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Chapter Thirty-Nine
Point of View: Narrator

Nick walked into the house, carrying the bags, and stopped dead in his tracks at the door jamb. One of the potted palm trees lay across the floor, the dirt from the pot spread all over the carpet in the foyer. The closet door was open, all his jackets and shoes were everywhere, tossed carelessly around. There was crap overturned and papers shredded. His car keys were floating halfway down in the huge fishtank that made up the wall of his living room. He blinked, shocked. "KRYSTAL????" he bellowed, feeling heat and anger arise in him. He dropped the bags right there by the door. "What the FUCK are you doing?" he walked further into the house.

The kitchen looked like a hurricane hit it. Every single cupboard door was open, as was his fridge and freezer, and there was food and broken glass and silverware just chucked every which way. The microwave door was punctured by a knife. "What the fucking hell," he muttered, backing out of the kitchen. He was about to inspect the living room when he heard a loud crash upstairs. He bolted up the steps, taking them three at a time, his heart racing. My studio, he thought, panic gripping him. He bolted past his bedroom and into the studio at the end of the hall.

The lights were on, the soundboard smashed, pictures torn off the walls. A box of reels he'd been working on for months were scattered on the floor, only some of them in any kind of condition that could possibly be construed as possibly working. "Jesus," he whispered, anger burning so deep and hot in him that he literally couldn't move for a moment. He could feel every muscle in his body tense up.

"WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?" he screamed, knowing she was still there - her car was there, he'd heard a crash. He was almost blind he was so mad. He could literally see red - that old Warrent song finally made sense to him.

More crashes responded, and he followed them, his hand dragging along the wall in the hallway. They led him to his bedroom. Jesus, no, he thought as he pushed it opened.

Krystal was in the center of the room. She had a stack of CDs in her hand and she was throwing them against the wall like they were frisbees. His computer was on the floor, which could only mean bad things, and there was paper everywhere. He looked around and saw gutted spiral notebooks littering the floor, including the one that Dr. Haseltine had given him.

He felt like he was gonna be sick.

Nick ran across the room and grabbed her from behind, wrapping his arms around her to make her stop. She dropped the CDs and they clattered at their feet. She quickly started stamping her stiletto heeled feet on them furiously. He lifted her up off the floor, her legs kicking his shins, and dragged her into the hallway. "What the fuck did you do to my house?" he screamed into her face, cornering her against the wall.

Krystal looked up at him. "Who the fuck is she? Was it that fucking old hag from this morning?" she screeched, pointing toward the driveway.

"First of all," Nick said, his voice growling, "It's none of your business who I was just with, and second of all what the hell were you thinking? My stuff! Do you have any idea how much damage..." he stared at her. "I told you to leave," he said.

"I did leave," she snarled, "But I came back. You can't just leave me, tell me no, Nick. You don't walk away from me."

"So you fuck up everything I own? Because that'll make me want you!" He glared into her eyes, she stared back. Then, he saw it. She wasn't focused. She wasn't...there. "Jesus fucking Christ," he turned away.

Krystal screamed, "Don't you judge me!"

"You're high," Nick yelled. "In my house. You are high here in my house."

"Because nobody's ever been high here before," she screeched, "You and I were high here every fucking day last summer, Nick."

Nick closed his eyes. "I want you to go," he begged. "Please, just leave me here okay? You don't love me, you don't." He held up his arms, "If you did, you never would've done this to me. You've ruined everything I cared about."

Krystal narrowed her eyes at him. "Fuck you." She turned and stormed away, as though she thought that was a good comeback.

Nick stood in the hallway and listened to her descending the stairs, stumbling. When she got to the bottom, her heels were clicking on the tile floor. She was talking to herself in a soft, slushy kind of voice now. He heard the door open in the foyer. He took a deep breath.

He couldn't let her drive.

Nick turned and bolted down the stairs after her, out the front door and across the lawn before she'd even reached her stupid little Barbie car. He blocked the driver door before she could get the handle. "What are you doing?" she growled.

"You can't drive," he said, "Call a cab."

Her nose wrinkled, "Um, ew. No. I'm not calling a cab. Cabs are for people who can't afford cars."

"And for people who are too fucked up to drive them," Nick snapped. He reached for his cellphone, but he still had the spiderman body suit on and it was underneath it, in his jeans pocket. "Give me your phone," he said.

"I'm not calling a cab," she yelled, shoving him out of the way violently.

"Krystal, it's not safe, please," he begged as she got into the car and yanked the door shut. He grabbed the handle, but she'd already locked it. "KRYSTAL," he yelled, panic rising in his voice. "C'mon, don't." She started the car up, the engine roaring. "Krystal, seriously, please. You're gonna get hurt."

Krystal paused, her hands on the wheel, and for just a moment he thought she was going to listen, to get out and call a cab. But then she looked at him, deliberate, a cold stare on her face, and extended her middle finger, before slamming on her gas pedal. He had to two step backwards to get away from her tire before she clipped his feet. He backed into the fountain and almost fell in. He caught his balance at the last moment, as her pink convertible disappeared around the end of the driveway. He could hear the tires squealing and the engine roaring from where he stood for quite some time.

He turned and looked at the house, his heart sinking. Everything in there was a mess or destroyed or both. He dropped onto the edge of the fountain and closed his eyes, covering his face with his hands. He tensed the muscles in his face. "One.. two... three..." On eight, he relaxed them. Then tensed the muscles in his neck. "One... two... three..." and so on throughout his body.

But when he was done, he still really, really wanted to get away.



"Did you see the stuff he bought tonight?" Kayla was saying as she put her purse down on the counter. Zoe and Kayla had been discussing Nick all the way home. "He got like four boxes of cereal, Advil, spinach and a bag of chips. He called it grocery shopping, Aunt Zoe."

"I call it being a bachelor," Zoe replied, shrugging. "He knows what he's doing. Maybe he only needed a couple staples."

"Cereal, chips and spinach?"

Zoe shrugged. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"He probably hasn't had real food in, like, forever," Kayla answered, "Why don't you bring him to dinner or something? He looks so skinny, it's weird."

Zoe shook her head, "No."

"Why?" Kayla asked, "He did a nice thing for you."

"He did a weird thing for me," Zoe corrected her, "And no, because I'm not inviting him here, for one, and for two, I'm not letting you mack on him, Kayla. He isn't boyfriend material. He's just... a guy I drive with."

Kayla threw her hands into the air, frustrated, "So the guy doesn't deserve an actual meal?"

Zoe sighed. "Please, drop it, Kayla. I said no."

Kayla scowled.