The peace of her new apartment was a lie, and Alyx knew it. In the center of the empty space where a dining table or living room should be, the only thing there was an easel with the silhouette canvas, now finished but set up as a reminder—that she could fill the void in that figure, but also as an accusation reminding her that no matter how many punches she threw at the bag, no matter how many painting classes she took, no matter how many cups of coffee or cigarettes she consumed, she still couldn't fill the emptiness she felt.
An appointment with a punching bag, she had told Marshall and Lily as she left. And as soon as she stepped out that evening, she went back to the Muay Thai gym that same day. The gym smelled of sweat, disinfectant, and iron. With every heavy punch she landed on the bag, it was an unspoken word to her partners.
She could still feel the pain in her shoulder, but she felt she deserved that reminder of her lack of control over the chaos in her life.
The pain was also a constant reminder of how, days ago, using her absurd knowledge had helped her know that investing in Apple was a good bet for the future—how easy it was to predict the stock market, where she had a direct map to her financial future. But it also made her see that there was no data to guide her on how to heal her broken heart.
After the session with the bag, she went to the locker room, where there was a mirror she avoided looking into. She didn't want to see the fresh bruises on her body or the dark circles she surely had under her eyes.
So, after wiping the sweat from her body and getting dressed, she took her thermos of coffee from her locker. Her hands betrayed her calm exterior, which she had forced, with a fine tremor she tried to hide by gripping the metal thermos tighter.
Too much coffee and no sleep, of course. It's a stupid cocktail that wrecks your nerves, she thought, only slightly soothed by the future nicotine she'd have when she stepped outside or onto her apartment balcony.
Her phone vibrated with a message from Robin: You okay? Did you get hurt at the gym?
Alyx closed her eyes, thinking of how to reply without worrying her too much, but nothing came to mind. In the end, she just put her phone away.
Meanwhile, at McLaren's
"I can't stop thinking about it. I texted her a while ago to ask how she was, but she didn't respond," said Robin, stabbing her fork into a salad with more force than necessary. The group was at McLaren's, at their usual table—without Alyx or Lily, of course. "At brunch, it really seemed like her arm was hurting. You could tell by the way she moved, as if every gesture cost her something."
Ted glanced around uncomfortably, the mess with his parents and his possibly dead grandmother having drained him emotionally. "Aren't we exaggerating a little? Alyx is… strong. She always has been."
"That's the thing, Ted," Robin replied, her voice lowering with gravity. "It's not just strength. She's being hard on herself, and that's a huge difference. The other time I went to the gym to talk to her, I saw what she was doing, and it wasn't yoga—it was some kind of direct contact. Plus, I saw her… I don't know what it is, but her hands tremble. It's just like my grandpa's when he quit whisky. But I don't think she's drinking that."
Marshall, who had been absorbed in his beer, slowly lifted his head. "They were trembling?"
"Yes," Robin confirmed. "And today, when I passed by her new building, I saw her come out onto the balcony. I know it's weird that I saw her, but I stayed for a bit, and in less than an hour, I saw her come out to smoke a third time, as if it's a very harmful habit with that frequency."
Barney, who until then had been absorbed in his phone searching for "women with injuries and existential problems" on his dating app, interrupted. "Wait a minute. Are we talking about Alyx? Our Alyx, the one who organized our laundry schedules and could shut down a bartender with a look? Smoking like a chimney and trembling? That doesn't go together in the same sentence unless…" A light of pure Machiavellian delight lit up in his eyes. "Is she involved in something illegal? Art smuggling? Corporate espionage? I knew it! Her trading success was too good to be true."
"This isn't a game, Barney," Marshall scolded, concern clear in his voice as the memory of Alyx adjusting her sleeve at brunch, the careful way she moved afterward, came back to him with painful clarity. She had always been their rock. What happened when the rock cracked? "Robin's right. Something isn't right."
Ted frowned, his maternal sense of responsibility awakening and momentarily minimizing his own existential crisis about whether the similarities between his parents as a couple and him with Robin meant they wouldn't be happy together. "Alright, maybe I should go talk to her. As her friend."
"No," Robin said quickly, knowing Alyx's tendency to mask her feelings. "If you go with your 'everything will be okay, friend' phrases and 'come to us,' she'll just shut down even more, and the little progress we've made by having her show up these past few days will disappear completely." I already have an opening—going to the gym and inviting her out for something. Tomorrow, I'll go for sure. She'll be there, and I'll invite her for a drink 'to catch up.' And if she doesn't want to, I'll just wait and insist.
"And if she doesn't want help?" asked Marshall, worry written in capital letters on his face.
"Then," Robin sighed, "at least she'll know someone sees her. Sometimes, that's the first step."
While the group sat with their concern,
Lily was watching from the shadows—literally. She was standing across the street, wearing a ridiculous hat she hoped worked as a disguise, watching Alyx's apartment balcony (she knew the address and which one it was, thanks to Robin). She had seen Alyx's silhouette on the balcony with a lit cigarette—a tiny, visible light against the dark night.
Every time she saw the small light rise to what she imagined were Alyx's lips, she felt a pang of guilt in her heart, knowing Alyx had never smoked before and that sometimes when she or Marshall did, Alyx didn't like being kissed without brushing their teeth first, always saying they tasted like ash.
Her plan with the red dress, the black dress, and Marshall's calves—all of it now seemed like a ridiculous, childish stratagem that had only distracted them both from worrying about Alyx. And they really should be worried, she thought to herself.
Because these meals with their attacks on each other's weak points, with Marshall, had only resulted in more pain, humiliation, and Alyx's icy disapproval.
She needed a new strategy—one that didn't involve cheap seduction but repair. If Alyx was Marshall's anchor, Alyx was also her anchor, and she loved her just as much as Marshall. Now, she had to reach out to her.
But how? A bouquet of flowers and an "I'm sorry" wasn't going to accomplish anything.
A movement on the balcony pulled her from her thoughts. Alyx had finished the cigarette—the small light went out—then she turned halfway and went back inside the apartment. The living room light turned on, casting her figure against the curtain for a moment. She seemed thinner, perhaps, or maybe it was just the distance and Lily's guilt playing tricks on her.
Determined, Lily adjusted her hat. She needed information, and she knew exactly who to turn to.
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