ALPHA || TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET

034

(extra -long chapter alert!)

**********

My heart pounds. Races. Fingernails dig into my palms, and at the sharp pain I soon feel, I resort to cracking my knuckles. Rubbing my hands over the denim on my thighs, fidgeting. From the window seat, I watch the brick wall on the exterior zoom past at lightning speed. The subway, although already running several miles per hour, could be running a lot quicker.

In front of me, a man in a business suit begins nodding off, likely the aftermath of a particularly long work day. A few seats down from him, a lady in her mid-thirties holds a brown paper bag full of groceries. She stares out the window. A seat away from me, a high school-looking boy wears a jacket and skinny jeans. I hear the faint bass coming through his bright red headphones, his feet tapping to the rhythm. Regardless of the no-smoking sign, the smell of cigarettes floats prevalent. I mentally complain for the millionth time about the physical discomfort of subway seats. I also wish it would go just a bit faster.

My eyes continue wandering the seats, searching for someone who might look like they're on their way somewhere, instead of on their way back home. Someone who's impatient, rushing to arrive, heart racing, palms sweating. Someone I could possibly relate to.

For the tenth time in the past five minutes, I check the screen of my phone; the time reads 5:37 PM. I need to get to JFK, and soon, before the international flight to London departs at 7. Before it's too late.

*************

Several hours earlier

"Hellooooo?"

Lara's voice rings through the apartment walls, and it brings my dormant body back to consciousness. I hear a jingle of keys, the front door clicking shut.

"Anyone home?" her familiar, bubbly voice chimes again. I remain silent, in my bed, the white duvet clutched tightly to my chest, knowing she'll eventually come in to look for me.

Footsteps approach, and soon my bedroom door, already cracked, is pushed fully open. With one hand, Lara carries a cupholder decked with two iced coffees.

"Oh! You're awake! I was gonna leave this on your nightstand. Brought some sandwiches, they're on the counter." She fumbles with straws, opening them with her teeth and one hand, sticking them into the plastic coffee cups, and handing one to me while I sit up.

The rims of my lower eyelids still sting from crying. She's bound to notice the puffiness eventually.

"Angel. Thank you." I take an iced coffee from her, taking a gratuitous sip and slumping back onto my pillows. "How was your night?"

Lara tells me about her club escapade with a film school friend from Brooklyn; getting to see her again and catch up with dinner, going dancing, staying out late and catching a morning train home. "It was well-needed."

I smile at the story and her happy demeanor, when I notice the long look she's giving me. "You alright?"

I nod, shrugging. "Just didn't sleep too well."

"Nightmare?"

"No, not that."

"Hey, what was that phone call last night? You sounded so weird."

Knowing that I can keep nothing from my best friend, my eyes well up with tears again. Through a mess of choked sobs, trying to keep myself from going hysterical in my fragile state, and shaky words, I recount to her the entire night. When he came over. The whole night in my bed. Waking up in the morning. What he told me. How I reacted. And when he left.