I walk with no destination; just forward, because stopping means feeling.
My jacket's damp, clinging to my skin like it's trying to remind me I'm llstill here. The drizzle's turned into a mist that blurs everything; the buildings, the sky, my thoughts.
"She only pities you."
The words loop in my head like a broken record.
Every time they replay, they cut just as deep.
Store windows glow as I pass; sleek suits on mannequins, perfume ads with perfect faces, a jewelry display worth more than everything I own combined.
In the glass, I catch my reflection. Pale, tired, a ghost among the glitter.
I almost don't recognize myself anymore.
My shoes squeak against the wet pavement, each step small and uncertain.
I probably look pathetic. A college kid in a cheap jacket, wandering aimlessly through the most expensive city in the world.
I wonder if Lena's still at the party.
Laughing.
Smiling that soft smile that used to be mine.
Maybe she didn't even notice I left.
A bus roars by, splashing water across my jeans.
I don't move. Don't flinch. Just watch it disappear into the fog.
I'm with Samuel now.
You're my best friend, Ash.
She only pities you.
The voices overlap, a quiet storm I can't turn off.
I stop under a flickering streetlight. My breath fogs the cold air.
For a second, I think about calling Grandma, telling her everything's fine, that New York's great, that I'm great.
I even pull out my phone.
But the thought of lying again feels heavier than the truth.
So I shove it back into my pocket and keep walking.
I don't know how long I wandered. Minutes, hours, it all blurs together.
The city lights melt into a single, hazy color.
I pass people laughing outside bars, a couple fighting by a taxi, someone singing off-key near the subway.
I move through all of it, unseen.
I understand what it feels like to truly disappear…
to be surrounded by life and not feel alive at all.
By the time I make it back to our building, the rain has thinned into a ghost of itself, just a mist hanging in the yellow glow of the streetlights.
I sit on the front steps, jacket clinging to me like regret. My fingers ache from the cold, but I don't bother going inside. The quiet hum of the city feels safer than my thoughts.
The door creaks open behind me. I don't look up.
"Ash?"
Alice's voice. Soft, lilting, always carrying that hint of playfulness even when the world's falling apart.
She steps out, her hoodie pulled up, holding a bag of takeout in one hand. She takes one look at me and says, "You look like you've been chewed up and spat out by capitalism."
It earns a small sound from me; something between a laugh and a sigh.
"Close enough," I mutter. "Add humiliation and mild existential dread to the mix."
She sits down beside me, close but not too close. The way people do when they know you're bleeding but don't want to make you say it.
For a moment, neither of us talks. The city murmurs in the background; cars rushing past, someone yelling into their phone, a siren miles away.
Alice opens the takeout bag, digs out a paper cup, and hands it to me. "Here. Hot chocolate. Don't worry, no poison this time."
I take it, the heat blooming through my cold fingers. "Thanks."
She tilts her head. "So, are we gonna talk about it?"
I shake my head, staring into the steam rising from the cup. "No. Not tonight."
"Fair," she says. Then, after a pause, "But I was just about to grab a drink. Wanna tag along? You could use one."
"I don't drink," I say automatically.
Alice studies me for a beat, then smiles. Not teasing, not pitying. Just soft.
"Tonight, you will. Alcohol is the best remedy for heartache, you know."
Something in her tone makes the air shift. Like she isn't giving me an order, she's offering me a tiny, fragile exit.
I glance up at her. Her eyes aren't prying; they're patient. Honest.
And maybe that's why I nod.
"Fine," I murmur. "Just one."
She grins and stands, brushing rain off her jeans. "That's what they all say.."
I follow her down the steps, the city still glimmering like a half-broken promise. My clothes are damp, my heart heavier than before. But somehow, with Alice walking beside me, it doesn't feel impossible to keep moving forward.
The bar Alice takes me to isn't loud. It's the kind of place where the lights are low enough to make everyone look softer, kinder. Here the music hums like a memory someone forgot to turn off.
Old vinyl records line the walls, their covers faded like ghosts of other people's nights. The air smells faintly of lemon, smoke, and something bitter I can't name.
We sit at the counter. The bartender doesn't bother asking for IDs, just gives us a look that says you're both here to forget something, aren't you?
Alice taps the menu with a chipped nail. "Nothing fancy," she tells him. "We're not trying to die, just forget a little."
He nods, like that's a common order, and slides two glasses across the counter. Something pale gold swirls inside, catching the dim light.
I stare at mine for a long moment. Then I take a sip.
It burns. Hot, sharp, cruel. My throat tightens, my chest ignites, and I cough into my sleeve.
Alice chuckles softly. "First time's always ugly."
I nod, blinking back the sting in my eyes.
It burned, but maybe I wanted it to. Pain I could control for once.
She talks while I sip; stories about her office, her overbearing boss, how she almost quit to become a stand-up comedian but realized she hated standing. Her words drift like smoke, easy and distant.
I smile faintly, but the sound of laughter in the bar keeps turning into their laughter, the one from Samuel's party. It echoes behind my eyelids, cruel and golden.
I finish the glass before I know it. Then another. Then one more.
I wondered if I'd regret this later. But I didn't. Alice did.