty of clubs you can get into," said Liz. "You just can't buy a drink. There are ways around that, though, trust me."

"We could always get you a fake ID," shrugged Zara.

My mouth just about hit the floor.

Fake IDs? Clubs? Were they insane?

Why would I do such a thing? Clubbing wasn't exactly in my nature.

"No need," Mallory had been thinking quietly. "I have a gig tomorrow, I know the owner, you guys can get in with me."

"Yes!" cheered Liz, "and we can show you how to really party for your birthday."

"You know, I appreciate this," I say, "but -"

"If you think we're letting you spend your birthday inside, eating that cake which smells really good by the way, you're crazy," said Zara.

"Exactly," Mallory agreed. "Look, it might not be your thing, but you can at least try it. You deserve a night out, and we're happy to give it to you."

Once again, I was speechless.

I hadn't talked to these girls in three months unless it was about rent, maintenance, or the bathroom.

Yet it took a panic attack to get them to talk and take me out for my birthday.

If only I had a panic attack sooner. 

****

I like this story, I'm not even gonna lie. What do you guys think so far? I know you're probably iffy about the roommates but do you have a favorite so far?