Between listening to the voices arguing back and forth in my head and staying huddled over my computer as I had been, by the time afternoon rolled around, I was battling a headache – and a backache. I took a break around one and scavenged in the kitchen, depressed by how little food there was. I needed to hit the grocery store.

After putting some water on to boil for some ramen noodles, I took some ibuprofen for my headache and back before grabbing a pen and a piece of paper to start my list.

The thoughts in my head eluded me.

Why couldn’t I just put food down?

“Because you’ve done that before and spent most of your paycheck and came back with nothing but junk food, beer, and wine. Make a list, Rave,” I muttered to myself.

By the time the water was boiling, I had something of a list, mostly out of a desire for a real meal that had nothing to do with packaged food and everything to do with a need for a homecooked meal. I wanted a steak, mac and cheese, and green beans. Maybe even corn on the cob. Cooking for one could be a bummer, but right now, the need for comfort food was strong.

Dumping the noodles into the water, I blanked my mind on just why I was craving comfort food.

I’d brooded over that enough for the day, hadn’t I?

Thoughts of Nicco weren’t far away at all, and I couldn’t rid my memories of the expression that had been on his face just before he’d walked away. Self-disgust churned inside me, and I couldn’t make it go away.

I just didn’t let myself think about it.

Once the noodles were done, I finished the rest of the prep and grabbed a pair of chopsticks from the drawer. I ate standing up, with a diet soda open by my side as I stared off into nothing.

I wasn’t getting anything serious accomplished, so once I was done eating, I was going to shower and head to the grocery store. Tonight, I’d have real food.

Maybe watch a movie. Or read a book. Something that required little to no thought sounded ideal, so it was probably going to be a movie.

Just as I was finishing up the noodles, somebody knocked on the door. Lowering the bowl to the counter, I went to check and see who it was.

The second I looked through the little peephole, my heart started to race.

It was Nicco.

He knocked again, head bowed, with one hand braced on the doorjamb.

My breath hitched in my lungs, and I backed away a step, looking down at myself.

I was dressed in a sloppy, beat up pair of jeans and one of my rattiest old t-shirts. It fell a little short of my navel, leaving a strip of my midriff bare.

What was he doing here?

He knocked again, and I had to decide…do I open the door?

Hurriedly, I shoved a hand through my hair then reached for the doorknob. If he’d waited twenty minutes, I would have been showered, at least.

He looked up at the sound of the door opening, and our eyes met. Self-consciously, I slid a hand down over my clothes, smoothing the worn, old shirt down at my waist.

His eyes slid down over my torso, then back up to meet mine.

“Nicco.”

He blinked slowly, his lashes shielding that magnificent blue from me for a second before looking back at me. Inclining his head, he asked softly, “Can I come in?”

“I…um…”

“Are you busy?”

“I was getting ready to shower. I need to…” I was babbling and putting him off, afraid of what he might want to say to me. Straightening my shoulders, I met his gaze squarely. “I’ve got errands to run, but they can wait. Come on in.”

I’d never been a coward. I wasn’t about to start now.

And there was some small, foolish part of me that was dancing in delight to see him again. I wanted to grab that small, foolish piece and hide it, tuck it away before she could slip out and make a bigger fool of us both by doing something humiliating…like throwing my arms around him.

I curled my fingers into my fists because they itched to touch him.

Nicco eyed me strangely, and I realized I’d yet to step out of the way to let him in.

Forcing myself to back up, I let him in, and once he’d passed by – man, he smelled so good – I closed the door.

Crossing my arms over my exposed midriff, I met his eyes as he turned to face me.

“How are you?” he asked, his voice polite. Oddly formal.

“I’m good. And you?”

He nodded in lieu of answering and looked around my apartment. “Do you mind if I sit?”

I shrugged. But he wasn’t looking at me, so out loud, I said, “Feel free.”

He took a seat in the broken-down armchair my dad had passed on to me when I’d moved into this place.

I settled in the middle of the couch, my hands tucked between my legs.

“I shouldn’t have talked to your sister,” I said, forcing the words out of a tight throat. His eyes swung in my direction, and he arched a black brow. “It was over the line, and I’m sorry.”

Nicco nodded. “You’re right. It was over the line.” He cleared his throat, then added, “But I do understand you’re dealing with something that was pretty hard on you. I know what Gabriel Marks did had an impact on you.”

“An impact,” I echoed. My voice sounded hollow, even to my own ears. Rising from the couch, I paced over to the window and pushed the curtains aside, staring out over the little terraced space that served as my backyard. “I don’t think you realize just what an impact it had, Nicco.”

He was quiet, but only for a few seconds. When he spoke again, his voice was closer. “Maybe you should tell me.”

I turned and saw that he’d risen from the chair and moved until he was only a couple of feet away.

“It destroyed their family. Mr. Mike…that was Mary Jo’s dad. He was such a fun guy. He loved everybody. But he was…proud. He always thought he could handle everything, do everything. Then this thing comes up that’s bigger than him and when he messes up…he lost everything, Nicco. He had his own business, and he was looking at the possibility of losing not just that, but their home. Their cars…” I shook my head. Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them away.

Nicco cleared his throat. “You don’t–”

I held up a hand and looked back outside, focusing on the anger that burned just under the grief. “Yes. I do. One day after school, I was walking home with Mary Jo. We were going to study. We go inside and…” My voice hitched. Giving myself a second, I took a deep breath, waited until I knew I could speak without the words trembling, then I forced myself to go on. “The house was quiet. It wasn’t ever quiet like that. Mary Jo’s mom had yoga on Wednesdays, so we weren’t expecting her to be there. But it was still just so, so quiet. And we’d seen her dad’s car in the driveway. We didn’t know why he was home. But we went to go say hi…” The tears threatened again, memories of the girl I’d been rising to taunt me. I turned to face Nicco. “We found him in his office. He’d killed himself. He had a handgun and he…” Shaking my head, I looked away again.

Nicco muttered something under his breath. After a second, he said, “So you, the two of you found him.”

“Yes,” I said, my voice already raw. From the corner of my eye, I saw him lifting a hand toward me, but I backed away. “Don’t, okay? I’m…I just need a minute.”

He nodded. “Take your time.”

Easing away from him, I slid away from the window, paced a few times back and forth in front of the couch. “He couldn’t handle it, so he just left them. I know all the trite phrases about suicide – both the shit people say about how he should have been stronger, and the shit people say that he was suffering and the depression got to be too much. I know all of that.” I stopped and looked back at Nicco. “And I also know that if he’d never met Gabriel Marks, there’s a damn good chance he’d still be alive.” Mouth dry, I turned away from him once more. “Excuse me. I need a drink.”

I made my way into the kitchen and grabbed the diet soda I’d left sitting on the counter. I wished it wasn’t so early so I wouldn’t feel bad cutting it with some Jack Daniels. Then I remembered…I didn’t have any.

“What the hell.” Grabbing my pencil, I added whiskey to the list just as Nicco came into the kitchen behind me.