Under New York City
I. All Our Demons
(Streetlights and subways got nothing on us.)
The first time he sees her, he's moving into his room at NYU. He's struggling — trying to balance the hideous purple lamp his mother gave him in one arm and a box full of old photographs in the other. His door's almost open when she steps out from the room right across the hall. She's short and blonde, all made up in dark red lipstick and thick, fluttering eyelashes. And jesus, it's like an angel walking past.
He drops his key and has to set everything down to retrieve it.
When he looks back up, she's gone.
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The next time he sees her, she's trying to sneak out. He watches, fascinated, as she closes her door as silently as possible. A red and black flannel hangs over her shoulder. Her black t-shirt is cropped at the bottom, like it used to be a dress. Her denim shorts are stained with paint, ripped over the pockets like someone's been clawing at them.
She sees him watching her and puts a finger to her lips, smoothly nodding to her dorm.
Shh.
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He's too shy to ask people about her. Nobody seems to notice her, anyway, which confuses him.
(How do people not see this angel?)
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She disappears for a week, and he begins to think she might have just been an illusion. He doesn't know her, and he can't exactly go over there and ask to see her. He doesn't even know who her roommate is, much less if they'd tell him anything about her.
Hi, I'm Lucas Friar. I'm looking for your blonde friend 'cause I think she's gorgeous. In a totally non-creepy way.
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He doesn't know why he's being like this. He's never even met the damn girl. Why does she make his heart beat overtime whenever he sees her? Why does he get some anxious when she disappears? He doesn't know.
His roommate, Zay, seems to think he's always like this. "Naturally lovesick," he'd said. Was that what Lucas looked like? Lovesick? How can you be lovesick for someone you've never met? He doesn't know.
(He doesn't seem to know anything anymore.)
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He lives to categorize.
Everything has a pile. Everything has a place. His world is black and white, and sometimes gray. And that's the way he likes it. Normal. Orderly. Predictable.
So why is it that she's so enchanting? He doesn't know where to put her. Mysteries, romances, crushes, he doesn't know. Future friends, maybe? Or something else...
He's tried so fucking hard to place her. But she's untouchable, and he isn't brave enough to make an attempt.
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The first time he hears her talk, he's hypnotized. Doesn't even hear what she said; he's too focused on how different her voice sounds. He hadn't expected it to be that deep. Still, it's nice. Strong, yet femenine, and something else...
…and then he realizes she's asking him to move, and in a tornado of mumbled apologies and sheepish glances he shuffles out of her way.
(All she wanted to do was get her coat, for fucks sake.)
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She is black and white and gray all at once.
She's breaking all the rules, really.
He never even learned her name.
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Christ, she's killing him.
He'd stand in that hallway forever just to hear her voice again.
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He honestly doesn't mean to watch her.
What kind of creepy stalker does that make him? Following the every move of some blonde he's seen a handful of times, trying to find a way to meet her? No, he would never mean to watch her.
That doesn't mean he doesn't wait by the ashtray, knowing she's the only one on their floor who smokes. Or spend thirty minutes tying his shoe outside his door incase she walks by.
(She never does, but that doesn't stop him from trying.)
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He never has the balls to start a conversation, so she starts one for him.
It's six am, and they're both just off campus, her with a cig between her fingers, and him with no reason to be there.
"You come out here a lot?"
He almost laughs - she sounds so much like Vanessa. Instead, he smiles and nods.
"I like to watch the birds." He explains.
"Yeah." She blows smoke into the air. "Birds have it pretty good."
He turns to her, hoping the conversation will continue. "How so?"
"They can fly away whenever they want." She replies. "And I'm stuck here on the ground."
(They sit in silence until he gets cold and her cigarette runs out.)
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She doesn't acknowledge him in the hallway the next morning, and (though he'd expected it) he was still disappointed. But one conversation doesn't mean they're friends, and he still doesn't know her name. So he goes out to the bench they'd talked on again in hopes of seeing her.
He waits for an hour and ends up being late to class.
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He loses his camera. Damn, he hasn't even taken a photo since he got here.
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It rains one week later, and he finds her sulking just outside her door.
"Hey." He greets. She nods at him, keeping her eyes trained on the floor.
"Too wet to smoke?" He asks. She nods again, this time in confirmation. He pauses for a second before sitting next to her, back pressed against her doorframe. It's a few minutes before she finally speaks.
"How do birds survive?"
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She knocks on his door a few hours later, holding the beanie he'd lost a week ago. He invites her in for coffee, but she shakes her head.
"I don't drink coffee." She explains. "Still trying to grow."
He nods, quietly looking at her small frame. After a few seconds, she looks up at him.
"Tea?" He asks.
(They talk for a whole thirty minutes, and though he learns a lot about her, he forgets to ask her name.)
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He knows she likes to draw.
She likes all kinds of art, really. Her jeans are stained with different shades, and sometimes she comes in with chalk streaks across her cheeks.
He can see her from his window, sketching something. Tangled branches obscure his view as she shifts to admire her work. When he manages to move the branches, she's gone again.
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The first round of tests bring stress to their whole floor, but open a new topic of conversation for him and his roommate. It's been a bit awkward thus far; they haven't been the friendliest of friends. Zay struggles with his tests even more than Lucas himself does.
His laptop dies, and he has to push past a pile of textbooks to get to the charger. Zay looks up as Lucas knocks a pile of books onto his bed.
"Damn these tests." Zay curses.
"Damn this school." Lucas agrees.
And they both fall back into their studies.
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He finds his first job at a coffee shop just next to his building. It's the perfect deal; work a little, get paid, and take his mind off some other things. He's worked there less than an hour when she shows up, classic red flannel tied around her waist. Her running shorts expose her pale, gorgeous, infinitely long legs, and he has to rip his eyes away to take her order.
"I thought you didn't drink coffee." He said.
"I don't." She scanned the assortment of pastries and breakfast bars. "I'll take a blueberry muffin."
He brings her the muffin and she chats with him at the counter between customers.
(They talk about her artwork and his photography. They're kind of the same thing, really.)
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He finds his camera buried under a pile of dirty clothes. His old photos seem blurry and ridiculous now, so he walks back out to his bench to wait for the birds.
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He wakes up at midnight to the sound of electronica blaring ridiculously loudly. He knows it's her, so he just turns over and presses the pillows over his ears, wondering why someone as beautiful as her would ever listen to something like that.
The noise fades as his clock turns to 2:00 am, and he's almost asleep when he hears someone slam the door. And even though he's only wearing his boxers and a cut up tee, he decides to go sit with her.
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He's getting tired of calling her "the girl next door". It doesn't really suit her, anyway. She's more of a mystery to him than ever, now.
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They find each other on the bench overlooking the park again. She's smoking (when is she not smoking?) and he's trying to get a couple good pictures before the sun rises.
"More photography?"
And with that, the bird he'd been trying to capture flies off, startled. He snaps a picture quickly, trying to get something, but even without looking he knows it'll be absolute crap.
"Can't it wait?" He asks, lowering his camera. She just smiles, pressing her cherry red lips against her cig again.
"Sorry." She actually does look a little sorry. She blows a cloud of smoke, lowering her cigarette. The mouthpiece is painted crimson.
He frowns. He can't stay mad at her; he can't even be mad at her, no matter how hard he tries. Instead of being mad, he raises his camera, taking in the lipstick staining the white smoke. She smiles, holding still as he takes his picture.
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Six months later, and she's drunk again. He can smell the alcohol on her breath. It's nauseating.
She's singing beautifully off-key, slurring and mixing up the words. After a few minutes her song turns to quiet humming, then ceases altogether.
"Lucas?" She slurs.
"I'm right here." He answers, pulling her into the elevator.
"Good." She plants a small kiss on his cheek, but he knows she's just highly intoxicated.
That doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy it.
"Guess what I'm doing this summer." She pokes at his chest.
He shrugs. "Smoking? Painting?"
"Both!" She exclaims loudly. "And then I'm going to the mountains, cause Riley's always wanted to go there, and I'm gonna bring her with me. And you can come too, if you want."
"Yeah, yeah." He leads her into the hall. "Whatever you say, Maya."
They arrive at her room, and he knocks twice before returning his attention to her. She smiles, and he could just die.
Riley opens the door, frowning as she takes in her friend. "Oh, no. Not this again."
"Honey!" Maya reaches out, almost falling down. Lucas and Riley both dive down to catch her, their heads knocking together.
"Ow." Riley pulls up, hand on her forehead.
"Sorry." Lucas apologizes, pulling Maya back up onto his shoulder.
"That's okay. Just set her down over there." Riley steps aside, jerking her chin towards a mess of blankets and crumpled pieces of paper. Lucas obligingly drags Maya towards the bed.
"Night, Maya." He lets himself watch her for a few seconds before slipping back into his room.
(It's been an interesting eight months).
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She's always been easy to read.
From the first conversation, he's always been able to tell how she's feeling. Angry, sad, depressed, drunk, hung over, drunk again, and sometimes (rarely) happy.
So why is it so hard to tell now?
She sits alone on their bench, hand wrapped loosely around an empty box of cigarettes. He can't tell if she sees him or not, but if she does, she's doing a damn good job of hiding it. Her fur coat keeps falling off her shoulders, and eventually she stops shrugging it back on. Her lips are painted yet another shade of red, this time a dark maroon.
He shivers as the almost-summer breeze brushes past. He hadn't thought to bring a coat.
"Have a seat, cowboy." She says monotonously. So he does.
And that's all he needs to do.
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He's been filling his SD card so quickly, he's beginning to think he has a problem. Even his phone is filled with pictures of stained cigarettes and childish chalk drawings.
Things that reminded him of her.
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She told him she'd never been much good at saying goodbye. That she preferred to leave quickly, a clean break, like ripping a bandage off.
So why was he so surprised when she left?
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"Hey, Riley." Lucas greets as she opens her door.
"Hey." Riley smiles, but her lips tug down at the corners.
"Is Maya there?" He asks.
"Maya's… not really available right now." Riley replied. "Sorry."
(He should've just charged past. It would have been his last look at her.)
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He knocks on her door the next day, only to be greeted by a new face. A tall redhead whose hair seems to take up more space than her body.
"Hey." She says.
"Hey. Hi." He looks around. "Is Maya in there?"
The redhead shakes her head and clucks her tongue. "She didn't tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
Riley suddenly appears in the doorframe. "Hey, Lucas."
"He's here for Maya." The redhead informs her.
"I know who he's here for." Riley replies. "Come inside."
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His heart breaks over strong, black coffee. The kind he knows she hates.
"Maya transferred to Cali." Riley explaines. "She left this morning."
(And fuck you, you blonde, angelic mess.)
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He tries drawing, like she used to do. He tries painting, charcoal, and chalk art.
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He buys a pack of cigarettes. They sit on top of his dresser, untouched.
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He tries electronica. He tries Skrillex and Nanobii. He tries all her favorite songs.
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He buys all the blueberry muffins his job has to offer.
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Screw it all. He can't bring her back.