see you again

A few things that happened next belonged to the same category as the kiss: she was an exception, and he felt perfectly comfortable with January being extra, so Eric wasn't looking for a polite way to get his personal space back. Figuratively, and maybe a little literally too, he leaned into that contact. "Yeah, it's been a while. Gotta work on that, or else people will only see me on their screens. But. Life's been bumpy, so I haven't had much time for socializing in general." Nor did he want to see anyone, but she probably read about it too, even though the divorce wasn't as messy as his marriage had been; luckily, they had managed to keep the messy part more or less between the two of them. "How... have you been, Jenny?"

“Bumpy,” she repeated him with a chuckle, and didn’t even pretend she hadn’t heard the subtext. Divorce. Headlines. Everyone’s favorite hobby: watching people fall apart tastefully. She tilted her head, taking a sip from her drink. “Well, at least you are here now,” January said with a smirk, her eyes flicking over his face.

“I’ve been fine,” she said immediately. Too fast, almost like an instinct. “Like… fine-fine.” She nodded, trying to convince both of them. “Still partying,” she paused to take another sip, gesturing the glass she'd been holding. "Still drinking. Not much has changed." The more she spoke, the more she realized how pathetic she's just sounded. “No drugs though. Thankfully,” she paused to correct herself. “Well. Not like… as often as I used to. My choice of poison is botox nowadays. A lot more socially acceptable, you know.”

She waved her hand dismissively, not wanting to talk about her sad life. It was quite pale and obviously boring compared to Eric's. She couldn't help but feel a little bit envious. “How have you been, though? You know... with divorce and everything.”

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.

“Don't do that,” he said, his voice quiet. “Take care of me, I mean.” He looked away for a second, then back at her. “I’m not saying that to be a dick. I just...” He trailed off, clearly trying to find the right words. “I can't have you take care of me after everything I said.” His hand moved across the couch beside him, patting against the cushion.

“Can you come closer?” He waited a second before continuing, his eyes drifting back to Ferris. “If you’re gonna stay, then I’d rather we actually talk about what happened.” Another chuckle left his lips while Nick sighed at himself. “We can't sit here and pretend like nothing happened.”

His career was the only thing that Eric actually had going for him, a single thing he had managed to keep spotless, even if not everyone liked him, his portrayals, or movies. There would always be someone who didn't like something... But at least he was certain that people appreciated him as an artist. A hardworking, talented, bold artist.

So, Eric would never risk his career. That was clear.

He still attended the party.

Somewhere between his first drink and who-would-count-them finger foods, Eric spotted a familiar face making their way in his direction. Did he dare say the familiar face looked as stunning as the last time he saw her!

He barely stopped himself from "Yes way!" that he usually chose as a cheesy icebreaker. Who needed icebreakers when it was January? "I know I work a lot so you fear I might jump outta your fridge next time you open it, but I do have free time and sometimes I spend it like this." Eric chuckled and even though he wasn't the type to greet others with a kiss on the cheek, that's exactly how he greeted January. It was January! Of course, he greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

The cheek kiss landed and she was already laughing, already tipsy. She reached up and held his face with both hands like they were still the same two idiots from high school, her thumbs brushing his jaw. She let him go with another laugh, quickly realized she was being too much. But she was already a few drinks in, so she simply said fuck it and decided to double down instead of correcting it. She hooked her arm through his immediately, her other hand holding the wine glass. “I am glad you decided to show up. I haven’t seen you in forever,” she said with a chuckle, eyes meeting with his. “Except, on my screen but that doesn't count.”

“You know, I’m actually looking for someone to play a crucial role in my next production—” He began, pompous and straight-faced as ever, “and I think you’d be perfect for it. Seriously. You’ve just got... that look.” For perhaps the first time ever, Eric looked at Valerie for longer than he usually deemed tolerable, as if he were genuinely contemplating putting her talentless, mediocre existence anywhere near the front of a camera. “That creepy stalker girl look,” came the cutting punchline.

By the time Eric finished his sentence, she sighed softly, brushing her fingers along her chin before letting her hand drop.

“Wow,” she said with a small, forced chuckle, as if she was actually intrigued. “I think this is the first time anyone’s ever called me that,” she paused, lips pressing together. This was obviously a bit, and Valerie was more than willing to commit. “Thank you, though,” she added, “But I have a fear of cameras.”

A complete lie. And not even a good one.

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."

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 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 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.

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."

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 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."

“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.”

"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.

“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.”

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?"

“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.”

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?"

“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.”