a/n: hello, i'm not dead. i just forgot to write for a week. but let me offer 6.7k words as an apology🫶
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[ Final Chapter ]
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New York, 2024
«"Oh, my, love is a lie" shit my friends say to get me by, it hits different, it hits different this time.»
The moment she opened the door, Sloane and Irina stared in her direction with big eyes, as though they'd been caught doing the wrong thing. She'd heard it, the sound of engines revving from the television before knocking on the door to announce she'd be walking inside. The room was in complete silence when she poked her head through the open door, the TV turned off. Her friends smiled awkwardly when she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She truly wasn't that depressed.
"If you want to watch your stupid boyfriend winning his stupid races, you can do it. It's not like I'm going to cry every time I watch a fast car on the screen." She said, closing the door behind her and placing on the floor the YSL boots she'd been carrying. "Thanks for lending me those." Sloane blinked herself back to reality and nodded. She caught a glimpse of the remote in her hands. "You can keep watching, I'm serious."
"It was a boring replay anyway." The girl shrugged and Irina supported this argument with a feigned yawn, her hand adding to the gesture for dramatism. "Who cares about fast cars?"
"And their drivers? Ew." Irina stuck her tongue out, silently gagging.
Salma appreciated the effort they were making to prevent her from getting more dejected, but unfortunately...she still cared. About one driver in particular at least. As much as she'd been trying to wipe the guilt and misery away, they were still there. And it was a constant pain to remember everything had been her fault. God. How pathetic, she was having an emotional battle because of Pierre. The same Pierre she'd been tempted to block just mere months ago. Karma couldn't get funnier even if it tried.
"I'm fine." She clarified. Not so much.
They looked at each other for less than a second. "Okay," Irina responded, dragging her vowels in disbelief. "Come here. We can watch something. Not a race, for sure. A movie, maybe?" She patted the empty space next to her, and Sloane encouraged the idea with a smile and a nod.
"No, I can't. Have to meet Catherina in a few. I just wanted to return your boots and ask if any of you have seen my passport? I unpacked everything but can't seem to find it."
Sloane snapped her fingers. "I found a little bag when I unpacked my things. Maybe it's yours and I got it mixed up back in Milan. I meant to ask but I kept forgetting. It's in my room, next to the computer on the desk. Your passport must be there if it's yours."
She nodded, stepping further into the flat and rounding a corner in the hall where she knew Sloane's bedroom was. Salma ignored the mess and went straight towards the desk, the little bag sitting beside her friend's laptop was indeed hers. She recognised the chirped leather on the side and the brand. Her passport was there, thank fuck, but so were other things. Something fell off from the bag to the desk, a piece of paper it seemed. Her brows creased in confusion before reaching for it. Oh no. That was when her expression softened.
It was the two pictures with Pierre. The ones they'd taken on the photobooth after one of their many dates. She saved those inside her passport. Now the universe was being mean for this. Pierre looked so content in the photos, and she was just there. Back when he liked her and didn't think she was a horrible person.
