A girl chasing her dream. A boy looking for the light.
When Florence Nyx started her internship at a Formula 1 paddock, she expected a lot. Fast cars. Exclusive impressions most people could only dream of. An entire array of skills she'd acquire...
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When I'd called Jas a few weeks ago, asking her to help me find an apartment in San Francisco, I knew she'd do an amazing job. She'd found the perfect place on the outskirts of the city, with close to no neighbors and a factory hall on the first floor that she intended to use as her next studio in the future.
What I hadn't considered was how fucking long it would take to walk there. San Francisco was a big ass city, unlike my hometown where I'd spent most of my life. There, or on the road. That's where I'd belonged.
Two hours later and with the set of spare keys resting patiently in my fingers, I finally reached the apartment building, which had all but one name on the doorbell panel.
Nyx.
Jas had really thought of everything — the doorbell, a personalized mailbox, furniture, gym equipment, kitchen essentials... She'd even hung up a few pictures of her, Ames, and me, saying the place looked cold without her beauty in it.
She was right.
When I opened the door to the apartment, the first thing that caught my eye was the frame she hung right above the coat rack. It was a polaroid photo of Jas and I at a football game, both of us wearing Kilian's team's colors. She looked radiant, utterly happy and carefree as she held a red cup of beer to her lips and pointed at the large screen in the stadium.
There he was, Kilian's face in all his glory, the bold, bright letters beneath him announcing he'd just caught a fifty-three-yard touchdown.
I couldn't help but smile at the pride in my friend's eyes, the pure joy she felt with her husband's success being contagious as hell, as was visible on the grin on my lips. She really knew how to make you cheer for the ones she loved. Guess that was the thing about loving someone: You wanted to be there for them on their highs, celebrate them with everything they deserve... but more importantly, you knew you'd catch them when they fell, helping them back on their feet.
It was time to do so now.
As I hung my jacket on the rack, I noticed the gym door to my left was wide open, its light still on. I peeked inside, expecting Phoenix to be in there, but nothing. All I saw was the punching bag gently swinging left and right, a towel and some boxing tape laying on the ground beneath it. It couldn't have been long since he left, and so I continued down the hallway, glancing into the bathroom, the bedroom, the guest room... But no sign of Phoenix.
Only when I peered into the dimly lit living room did I feel the gush of wind on my cheeks, and my gaze instantly wandered to the open terrace door at the other side of the room. Warm evening air flowed through the apartment, the feeling of it calming me in a way I didn't expect. I spotted Phoenix on the pallet sofa at the right end of the sixty square foot terrace, looking out into nothingness.
The way his shoulders tensed revealed he must've heard me entering, the grip he had on his hair tightening as I took another step. I stopped as soon as I saw the shakiness of his fingers, frustration practically rolling off of him in violent waves.
