rebel without a clue

Then what?

He loved her. She didn’t love him the same way. Nothing about that had changed. They would just ruin each other all over again, only this time with the added humiliation of having seen it coming. He would let himself have that knowing all too well he was supposed to leave for rehab in a few months, move to Austin and start grad school. So, what was the point of letting her back in?

Unless he was stupid enough to think this time would end differently. Which, to be fair, he probably was.

“Yeah,” he said. “Relatively speaking.” His eyes flickered between the sling and the bruising on his arm. It was hard to tell what looked worse, the visible injuries or the general state of him. He looked back at her, shrugging his one good shoulder. “I’m sure the car would disagree,” he added, forcing a chuckle.

The joke didn’t land. It just sat there between them.

Zoey let out an exasperated sigh. Now that the worry had subsided, anger settled in. Specifically, anger at his carelessness and lack of concern for himself. But she couldn't properly articulate what losing him permanently would have done to her, so she opted to care for him through his recovery. Actions spoke louder than words anyway.

"Have you even showered or, like, eaten anything besides takeout?" Judging from his appearance, she suspected the answer was no.

“I do,” he said, smiling a little for the first time in a really long time. Although, his relief was quickly replaced with worry. Because staying for the night was one thing. Morning was another. So was tomorrow. And the day after that. He had no idea what this was supposed to mean now, if it meant anything at all. Whether this was just Zoey doing what Zoey always did, showing up when things got bad, or if he was stupid enough to read more into it just because he wanted to.

“You know I do,” he added after a moment, a dry laugh left his lips.

Maybe it was the alcohol impairing her judgment. Maybe she would regret this in the morning. But there wasn't a chance in hell that Zoey was going to leave him to fend for himself now that she could see the damage for herself. She wanted to ask him if the crash hadn't been less of an accident and more like poor impulse control, but she was afraid to hear the answer.

She was suddenly wishing that she had drunk something stronger than wine before she came over. Things weren't automatically back to normal because she had showed up for him. She wasn't even sure if they would ever be able to go back to the way things used to be. There was still a bitter taste left in her mouth. But it was hard to keep that animosity when she looked at him and remembered the good times they had together.

"I'm glad you're okay. You know, relatively speaking."

He just sat there, staring at the wooden floor, suddenly noticing a tiny crack. It would have been easier if she hated him. He had already said that much. This was worse in a different way. It felt less deserved.

“That’s kind of the problem, though, isn’t it?” he said finally, voice quieter now. “You always know how to say something that should make me feel better, and somehow it just makes me feel worse.” He glanced up at her, but not holding her gaze for long. “Hearing that from you doesn’t exactly make me feel less like a piece of shit.” He shifted slightly against the couch, but quickly stopped when his shoulder reminded him not to push it.

“I’m not saying that to make this your problem,” he added. “Or to do that thing where I act like showing up means everything’s magically fine. It doesn’t.” He shook his head, glancing away once again. “I just…” He exhaled, still avoiding her gaze. “I’m glad you’re here, even though I know I don’t deserve it.”

Zoey didn't know what do. Apparently, whatever she had to say would just make things worse. It didn't help that he wasn't as defensive as he had been the last time they spoke. Like there was no fight left in him. Not that she wanted to fight, but she wanted something to know that he wouldn't put himself in that kind of situation again. Nick never did seem to care much about his own well-being. The longer she sat there listening to him, the more she believed that he had intentionally crashed his car.

"I don't know what you want me to say. Honestly, I'm surprised you even let me in. I thought you would shut the door in my face and tell me to fuck off." She tried to laugh, but it only sounded sad and pathetic. "I feel like I tried to spare your feelings by ending things, but it just made things worse."

She finally gave him a long and hard look over on the couch, really taking him in for the first time in months. If the sling, cuts, and bruises that were visible were any indication, the damage was probably worse under his clothes. She didn't know how he was managing by himself. It didn't feel right to be in the same room and have all this space between them. Like they were practically strangers. They hardly even felt like strangers that first night they met.

"Do you want me to stay?" She already knew the answer, but she felt compelled to ask anyway.

“I didn't mean any of that. I was fucked up and trying to hurt you. I picked the worst things I could think of and sent them anyway because I wanted them to hurt.” He looked away, his attention drifting somewhere past the coffee table, past Ferris, anywhere but her face. “You were so good at acting like I didn’t exist,” he said after a moment. “Maybe that wasn’t even an act. Maybe you really were fine. I don’t know. But I wasn’t.”

He cleared his throat, his voice cracking a little.

“I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I tried to ignore you, obviously. For the sake of my dignity. It just... didn’t take.” He let out a dry laugh. “Every time my phone went off, I looked. Every time it didn’t, I still looked. Which was pathetic, but I was so desperate to get a reaction. I wanted you to text me back and call me a fucking asshole or tell me to go to hell. Just something. Anything, really. Because the silence was worse. If you were angry, I could tell myself you still felt something.”

He fell quiet for a moment before continuing. “Maybe some part of me thought it would be easier if you hated me. It would’ve been something. I could’ve worked with that.” He looked at her finally, tightening his jaw. “Because it was getting pretty obvious you were never gonna love me the way I loved you.”

Though she wasn't one to hold grudges, she wanted to hold onto that resentment to avoid falling into the same trap. The state that he was in was making that more difficult. Zoey already felt guilty for ending things the way that she did, but hearing just how badly it had affected Nick caused a lump to form in her throat. This was what she had been trying to avoid, sparing them from the inevitable pain when the relationship eventually imploded. But in doing so, she just caused more heartache, and now she was left wondering if she was the reason he was in this mess.

She didn't know how to react to his casual confession. Her mouth opened but no words came out. Part of her knew how she felt and how she should respond, but the other, more sensible, part of her knew it was best to keep quiet. She could only release a shaky sigh and sink further into her chair.

"Like I said, we don't have to talk about it. That's not why I came over. Your sister called, told me what happened, and I think I just sort of blacked out after that. She wanted me to check on you, obviously, but I think I would've done that anyway. Old habits die hard, I guess," she said with a shrug. "And I don't hate you. I don't think I ever could."

“I know,” he said finally. The fight went out of his voice, being replaced with something he couldn't exactly pinpoint. Shame? Exhaustion? Maybe a little bit of both. His eyes lifted back to hers, and that did it, his expression softened almost immediately. “I just…” He shook his head, voice low. “It’s easier to believe you showed up because you felt obligated than because you actually still give a shit.” He cleared his throat, trying to regain some sort of composure.

“That’s not me saying you owe me anything,” he added, rougher now. “It’s me saying I know exactly why you shouldn’t.”

Zoey avoided his gaze, choosing to focus on her hands in her lap. Her intention had been to make sure he was okay and to see him for herself. It felt like the only way to relieve herself of the anxiety of worrying about him, but she didn't consider having to address the elephant in the room.

"It's not about whether or not I owe you anything," she remarked, shifting in her seat. "Look, it's fine. We don't have to talk about it. I figured you were probably on something when you sent those texts anyway. For what it's worth, you didn't say anything I didn't already think myself."

“And after what I said…” He paused, swallowing hard. “I wouldn’t exactly blame you if that still hadn’t changed.” He let out a dry laugh, mostly at the absurdity of their situation. The fact she was actually here, after everything they went through and somehow Nick was supposed to believe they were nothing more than just friends. “When you show up here acting like you still give a shit, I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do with that.”

"Were you even listening to me during our conversation? I never said I didn't care about you, and even if I did, I wouldn't want you to fucking die. Jesus, Nick." She noticed Ferris, sitting next to Nick on the couch, perk up as he sensed the heightened emotions. It gave her time to pause instead of pushing. Those text messages had hurt, as was the intention, but she didn't actually believe that he meant it. He had clearly been on something and hurting.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't care," she admitted.

“Two weeks ago,” he said. “Give or take.” Right after the texts I sent you. He couldn't bring himself to remind her, not that he thought she forgot but he still couldn't say it. “Not serious enough to kill me, obviously.” The line came out drier than he intended. Or maybe exactly as dry as he intended. Hard to tell anymore. “It was late. I was high and drunk. I was speeding,” he said with a bitter chuckle.

That wasn’t the whole story, obviously. They both knew that. Or at least he assumed she did. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, already irritated with himself for saying even that much. “Emily probably thought you knew because I haven't talked to her a for a while,” he muttered. “Or maybe she thought dragging you into it is somehow gonna fix me.” That one came out sharper than he meant it to. He felt guilty immediately after, irritating in its predictability. He exhaled and looked back at her, quieter this time.

“I’m not saying I didn’t want you here. But I’d understand if you wanted to go. You probably hate me. Maybe you’re even disappointed to see that I’m still alive.”

She didn't say anything, just let him explain. It was best to tread lightly. She didn't want to bring up the text messages and turn this already uncomfortable interaction into something more volatile. The entire purpose of the visit was to make sure he was okay.

But then he offered her an out and his words — intentionally or not — launched a tidal wave of guilt and anger that washed over her.

"Wow," she scoffed in disbelief. Zoey felt like she had been punched in the stomach and it probably showed on her face. Still, she kept a tame temperament. At least, she tried. She didn't raise her voice, but there was definitely a hint of venom. "Did the crash give you brain damage too? You seriously think I want you dead? Oh, well, I guess I am a sociopath, right?"

“Yeah, well,” he said, lowering himself onto his Royère with more care than he would have liked. He reached for the bottle of water sitting on the coffee table, mostly to give himself something to do with his good hand. Ferris stayed glue to his leg, looking up at Zoey with a pair of wide eyes. After the accident, Nick couldn’t even go to the kitchen without Ferris trailing after him like he was afraid he might disappear again. “Kennedy has been around.” His tone was casual, but the annoyance was noticeable. Easier than admitting he had needed them. Easier than admitting he probably still did.

“I’m fine,” he added, which was obviously not the point and also obviously not true. “It looks worse than it is.”

His eyes flicked briefly to where she was standing, still keeping her distance. He noticed that too. It made sense. Still, there was something bleakly funny about watching her stand in a place where she used to move around without thinking, now acting like she’d wandered into someone else’s apartment by mistake.

“You can sit down,” he said finally. “I’m not contagious.” After a brief pause, he snorted a bitter laugh, “Hopefully.”

She opted to sit in a chair instead of joining him on the couch, but she still felt too unsure to make herself comfortable. She still couldn't shake the anxiety that came with that phone call. Seeing him didn't do much to quell that concern. For as long as she had known him, Nick had a tendency to be reckless and a penchant for destruction. Sometimes it was like holding up a mirror to herself. But when they were together, those behaviors seemed to subside for both of them.

"Emily didn't tell me much. She mentioned something about a car accident but made it seem pretty serious. I think she probably thought I already knew." It was a bit surprising that Richie hadn't spilled the details to the rest of their siblings about the argument and subsequent break up between Nick and Zoey. Maybe it wasn't that important. Maybe they wouldn't have cared either way, knowing how uninvolved they were with his life. "When did this even happen?"

“Yeah,” he said, glancing away. “That sounds like her.”

He adjusted his posture slightly, his good hand tightening around the edge of the door for balance. He hated how obvious the injury made everything. The sling. The bruising. The fact that he couldn’t even stand there properly without looking a step away from collapsing.

At her question, his eyes went back to hers. There was a slight pause. Long enough to make it clear he was thinking about it. He could have said no. Probably should have. It would have made more sense. After every text he had sent her, after the kind of shit he had said, letting her in felt absurd.

But it was also what he had wanted in some pathetic way since that afternoon in Richie’s backyard. Not the fight itself, obviously. He practically lived to forget the shitshow that went down between them. Just this moment. Her showing up anyway. Her standing in front of him as if he hasn't said those words, as if he didn't do everything in his power to hurt her. He had missed her in every way possible. It had gotten to the point where even ordinary things felt completely hollow. His couch felt too big. His kitchen looked staged. Ferris kept wandering toward the front door like he was expecting someone, just like him. Everything had felt empty and slightly beside the point without Zoey in it, which was a ridiculous thing to realize about another person and even worse to know it was true.

So, naturally he stepped aside instead of saying no. “Sure,” he said, voice flat. “If you really want to.”

He left the door open for her and turned back toward the living room at a slower pace than usual, his body still struggling with movements a toddler could probably manage with ease.

Zoey crossed her arms as she entered in the living room, careful to keep herself at a safe distance even now. Funny how his place once felt more like home than her own apartment but now she felt like a stranger. She tried to be subtle as her gaze shifted from his sling and graceless stride to their surroundings. It felt much more lifeless. Ferris, who had always been so happy to see her, seemed to focus solely on Nick with rapt attention and barely gave her a hint of an acknowledgment.

"Do you have someone helping you?" She gestured towards the sling that was cradling his arm. "You look pretty banged up. I mean, Ferris is great, but it's not like he has opposable thumbs."

It happened about twenty minutes, maybe thirty minutes after he sent her those texts.

Nick remembered typing them. The only thing his brain refused to forget about that night. He remembered rereading each one before pressing send, making sure they landed exactly where they were supposed to. Hurtful. Personal. Nasty. He had wanted to hurt her. That was the embarrassing part.

It didn't help that he called his dealer and ordered everything he could think of. Then the series of tequila shots followed. He had been pissed off in that specific way that only comes after you realize you care more than you planned to. When she didn’t respond, it felt worse than if she had fought back. Silence was humiliating. And as much as he didn't want to admit, it was also heartbreaking.

He got into the car still wired from it. Still replaying what he had said. Still convincing himself he didn’t mean any of it while secretly hoping she would believe he did. He drove too fast. Careless, even. Not that it was surprising, reckless was his brand after all. He remembered glancing at his phone once more at a red light, half-expecting her name to light up the screen. It didn't. The road was mostly empty. He was blasting some song that he couldn't even remember now. Somehow, his head was louder.

There was a point, a split second, where he registered how fast he was going. It felt like a punishment. The more he thought about the texts he’d just sent, the harder he pressed on the gas. It wasn’t that he wanted to die. It was that he didn’t feel particularly attached to the idea of staying alive in that moment.

The impact came quickly, then a loud noise followed.

And that was two weeks ago.

-

The knock startled him.

He had been half-asleep on the couch, TV playing something he wasn’t watching. For a second he considered ignoring it. Whoever it was would leave eventually. People always did.

The second knock ruined his plan.

He pushed himself up slower than he would have liked, the sling pulling awkwardly at his shoulder. Even his Margiela By the Fireplace couldn’t fully mask the stale takeout stench. He didn’t bother checking the mirror. It wasn’t like he had anyone to impress.

He opened the door and blinked. For a second, he genuinely thought he was still concussed.

"Hey," she echoed, her voice sounding more meek than she would have liked.

She got a better look at him, allowing her gaze to briefly fall to the sling. It was a relief to see him not in a full body cast after the dark places her mind went to after the call.

"Emily called me," she explained without being prompted. That seemed to be the only way Zoey ever received any indication that Nick wasn't doing well, just as she had when he was dealing with his brother's issues. It felt like she was having a severe case of déjà vu, only now he was in a much worse state. "She told me about the accident. Thinks you're avoiding her." Thinks you might do something stupid, she thought to herself.

There was a beat of awkward silence.

"Can I come in?"

The way he spoke, reassuring her that her feelings were valid and that 'huge' — or even a more appropriate 'shitty' — wasn't a good enough word to fully encompass this mess. It annoyed her to feel coddled, but whatever energy she had left was used sparingly rather than starting an argument.

"What? No, why would I be mad at you? I already told you this isn't your fault." Maybe it had been a mistake to confide in him and seek him out as a source of comfort, but it was too late to change that. The one time she chose not to trust her gut, Zoey went against her natural instincts by opening up to him. It would have been more for his own benefit after she had seen how badly he had blamed himself for his brother's mess.

"Aren't you supposed to be mad at me? I mean, the list is endless. Nearly baby-trapping you — your family would have loved that, by the way — then ghosting you, and then, you know, scheduling the appointment before I talked to you about it." Not that she felt much guilt about having autonomy over her own body, and Nick was the type to support any decision she had made. But she hadn't really stopped to consider what he would have wanted and was reluctant to ask him.

"Can you hand me a towel?"

He stood up too fast, if he stayed there any longer he might say something heavier than he meant to.

“I will be in the living room. Watching something stupid. If you need me. Or if you just… don’t want to be alone." he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He took two steps toward the door, but suddenly paused, turned back, and walked over again because he simply couldn’t help himself. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her temple, his lips gently brushing against her skin.

“Take your time,” he said, barely above a murmur.

Then he left the bathroom, leaving the door open, and flopped onto his Corbusier sofa. He leaned back, stared at the ceiling, listening for the sound of her moving around, making sure she was still there.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly. He moved a little closer, not into the bathtub, but enough that she would know he hadn’t retreated. “What you are dealing with..." he trailed off, trying to think of something better to say but he fell short. "— is huge," he finally said, reaching for her hand.

Zoey kept acting like she was burdening him, which was ridiculous and it made him feel even more guilty. He rubbed a hand over his face.

When she covered her face, he moved even closer, crouching near the tub. Just close enough that if she wanted him, he was within reach.

“Are you mad at me?” he murmured. “I would understand if you were.”

The way he spoke, reassuring her that her feelings were valid and that 'huge' — or even a more appropriate 'shitty' — wasn't a good enough word to fully encompass this mess. It annoyed her to feel coddled, but whatever energy she had left was used sparingly rather than starting an argument.

"What? No, why would I be mad at you? I already told you this isn't your fault." Maybe it had been a mistake to confide in him and seek him out as a source of comfort, but it was too late to change that. The one time she chose not to trust her gut, Zoey went against her natural instincts by opening up to him. It would have been more for his own benefit after she had seen how badly he had blamed himself for his brother's mess.

"Aren't you supposed to be mad at me? I mean, the list is endless. Nearly baby-trapping you — your family would have loved that, by the way — then ghosting you, and then, you know, scheduling the appointment before I talked to you about it." Not that she felt much guilt about having autonomy over her own body, and Nick was the type to support any decision she had made. But she hadn't really stopped to consider what he would have wanted and was reluctant to ask him.

"Can you hand me a towel?"

Nick stayed where he was, thumb tracing idle patterns over the back of her hand. The silence didn’t bother him. If anything, it felt better than trying to fill the space with words neither of them needed. The water cooled, he shifted slightly, but he didn’t let go.

“Yeah, no problem,” he said, pushing himself up from the edge of the tub. “You basically own half my closet at this point anyway.” He wanted to say something more — something about how he didn’t care how long she stayed, how he’d give her every shirt he had if it meant she felt okay — but the words stuck, too big in his throat.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, knowing it was a stupid question, pushing himself up from the edge of the tub. But instead of moving away, he hesitated, hand brushing the faucet. “Do you want me to turn the hot water back on?”

"No, that's okay. I kind of thought this would make me feel better, but now I'm just wet and not in a fun way." Trying to keep things light again. She hadn't been in the tub for long and she was already itching to get out, feeling so indecisive and unsure and uncomfortable in her own body. Though part of her wanted Nick to climb into the tub with her and just hold her, kind of like they had when he had been feeling down about his brother, but there was another, more logical part of her that thought it was best to keep him at a distance.

"Sorry I can't really make up my mind about anything. This whole thing is fucking weird." The only thing she was sure of was that she had made the right decision, but she did regret dragging Nick into this mess. She had already dumped a lot on him: the pregnancy itself, not growing up with a mom, her own self-doubt about being a parent. Zoey had never actually opened up that much to any person before.

God, I should be in therapy, she thought to herself as she covered her face with her wet hands.

He tried to picture what forgetting her would even look like. Blocking her number? Deleting photos? Pretending not to notice when her name popped up on social media? It all felt ridiculous. She was in everything, his house, his clothes, his best memories. He could throw all that away, sure, but it wouldn’t matter. Forgetting her didn't seem like a plausible option.

Her phone lit up, and he didn’t even have to look. Of course someone was texting her. There was always someone, some guy or some girl, whoever was next in line to fill the silence he was about to leave behind. Not that he could blame her; he was the same. The only difference was that when Zoey was around, he couldn’t think about anyone else.

He stared at her, his jaw tightened. For a second he thought about laughing, because honestly, what else was there to do? This was how it ended — with her clearing her throat and saying thanks for the offer, like they’d just split a check instead of a life. “Yeah,” he said finally, voice low. “Wouldn’t want things to be awkward.” He gave a small, dry chuckle. “You wouldn’t want to keep him or her waiting, right?” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter.”

She bit her tongue and refused to take the bait. It wasn't hard for her to see his perspective and feel some remorse. It was actually worse than that. Her chest tightened, almost as if she was about to start gasping for air. These unfamiliar emotions had started to consume her, but whenever she felt a new wave of guilt wash over her, she remembered how she had felt since she had the abortion: helpless, weak, pathetic. She needed to cut the chord and be done with it. He could hate her if that made it easier on him.

But how was she supposed to leave after all that? Did she say bye or see you around and wish him well? Richie was probably eavesdropping in the kitchen — not that they were making it difficult for him with how much they had raised their voices — and passing him was going to be just as awkward.

"I should go." The patio chair scraped on the wood as she stood up, knocking over the nearly full bottle of Pellegrino in the process. "Shit, sor—" She abruptly cut herself off from apologizing, not wanting it to be misconstrued as something else. "I'm just gonna go wait out front for my ride, but, um, it was nice to meet your brother."