It has been a long day. Well, more like a long night. The sky is glowing orange above Lexa’s head, the city’s lights adding to the smoggy pollution in the sky. Lexa is sitting in the back seat of a cab, her head thrown back to look out the back windshield, her fingers playing idly with the tie around her neck. When the cab pulls up outside her apartment building in Manhattan, she knows she should just kick her shoes off and crawl into bed, but her brain has other plans for her.

Instead, Lexa walks into the building and throws a small smile to the kind woman sitting at the reception desk before making her way to the elevator, taking it all the way up to the top floor. She shares the floor with a young man; he’s quiet and she rarely sees him, and if she does, she nods stiffly at him before simply moving on. They haven’t said more than two words to each other the entire time that she’s lived here, but she sort of prefers it that way.

Lexa fumbles with the keys a little getting them in the door; it happens from time to time when she’s rushing to get herself through the door. Past the first five feet by the door, the floors are mostly carpeted and Lexa doesn’t even bother trying to be quiet; she’s on a mission to get to her office. When she gets to the door, it’s locked, like it always is. It’s a private room for her, in many ways even more private than the bedroom. To this day, she’s the only one who has been in it since she began renting it; she had had a lock installed, per the permission of the building super and she has the only key to the room.

Again Lexa fumbles with the keys and she rolls her eyes at herself; she’s anxious to get things started for the night. She has so many ideas at the moment, floating around her head with nowhere to get out and, oh man, does she need them to get out. The door opens in front of her and she lets out a relieved breath as she walks in. She shuts the door quietly behind her, kicks off her shoes by the door, and walks to sit behind the desk. The room is dark, dimly lit by a small silver lamp on the corner of the desk; the walls are gray and all the furniture is black. There are a few bookshelves lining the walls, a comfortable leather couch on one wall that occasionally doubles as a bed.

Lexa sighs as she sits down in the chair, running her fingers through her hair. She flips up the lid of her Mac and pushes the power button. The low hum of the laptop fan fills the space around Lexa and she finds it calming. But, what would make her feel even more calm is a glass of scotch, neat. She slowly walks over to the small table wedged between two book shelves to the right and picks up a bottle of her favorite Glen Elgin 12-year-old single malt scotch. Like father, like daughter, she thinks to herself with a heavy scoff. She loves her father, she does, but there are some parts of him she never wanted to see in herself and yet, here she is, hiding herself in her office with a nice bottle of scotch, content to ignore the world. At least come tomorrow she will acknowledge the world; her father scarcely had the time.

She sips slowly from the old-fashioned whiskey glass, not in the mood to deal with a headache in the morning. Though she’s been around alcohol all night and she’s honestly surprised she hasn’t gotten drunk by association with the high-rollers who like to sit at the bar and stare at her. She places her glass on a coaster on the desk, which isn’t really necessary but she can’t stand it to be sitting directly on the table. It’s better to be in the habit of using a coaster anyways. Lexa logs into her laptop and opens up a fresh document. At first, she just types out the random words and phrases which have been floating around her head all night.

It's not very productive. She has a novel to work on after all, but this is what’s in her head and if she doesn’t get it out, she won’t be able to do anything else. The thoughts are more intrusive than anything else, like a melody that floats around your mind for hours, but worse. It’s so much worse because these are the notes that make up her life, her memories, the good and the bad. And at this time of night? Scotch in hand? They’re mostly bad. The thoughts and memories make her anxious and sad and they are just about the last thing she wants to think about.

As she continues to type away, she progressively feels less anxious, less sad, and more sleepy. But she can’t stop yet because if she doesn’t make at least one of these random words or phrases into some sort of complete work, she’ll feel especially unproductive.

We’re running out of time and I’ve got nothing left to give

The diamond in your eye cuts through my skin

The sugar in your mouth carves through my mind

The velvet in your hands burns through my soul

We’ve run out of time and I’ve got nothing left to lose

Lexa stares blankly at the words on the screen, deciphering what exactly is it is that she’s trying to tell herself. But she’s had two glasses of scotch and it’s going to her head a bit, so she moves on.

It was just after three in the morning when Lexa came in from work and with the passage of two more hours and three glasses of scotch, Lexa is asleep on her desk. Her cheek is smooshed against the dark wood of the table, her neck is bent at an awful angle, which is sure to hurt when she finally wakes, and there’s a small spot of drool on the desktop. She doesn’t make it a habit to fall asleep like this at her desk, that’s what she bought the couch for, but sometimes it seems unavoidable.

When Lexa wakes, she groans and mutters something meaningless directed at the bright light pouring in through the window. Her neck is very stiff and she wonders how well her night at work is going to go if she can’t turn to one side. She shrugs it off though and wipes her cheek and the corner of her mouth, “Gross.” She’s takes a look at herself and isn’t surprised to find that she’s not wearing her pants anymore, only boxer briefs and a shirt which is mostly unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up. She grumbles lowly, “Time for a shower then.”

It feels good to be clean again and Lexa thinks maybe there is something magical about showers, because they always seem to make her feel better. Her neck feels slightly less awful by the time she gets out, which is a bonus. She throws on a pair of sweatpants and before she hunts the kitchen for breakfast, well technically lunch, eventually settling on making oatmeal with a banana, cinnamon, and brown sugar.

She doesn’t feel much like writing today, so she decides she might just do some research for her novel then maybe go for a walk in Central Park.

At three in the afternoon, Lexa makes herself something to eat before she has to get ready. At four, as Lexa is finishing putting on a standard fitted suit, she hears, “Lexa?”

“In the bedroom!” Lexa tightens up her tie until it is nearly flush against her neck and soon a pair of soft arms are circling her waist.

“Mm, I do love you in a suit, babe…” Lexa feels her hair being pulled aside and kisses being dropped on her neck, working their way to her jaw. The hands around her waist pull her in tight and Lexa laughs lightly, tossing her head to the side to give better access.

Lexa sighs and turns around, “You do know I have to work in this suit? It would not do to arrive in a wrinkled suit, Cos.”

“You own other suits…” Costia notes lightly, having leaned back in to kiss Lexa’ neck.

Lexa pulls back so she can look at Costia, “I do, but it is a Friday night so it is best to clock in earlier rather than later.” Lexa pecks Costia on the cheek, “I will make it up to you, promise.”

“Okay, finish getting ready and I will try to keep myself under control,” Costia tells her with a wink. “The mail is on the island by the way!” she shouts toward Lexa’s back.

“I will take a look when I get home!” Lexa throws her messenger bag over her shoulder out of habit, though it doesn’t have very much in it. Lexa walks toward the door, “Bye, Cos! I will see you later tonight!”

“Good luck, Lex—I love you!”

Hearing the words makes her smile, “You too, Cos!” She closes the door behind herself and makes her way down to the ground floor, rushing out the front of the building. She could walk, but it is a warm spring day and she’s wearing a suit and she is in no mood to sweat right now on the busiest night of the week, so she hails a cab and hopes they can make good time in the traffic.

When the cab pulls up to the restaurant, Lexa steps out and quickly hands the cabbie some cash through the passenger-side window, “Keep the change.” She skitters around to the back of Superius to use the employee entrance. Her boss is pretty lax with her, but even she would get a serious talking to if she didn’t use the service entrance. Indra, the owner and manager of Superius is flitting around the kitchen with a stern look on her face, being sure her chefs are doing their jobs properly, making sure the kitchen is so clean you could eat off the floor, and watching as the waiters bring food out to their respective tables in a timely manner. Lexa nods a simple greeting, which Indra returns with a stern face, as she moves through the kitchen to get to the staff room adjacent to Indra’s office. She throws her bag and her jacket into her locker before setting off for the bar.

This isn’t her dream job by any stretch of the imagination, but when she gets behind the bar, it feels like a few pieces of her life slot in place and she’d be lying if she said mixing drinks wasn’t a fun way to pass time. The bar is separated from the rest of the restaurant and sits on a slightly elevated platform. The counter forms a half circle around Lexa, an island of liquor residing behind her. Fridays are busy nights and while most of the time there would be two people working the bar, Lexa always works better alone. She acknowledges the two people who were working the slow shift before her and gets to work, cleaning up the bar and scanning to see if any of the customers or wait staff need drinks.

The night passes slowly for Lexa, but on the bright side, it’s a Friday and the bar stays open later, which means Lexa gets off work earlier because they pull in more people for the earlier morning hours. Lexa gets to clock out a midnight, spend some time with Costia, and maybe wake up at a more reasonable time in the morning.

Lexa has just an hour left on her shift when her favorite customer comes in. “The usual, Gustus?” she asks as a tall, tough-looking man with an incredible beard sat on one of the barstools.

“Please. Thank you, Lexa.” Gustus sighs and rakes a hand through his hair.

“Rough day?”

“Like you would not believe—the board decided we needed to lay off some people, so I had the oh-so-wonderful job of discussing employees with poor performance records and decided who will get the boot. Least I won’t be the one delivering the news…” Gustus takes a long sip from his glass of brandy.

“I do not envy you, Gustus.”

“Well, I'm positive working here is not all that it's cracked up to be, despite an upperclass clientele,” Gustus laughs.

Lexa shakes her head and leans in a little closer to Gustus, “To be honest, you are the only customer I can stand to be around for any length of time. If anything, working at a ritzy bar just means the men think they have the right to do whatever they want. You know those behaviors do not go over so well with me.”

“They over-estimate your tolerance for entitled pompous men, just in the very nature of being who they are,” Gustus says with a smirk.

“Ah, finally, a man who truly understands me,” she pretends to swoon with dramatic hand gestures. Down the bar she is being flagged down by another customer so she nods and smiles at Gustus before getting busy preparing drinks for others. She remains busy for most of the hour, though in the lulls she always stands by Gustus, briefly exchanging light banter. As the end of the hour draws near, Lexa is cleaning up the bar, removing empty glasses, placing dirty glasses in the sink, and wiping down all the counters for her coworkers. When Lexa finishes and the employees working the graveyard shift show up, Lexa walks by Gustus and tells him with a serious tone, “Please consume cautiously. I know it has been a tough day, but excess alcohol will only make it worse, I promise you.”

“Yes, boss,” he replies with a cocky grin and a mock salute.

Lexa rolls her eyes but smiles anyways and begins to walk away, “Have a good night, Gustus.”

“You too, Lexa.”

Lexa hails a cab with a smile firmly planted on her face. It’s a small smile, but it is there. Gustus always manages to make her shifts more bearable. Her cab ride takes a little longer than usual with the Friday night traffic. She always thought it was silly to say that this city never sleeps, though the illusion is kept up with full force on nights like tonight. Lexa is excited to get back to the apartment knowing that she will have more time to spend with Costia than she usually gets, their schedules being so discordant and Lexa’s late night homecomings.

The clock is nearing a quarter to one when the cab finally pulls up outside the apartments. She smiles at the woman at reception, as always, and the elevator feels like it takes longer than usual just because she has a little extra time. The apartment is quiet and dark when she opens the door, save for a night-lights illuminating the kitchen and the hallway. She walks down the hallway to find Costia asleep in their bed, laying on her stomach and peacefully asleep. Lexa considers walking in and waking her up, but thinks she should probably shower first.

After her shower, Lexa simply throws on a pair of black Calvin Klein Steel boxers and a white a-shirt. She thinks she should probably grab some water at least since she hasn’t had much in the way of food or drink since starting her shift. Lexa grabs a water bottle from the fridge and leans over the island counter on her elbows, taking small, slow sips. She idly flips through the small pile of mail on the counter, a cream-colored envelope catches her eye. But the moment she reads the sending address, her heart drops, stops, and any plans she had for the evening dissolve into thin air.

Before she even knows what she is doing, the water bottle is being left on the counter, the envelope is held to her chest, and she is rushing toward her office. She nearly drops the keys twice trying to get the door open and once she’s inside, she locks the door from the inside for the first time since being in the apartment. Lexa leans against the door, her forehead dropping heavy onto the dark wood. She breathes, “Fuck,” before turning to pour herself a glass of scotch. She knows, rationally, that drinking is not the appropriate response to the situation but at the same time, it feels like the only option she has. And of course, it is in bad taste to take your own advice.

She sits down at her desk with the letter and her double and takes in a deep breath before plucking her letter opener from a jar of ballpoint pens. She gently and slowly removes the letter from the envelope and closes her eyes briefly before opening it. She unfolds it and lets her eyes scan the paper.

Lexa Woods,

You have been invited to the opening of Supernova Art Gallery. The venue is located at 2190 Broadway, New York, NY. The gallery opens at 8:00 PM on Friday, June 24th. After opening night, the gallery will be open until Friday, July 1st, from 9:00 AM to 8:00 PM.

Supernova Art Gallery would be honored to have your presence.

Respectfully yours,

Clarke Griffin

Lexa’s heart is hammering in her chest when she finishes reading the invitation. She downs the rest of her scotch before pouring herself another double, leaving the bottle on her desk. Her thoughts are running a thousand miles a minute. To say that Lexa hasn’t thought of Clarke Griffin since their break up would be a lie. A huge lie. But, Lexa never expected that she would be thrown back into her life. In fact, Lexa was pretty positive Clarke Griffin never wanted to see her again. Ever. So to say this whole situation is a bit of a shock to Lexa’s system is a true understatement.

She knows she should leave her office, go to bed and cuddle up with Costia, but her brain won’t stop snagging on the past now and all the things she had done. She wonders if this means she is forgiven. She wouldn’t blame her for not forgiving her, but at the same time Lexa had done what she needed to do. Lexa tries to keep her mind away from her most days because it hurts, every thought hurts, but sometimes she can’t help but wonder exactly where things went wrong, where they could have gone together, and how she is doing now.

Finally Lexa settles on wondering how she never knew that Clarke Griffin was in her city, let alone opening a gallery in her city. She wonders how long she has been in the city, how she managed to get a storefront on Broadway. Lexa downs half her glass because fuck Clarke Griffin is in her city. Does she live here? How long has she lived here? How did she find Lexa’s address? Did she know Lexa lived here when she bought the gallery? Lexa has so many questions, none of which she is capable of answering herself. But, she knows someone who can.

She dials the number she’s had memorized for years and when a sleepy voice says, “hello?” she nearly apologizes for calling so late. Except then she remembers why she is calling in the first place. She pleads in a rush, “Tell me—tell me you didn’t know about this, Raven.”

Raven sighs, “Woah, slow down girl. I have no clue what you’re talking about. It’s two in the morning for God’s sake.”

“I got an invitation to her gallery opening. Supernova Art Gallery. Tell me you didn’t know. Please just tell me you didn’t know she was so close this whole time, Rae,” Lexa begs. She can’t seem to get that bitter taste out of her mouth and it only grows as the silence carries on. “How could you keep this from me?”

Lexa can hear Raven inhale deeply and exhale at a creeping pace, “Things just always worked out better when we avoided talking about…her. I just didn’t think it would help you to tell you she was so close.”

Lexa’s nodding along. It makes sense, it is a rational point, but Lexa still feels slightly betrayed. This is her city. “How did she—how did she get my address?” Lexa rubs at the back of her neck, truly puzzled.

“Well it certainly wasn’t me if that’s what you’re thinking, Lexa.”

Lexa rubs at her eyes; the alcohol is starting to hit her and she knows she shouldn’t continue this conversation now. “Thanks, Rae. Go back to sleep.”

Raven hums on the other end, “G’night, Lex.”

“Goodnight, Raven.” Lexa pushes the end button. Suddenly with the call over she realizes she had been pacing the floor and rubbing the hem of her shirt between her fingers.

She sinks back into her chair like an anchor. It’s been more than four years since Lexa has seen her. Is she ready to see her a month from now? Lexa drinks. She feels the alcohol zipping through her veins and she is thankful for it in this moment. She doesn’t want to think about anything right now; there are a thousand different scenes running through her head and not one of them is positive and she needs something to drown out the thoughts.

Unfortunately, drowning out the thoughts doesn’t keep Lexa’s heart from hurting, but the liquor does boost Lexa’s creativity. So she does what she does best: she puts on some decently loud sappy music, pulls out her favorite fountain pen and top-quality paper and gets to writing. The scritch-scratch of the fine nib on the paper is satisfying and soothing to Lexa, though she can’t say if writing all these things out will do more damage than good at this point.

But she writes and she writes and she tries to right what is happening in her mind, to center herself but she’s a little drunk off five shots of scotch. She doesn’t typically drink to excess but this brings up thoughts she never wanted to deal with again and everything feels so unresolved.

Four years and she still doesn’t know how things fell apart. She stares with a dead gaze at the empty glass in front of her, runs her fingers along the ridges in the old-fashioned glass. Lexa always thought her cup was half empty when she was young. And as she grew, she began to see it was half full. But then she realized that maybe her glass had always been too full. Eventually it tipped over the rocky surface of her life, spilled across her skin and left behind bruises. The glass broke over her heart and lodged itself there, sharp and punishing. As the years pass, she can still feel it there, pulsing, digging just that much deeper.

A knock at the door startles her out of her thoughts. “Lex?” comes Costia’s voice through the door. “Are you coming to bed?” Her voice is soft and sleepy and so sweet and it makes Lexa’s heart ache just that much more.

Lexa clears her throat and when she speaks the words come out more slurred than she thought they would, “Yeah, Cos, I’m just having a—a bad night. I do not, mm, I don’t feel so well.” Lexa scrubs her hands roughly up her face.

“Are you drunk?”

“It is possible.”

Outside the door is quiet and Lexa idly wonders if she can hear her music playing from there. Eventually, Costia says, “Okay. Just—just come to bed soon, okay? You’ve been sleeping in your office a lot lately.” Lexa just nods, though she knows, somewhere at the back of her mind, that Costia can’t see her. She lets out a long, harsh breath before cleaning up her desk, shakily putting the bottle back where it came from and sloppily hiding away the papers she was writing on, as well as the invitation. She tries to ignore the items she knows are hidden at the bottom of the drawer with a false bottom, kept in secret under stacks of papers and writing books.

Lexa stumbles a little to the door, unlocks it and then locks it again behind her. She makes her way slowly to the bathroom, dragging her hand along the wall for balance. The texture of the wall is smooth and soft beneath her fingers. She gets in the bathroom and nearly trips on the bath mat trying to get to the toilet. She washes her hands and brushes her teeth, splashes cool water on her face. Lexa looks at her face in the mirror; she looks like a wreck. At least she knows the bedroom light is off.

Lexa shuts off the too-bright light in the bathroom and makes her way a little further down the hall to their bedroom. In the dim light coming in from the streets she can see Costia’s outline, facing Lexa on her side. Lexa slowly walks to the bed and gets in on the left side. She rustles around until she is comfortable under the covers. She looks over to Costia who is facing away from her, “The past—it haunts, Cos. It hurts. Sometimes I wish I could forget.”

Costia’s voice is quiet, “Did you want to talk?”

Lexa’s response is nearly immediate, “No, I’ll be alright.” Lexa feels bad denying Costia this opportunity. Lexa doesn’t talk about her past and Costia only knows a few select facts about her life prior to their meeting. Lexa knows Costia must hope still that Lexa will open up, and Lexa hopes so too because Costia is sweet and Lexa trusts her and they’ve been together for quite some time now. Lexa is staring up at the ceiling, trying to stop her train of thought, when Costia rolls over and scooches closer to Lexa so she can rest her head on her chest. Costia sighs and wraps her arm around Lexa’s torso. Lexa doesn’t respond. Her chest feels heavy in more ways than one and her mind is addled; her eyes are drooping closed with the weight of recent events and the aid of alcohol.

When Lexa wakes in the morning, her eyes strain against the incoming late-morning light, and she sees that Costia is long gone, as she’d expected. Lexa would like to say that she doesn’t get hang overs, but that simply isn’t true when someone gulps down five shots of scotch in relatively quick succession. Luckily, the headache and nausea aren’t very bad; some water and a couple of pills will help with that.

She showers quickly and when she goes out to the kitchen to make herself breakfast she finds a sticky note on the counter which reads: Hope you have a better day today! –Cos A small heart is drawn beside Costia’s name and it makes Lexa smile lightly. Costia never asks, never pushes Lexa to talk about the things she doesn’t want to and Lexa is grateful for that. Lexa has more baggage than most people, but Costia knows what is vitally important, which Lexa has deemed isn’t very much. But Costia doesn’t complain about her walls and things are good between them; she has no reason to change their path now.

She’s a little more clearheaded this morning despite the fading headache, but she resolves to ignore the invitation buried deep inside one of her drawers in favor of not spending another night drinking herself into a stupor. She can come up with more constructive ways of coping with the multitude of memories and emotions that are assaulting her mind. Except, of course, this could not have come at a worse time because she gets Saturdays and Sundays off which means she has nothing to do to distract herself. Lexa wonders if writing is a good idea right now and decides against it. She instead decides now is a great time to go for a run, maybe do some calisthenics.

While she’s out for her run, a brilliant idea pops into her head for her novel and it has her turning around to go back to her apartment before she’s truly finished, repeating key parts of the scene in her head so as not to forget them. By the time she gets back, she’s nearly mind-mapped out the entire scene with full dialogue. When she gets back, Costia is there again, back from visiting her mother. Lexa pecks Costia on the cheek before sprinting to her office to translate the scene in her mind from images to words. Her legs and back stick to the leather chair when she sits down which feels gross, but she can’t be bothered to change just yet.

She emerges from the office half an hour later and sits beside Costia on the couch. They talk about how Costia’s mother is doing. Lexa takes Costia out to dinner, somewhere nice but not somewhere that requires a reservation. Their dinner is filled with inconsequential chatter, but it flows easily and Lexa uses this to bolster her case that they are still good together, the same way they’ve been good. Nothing between them has changed. They collapse into bed together that night. Lexa is a little distant. Costia doesn’t ask about the night before. Lexa doesn’t bring it up.