Page 69 of Adrenalina (The Rush World)

I take his chin in my fingers. “Hey, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. I want to see this side of you. I want to see every side of you.”

He takes a step closer and then closer until our noses are touching. We stay like that for a few seconds until he grabs the zipper of my hoodie that has a crop top underneath, pulling it up to cover my exposed stomach. Grabbing my hood from the back of my head, he flips it over my hair.

He begins to take steps away from me and then turns around, holding his hand out for me to take. “You coming?”

“Always.”

We walk hand in hand into a rectangular apartment complex that has apartments lined up with each other. There’s a courtyard in the center shaped like a square. Clotheslines hang outside of each apartment. The walls are painted a tan color with water damage clear to its existing foundation.

We make it to a pair of stairs that leads us up to the second floor of a total of four. I follow Xavier past one apartment after the other. On the outside of each door, big numbers sit atop the doorbells that appear to have been silver but are fading away with time.

Once we pass another three or four apartments, he leads me to the last one of the row. He stops in front of it, taking out a key chain with three keys attached. He unlocks the first, then the second, and then finally the third one.

Before we enter, I glance at the number above the doorbell that reads zero-seven.

Just like his racing number.

I follow in behind him. He closes the door as soon as we’re both inside. Locking each one of the bolts individually, he then slides the door chain into place. I turn around, pushing the hoodie off my head. It looks like someone lives here.

“It’s just as we left it, nineteen years ago,” he says.

“Did you buy the apartment?” I ask.

“Yea, my father left me all of his money in the will and I used it to buy the apartment he got us out of. I’m a hypocrite, aren’t I?” Xavier says.

“Not at all. The way you cope is just as important as staying true to your father’s wishes,” I tell him. The fact that he bought his old home is admirable. Most people who get out of situations like this want to leave everything behind. But he is still close to who he was as a child. It’s beautiful yet must be so hard for him knowing that he can’t let go properly yet.

“I come back every once in a while, just because I feel his memory more in this house than anywhere else.” I nod in understanding.

The apartment is cozy. There are two bedrooms in the small space. The lights flicker and the living room is in the same space as the kitchen. With such little room, I can imagine why his mom and him are so close, given everything they’ve been through together.

The couch is a run-down leather sofa and in front of it sits a vintage box TV with two antennas attached to the top. I walk over and run my hands along the wood that frames the screen in the middle.

“Is this where you watchedThe Simpsonswhen you came home?” I ask.

“Yep. I would sit on the couch with a bowl of cereal and feel like a normal kid,” he explains, his smile expressing his fondness of the memory. I stand up and walk toward what I assume is his mom’s room.

A quilt with white-and-pink squares sits atop the bed with flower patterns spread across it in squares. After peeking in, I walk over to the grand finale, which is Xavier’s childhood room.

Once I open the door, a tear falls down my cheek.

The vulnerability that I’m feeling being in this apartment, while Xavier bares it all, is surreal.

By the looks of his room, you can clearly see he was meant to be a Formula One driver. The whole room is filled with small little collectible hot wheels, a race car bed frame, a flag comforter sitting atop, and racing helmet sheets that peek out the side. Posters line the walls, Ayrton Senna on most of them and racing grids on others. At the end of the bed, he has a tiny desk with papers sprawled across it.

“Did you play with any of these toys?” I ask.

“No, I didn’t have time. Paulo, my father, gave me five every birthday and Christmas.” He runs his fingers over his little collection of tiny toy cars, the memories most likely running through his head.

I stare as he examines the little cars with care. He notices I’m staring and then smirks in my direction.

“You can take a picture. It’ll last longer,” he tells me and I cringe.

“That was a cheesy line, even for you, Sunny.”

“Sunny, I like it,” he says in response to my newfound endearment for him.

He lets out a sigh as he exits his bedroom and walks into the small living room, plopping onto the couch. I join him, sitting on the next cushion over.

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