The bus ride home felt longer than usual, the dim fluorescent lights inside casting a harsh glow over the nearly empty seats. Roxie slumped against the window, her body aching from the endless hours on her feet. Her uniform smelled faintly of grease, and the stale air in the bus only added to her discomfort. The city outside was still alive, the distant hum of traffic and neon lights blinking in the distance, but for Roxie, the world felt far away, like she was moving through it without truly being part of it.
She let her head rest against the cool glass, watching the city streets blur by. The rhythmic sway of the bus didn't bring her any comfort tonight. Usually, this was the time when she'd let herself daydream, imagining what life would be like if just one of these auditions worked out. If she could finally escape the diner, the cramped apartment, the constant struggle. But tonight, after the failed audition and the grueling shift, even her daydreams felt too far out of reach.
Her thoughts wandered back to the audition, replaying every word of the monologue she'd poured her heart into, every emotion she had summoned. It had felt good in the moment, right, even. But in the end, none of it had mattered. She'd been just another formality, a box to check off so the casting director could say he'd auditioned other people. It was the kind of rejection that stung the most because it wasn't personal. It wasn't about her talent or lack thereof, it was about the business. And in this business, she had no control.
The bus slowed as it reached her stop, the familiar squeal of the brakes breaking the silence. Roxie gathered her things, her limbs heavy with exhaustion, and made her way to the front. The driver, a middle-aged man who seemed to work every shift she rode, nodded at her as she stepped off.
"Have a good night, miss," he said, his voice kind but weary, as though he understood that "good" wasn't always an option.
"Thanks," Roxie mumbled, offering a small, tired smile in return before stepping onto the sidewalk.
The air was cooler now, a slight breeze cutting through the warm Los Angeles night. The streetlights flickered as she walked, her footsteps echoing in the stillness. She passed the familiar graffiti-covered walls of the nearby buildings, the same broken glass shimmering in the gutters from some long-forgotten accident. Everything about the neighborhood felt worn down, as though it had given up on being anything more than a place people were forced to be, not a place they wanted to be.
By the time Roxie reached her apartment building, her muscles were screaming in protest. She fumbled with her keys at the door, her fingers clumsy from fatigue, and eventually pushed it open. The faint smell of cigarettes and something vaguely sour greeted her, the usual odor that clung to the walls of the old building.
Her footsteps were slow as she climbed the stairs, the worn carpeting muffling the sound. She passed the usual cast of characters along the way, an old man sitting on the landing, half-asleep with a newspaper draped across his lap, and the distant sounds of her neighbors arguing behind their door. It was always the same. The same people, the same sounds, the same hollow routine.
Finally, she reached her apartment. The lock stuck for a moment, as it often did, before the door creaked open, revealing the small, cluttered space she called home. Roxie tossed her bag onto the couch, letting out a long, slow breath. The silence of the apartment was both a relief and a reminder of how lonely her life had become.
She wandered into the kitchen, her stomach rumbling. There wasn't much in the fridge, just some old leftovers and a few condiments. But she wasn't in the mood for anything more than something quick and easy. Ramen, again.
With mechanical movements, she filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove, waiting for it to boil. The minutes stretched on, her mind wandering in the quiet. She thought about her father, how he used to make her grilled cheese sandwiches when she was upset. How he'd always have a way of turning a bad day around with just a smile and a few comforting words.
But her father wasn't here. He hadn't been for a long time. And her mother… well, Roxie had long since stopped expecting anything from her.
The kettle whistled, breaking her reverie. She poured the hot water over the noodles, watching them soften as the steam rose. Her eyes were heavy, the exhaustion from the day finally catching up to her. She stirred the noodles slowly, the simple act of preparing a meal feeling like the only thing tethering her to reality.
She took the bowl and sat at the small kitchen table, sipping her tea as the noodles cooled. The apartment felt smaller than usual, the walls seeming to close in around her. There was a loneliness in the air that was different from before. It wasn't just the absence of people, it was the absence of hope. The absence of any sense that things would get better.
Roxie stared out the small window by the table, looking out at the dark alley below. Trash cans lined the narrow space, and a few stray cats slinked between the dumpsters. The distant sounds of the city, sirens, car horns, the murmur of voices, filtered in through the glass, a constant reminder that life went on, even when hers felt stuck in place.
She sighed, her breath fogging up the glass slightly. It felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on her shoulders, but all she could do was sit here, eating cheap ramen in a rundown apartment, waiting for something to change.
When she finished, she left the empty bowl on the table and padded into her small bathroom. The mirror above the sink was cracked, and the light flickered as she washed her face, the cool water soothing her tired skin. Her reflection stared back at her, eyes dull and rimmed with dark circles. She looked like someone who had been fighting too long with too little success.
She brushed her teeth, changed into an old t-shirt and shorts, and collapsed onto her bed, face-first into the pillow. The purple comforter, the only bright spot in the room, enveloped her like a protective cocoon. Roxie pulled it tight around herself, trying to shut out the world for just a little while.
As she lay there, her mind whirling with the events of the day, the familiar sounds of the city drifted in through the open window. The sirens, the honking cars, the distant shouts, they were all part of the soundtrack of her life, a life she so desperately wanted to escape.
Roxie closed her eyes, her body sinking deeper into the mattress. She was too tired to cry, too tired to feel anything other than a dull ache in her chest. All she wanted was to sleep, to forget about the audition, the diner, and the suffocating weight of failure that seemed to follow her everywhere.
But sleep didn't come easily, and as the minutes stretched on, she could feel the tension building inside her. Something had to give. Something had to change.
And then, as if on cue, a pair of headlights passed by her window, casting a brief, soft glow over her nightstand.
Ryan's card.
The small rectangle of paper, barely noticeable during the day, seemed to catch the light just right, drawing her attention like a beacon in the dark.
Ryan's business card seemed to glow in the dim light, sitting innocuously on her nightstand. Roxie stared at it, her thoughts suddenly buzzing with a mix of uncertainty and possibility. For a moment, the exhaustion weighing on her body faded, replaced by a surge of nervous energy.
She shifted in bed, propping herself up on her elbows, her eyes locked on the card. It had been sitting there for days now, a silent reminder of the unexpected encounter that had sent her life spiraling in a new direction. And yet, every time she thought about calling him, doubt crept in.
What if it's a joke? What if he didn't mean it?
She sighed, rolling over onto her back and staring up at the ceiling. Her mind played through a hundred scenarios, none of them ending well. Maybe Ryan was just being polite. Maybe he gave his card out to dozens of struggling actresses every day, and she was just one more name in a long list. What if she called and he didn't even remember her?
Roxie groaned softly, rubbing her hands over her face. This whole thing felt too good to be true. After so many rejections, after all the times she'd been overlooked, it was hard to believe that something like this could be real. She wasn't special. She was just... stuck.
Her fingers itched to grab her phone. All she had to do was dial his number. What was the harm in calling? If he didn't remember her, she could just hang up and never think about it again. No big deal.
But then the other voice, the familiar one that had whispered in her ear through every rejection, every failed audition, rose up inside her.
You're not good enough. You don't deserve this.
The weight of those words pressed down on her like a stone in her chest. Roxie bit her lip, her hand hovering over the phone. What if Ryan wasn't serious? What if this was just another way the world would let her down?
She sat up fully, grabbing her phone off the nightstand and holding it in her hands. Her thumb hovered over the screen, the tension in her body coiled tight. She could feel the tears welling up again, threatening to spill over. It was so tempting to make the call, to take a step forward, but the fear of being let down again was paralyzing.
Roxie glanced at the card one more time. It was still there, waiting. But her courage was fading.
Maybe tomorrow, she thought. Maybe tomorrow I'll be brave enough.
With a sigh, she set the phone back down and collapsed onto her back, pulling the purple comforter up to her chin. The sirens outside were still blaring in the distance, the city never quite sleeping, but inside her tiny apartment, everything was still. Too still.
She closed her eyes, willing herself to forget about the day, to forget about the audition, the diner, and even Ryan's card. All she wanted was to sleep, to escape the weight pressing down on her. Maybe tomorrow would be better. Maybe tomorrow she'd be brave enough to reach out and see what happened.
But tonight, she was too tired. Too tired to hope, too tired to fight the voice in her head telling her she didn't deserve this chance. The tears that had welled up earlier finally spilled over, but they were silent, a slow release of all the frustration and fear that had built up over the course of the day.
Eventually, the exhaustion won, and Roxie drifted into a restless sleep, the sound of sirens and distant city noise blending into the background of her dreams. Tomorrow would come, whether she was ready for it or not.