Damaged, The Romance of Nick and Layla (Part 4) by Crystal Cierlak

lightness in my legs from either sitting too long or drinking too much. Maybe even both.
    Nick is leaning on the other side of the door frame, eyes glossy like the getting-drunk side of tipsy, and he’s smiling wickedly, like he knows something I don’t and he’s enjoying it.
    “I just assumed you’d say yes,” he grins.
    “Make yourself at home.” I open the door wide and catch a latent whiff of alcohol from his breath.
    “I thought you said you shouldn’t drink alone?” I ask as I shut the door behind him.
    “No, I said you shouldn’t drink alone but what I meant is that we should at least drink together.” It’s like he’s grown another three inches since dinner and the alcohol has brought out a version of his charming personality I’d long since forgotten. He’s dominating the room, still dressed in the v-neck sweater and jeans, but minus any shoes or socks. I always did have a soft spot for his naked feet.
    “Jesus Christ have you gone shopping again or am I seeing double?”
    “Exactly how much have you had to drink?” I grab a hold of his arm and lead him to the desk chair - the only chair not covered in clothing - and sit him down.
    “Not much, I’m just a lightweight these days,” he says as he leans back into the seat.
    “ You a lightweight? Since when?”
    “Since I stopped drinking two years ago.”
    “Oh”.
    “I promise you I’m not out of control,” he says, as though to quell some concern of mine. Ah, yes. Crazy drinking in Vegas that lead to marriage: the sequel . It was easy to cut down on my own drinking after that experience; lesson learned.
    “I believe you,” I say, and I do. I lower myself back down to the ground and swipe out of the music app on my phone.
    “No, leave it,” he protests. “It sounded good.”
    I turn it back on and it lingers up from the ground into the room and settles into the background, our own personal soundtrack.
    “So.” I pull up my legs and wrap my arms around, hugging them to my chest. “Why can’t you sleep?”
    “It’s not quiet enough in my head yet.” He reaches for his long abandoned cup of champagne and takes a sip.
    “I know what you mean. I feel like the more I fold things the more I can process everything that has been done or said.”
    “Have you made any decisions about anything yet?” He leans forward and sets his elbows on his knees, left hand supporting his chin as he looks down at me.
    “I don’t know, maybe,” I sigh. “I’ve never really been on my own before.”
    “Have you been here in Santa Barbara with your parents the whole time?” I can tell by the way he says the whole time he means since the divorce.
    “Yep. For a while it was the three of us but eventually they went back to seeing the world and I was alone. I’m not really sure what I did the whole time. Part of me thinks I just sat on the couch watching the world pass by through the windows.”
    “Sadly I know what you mean.”
    I look down at my knees and think about the question on the tip of my tongue. It seems weird to have to ask. I’ve known Nick for so long and despite the comfort of being in the same room with him it still feels like we’re long lost friends catching up. I guess we kind of are.
    “You mentioned earlier you’ve been alone?” His eyes are locked on mine they look like they’re figuring something out, such as where the question might lead us to. Have I opened a door to something? A line of questioning that will change the atmosphere between us again?
    “I did. I have been.”
    “I haven’t followed your career since-” I cut off. Since everything ended is what I mean, and it’s obvious he knows that.
    “There hasn’t been much to follow, really. After a while I had offers for things; TV reality shows, sit-down interviews, appearances. I guess I’m more or less retired from performing.”
    The way he says it makes me think it’s not a decision he actively made, but something that just kind of happened. There’s