Florence sits atop the tall apartment building watching the glorious sunrise. A slight breeze sends a chill through her bones. The breeze, or maybe the thoughts in her head. She unfolds her right hand, displaying a small, white pill in her pale palm. Eyes squeezed shut, Florence tosses it back with a swig of coffee. Two weeks of consistent medication, more or less. Nothing feels better, nothing feels worse. There is….nothing. She can plaster on a smile with the best of them, but inside Florence longs to feel something, anything. Freddie has been so distant lately. Quicker to snap, slower to comfort. The crease between Florence's eyebrows deepens with concern as she reflects on his behavior. Maybe being a competitive chess player and having a fucked up girlfriend is just too much, too stressful. Florence looks down at her coffee cup, wishing tears would come, rather than this horrid block of emotions. Less sleep, more caffeine. Less laughter, more fake smiles. Less together, more….alone. Florence shakes her head as she rises to return to her apartment. He's just stressed, and her perspective is skewed. Everything is fine, right?

"Florence, where's that schedule? You said it'd be on my desk." Freddie snaps at Florence shortly after arriving at the office, first words he's said to her all morning. The silence on the bus this morning was tense, distant. Florence takes a deep breath, fighting her Mr. Aleski's voice in her head.

"It's right here, Freddie." She crosses to his desk and moves aside a few papers to reveal the demanded schedule. He grabs the papers from her as she does her best not to flinch. Desperately portraying normality, Florence returns to her desk, pity-filled gazed of the older men following her across the room. This is all her fault. She couldn't keep her shit together and now another relationship is ruined, another friendship down the drain. Her hands shake as she reaches for a pen and paper, studying the chess arrangement in front of her. It's nothing she hasn't seen before, nothing she hasn't used before, and her mind wanders. Memories overtake conscious thought, analyzing and reanalyzing everything from the past few weeks. Was there anything before that night after the tournament? Did she cause this? Of course she did. Of course it's her fault. If she hasn't been such a mess, he'd be treating her better. If she'd pushed away her own problems and helped him, everything would be fine now. But it's not fine. Every day she shrinks a little more inside. All these people around, and yet she still feels so incredibly alone.