smashed on the pavement Who: Chris & Nish. What: A confrontation following this. Where: Apt. 502 When: A little after the journal entries were posted in the lobby.
Chris had only texted Nish after being made to wait for the elevator's reappearance; his appointment to review another property his father was interested in would have to wait, now that he'd seen her handwriting talking about his private affairs spread all over the lobby. Anger made his vision so red he could barely see, and he limped forward into the elevator as it appeared, jamming the fifth floor button so hard he thought he might've broken it. He jammed it again for good measure, the feeling only heightening his anger.
He spilled out into the hallway, a quick line to Nish's front door finding him pounding on it; he hadn't checked to see if she'd responded, if she was even home. Logic was beyond him in the moment; if she didn't answer, he'd take a minute to collect himself, but for now, her door bore the brunt of his frustrations. When she didn't move quickly enough, he beat on it again, loud, echoing thumps that would've woken even the deepest sleeper.
Nish was still in bed when the text woke her up, it's rudeness confusing her sleep-addled brain. A few minutes later loud pounding on her door jolted her all the way awake, and she jumped out of bed, straightening her sleep pants and t-shirt, running her fingers through her hair and yanking the door open.
“What the fuck, Chris, I was sleeping!”
"Lemme tell you what the fuck, Nish," Chris replied, shoving a photocopy into her face, too close to truly be scrutinized. He put the other hand to her door, shoving it wide. "What the fuck are you doing writing about me in some fucking journal?" He took a step toward her, bobbing just a little with the movement. "Why the fuck am I being introduced to it all over the fucking lobby?!"
She took the paper from him and scanned it quickly, her eyes widening the longer she did. “That fucking bastard. He fucking did this.” She seethed, crumpling the paper in her hand. She met his eyes, anger flashing in them as hot and righteous as Chris’. “Abel. My neighbour. He stole my journal when he was over the other night. He did this.” She held up the paper crunched in her hand. “He's doing this to get to me.”
"That doesn't fucking explain why you wrote about me in the first place," Chris returned, pushing Nish back toward his original contention. "Why the fuck would you write any of that down?" He snatched the paper back out of her hand, pushing her into her apartment and all but slamming the door closed behind her. He had enough presence of mind still to realize that they needed privacy for this conversation.
"You fucking took the drugs, Nish? Why didn't you fucking tell me you were a fucking addict?"
She turned away, covering her face with her hands. Of course that was in there. Of course… “I didn't want you to know...you weren't supposed to ever know.” She wandered away from him, towards the living room, infinitely more comfortable with Chris in her apartment than Abel. She sat on the couch, head in her hands. “He's gonna fuck everything up,” she whispered.
She looked up at Chris. “I'm sorry, okay? It...it was private. It was supposed to be…” she sighed and looked away.
"Then don't write private shit down," he replied hotly, crumpling the paper in his hand; Chris' eyes never went away from her face, his anger radiating from all parts of his being. He nearly shook with it. His knuckles went white as his fingers curled around the ball, making it tighter. "I don't know who the fuck else saw it. Did you write anything else down anywhere else? Did you put anything fucking online?"
Her face screwed up with incredulity. “Of course not. I would never do that. I wrote with pen and ink because.. well it was supposed to be fucking private.”
She sighed heavily and let her head fall back on the couch. “So what, did he slip it under your door? Post it to the message board?”
Chris fixed her with an incredulous stare.
"Nish, it's all over the fucking lobby. Why do you think I'm so fucking upset?! You took my personal business and let it get out to where anyone can see it; do you have any fucking idea what this could do, if it got to the wrong person?!"
“That fucking bastard,” she sighed, rubbing her face again. “I'm sorry...this wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't…” her hands fell away and she met his eyes. “You know own I'd never do this on purpose, right? You have to believe me…”
"Then make sure it doesn't fucking happen again. I'll help you out with that -- I'll find another lawyer to help me out." He tossed the paper ball in her direction, uncaring if she caught it or not. The whole situation had been less than satisfying; of course Nish would be apologetic, but his anger was finding little footing, and now he just felt like an ass. He sighed, and shook his head, turning back to the door.
"I have somewhere to be."
She caught the crumpled paper, shock written all over her features. “Chris….” She called after him, “Chris, wait…”
He stopped, pausing; he glanced back at her, arching a brow. "For what, Nish? What the fuck are you going to do to fix this? You can't erase what people saw."
She swallowed, the full force of his anger hitting her like a slap in the face. “You're right, I can't. But...I hoped our friendship meant more than this.” He was right. She was backed into a corner and there was nothing she could do to fix what had been done. But she was a victim too.
Chris blinked, surprised. He turned to face her fully, the door swinging mostly shut behind him. "You thought we were friends? What, because I helped you score?" He barked out a laugh. "Jesuchristo you're fucking sad. Fucking pay for a therapist next time instead of writing shit where it can be fucking found. If I turn up dead tomorrow, you can thank your fucking little diary." It was a cruel thing to say, but the force of his words made it no less true. He finally left through the apartment door, leaving it ajar, limping his way back to the elevator.
Stunned into silence, she watched him go, her limbs numb with shock. Hot tears formed and bounced down her cheeks, her vision blurry as she watched the door swing open wider on its hinges. Abel’s front door was visible through it, causing white-hot rage to replace her grief.
She stood, slamming the door shut as hard as she possibly could, but just as fast as the anger rose it fell away, her head falling onto the hardwood as sobs shook her shoulders.