Chapter 11
The Outburst
Robyn
The sound, a dull thud that won’t quit, is powerful yet distant.
I take in the melted pint of ice cream, the chip crumbs, and the kernels of popcorn on the carpet.
Julian’s sitting, half sprawled on the floor.
He stirs, eyes fluttering open until he focuses on me.
He must’ve crashed after we finished the movie, with one arm draped on the couch, his hair sticking up on one side, and a bowl of tortilla chips across his lap.
The sound rattles through the doorframe, louder with each pound.
I push myself upright and stand, then Julian grabs me by the shoulder and places himself in front of me. As we walk to the front door, the thudding becomes more frantic.
“What the hell?” His voice sounds rough, sleep-worn.
The clock on the microwave reads 3:17 a.m. I try to get ahead of Julian, but he grabs my elbow and shoots me a look that says stay next to me, tugging on his shirt. I open the door, wafting the scent of beer and liquor into my apartment.
Nate. He’s swaying on the threshold, looking more like a palm tree in a hurricane than the composed, put-together man I’m used to. Cognac-colored eyes, glassy and unfocused, and auburn hair sticking up.
Andrzej stands, coldly statuesque, hovering near Nate, ready to drag him out at the first sign of trouble. Judging by the distillery smell that clings to Nate’s breath, I’d say we’re on the express train to catastrophe.
“You said, Robyn—” He stumbles, catching himself against the wall before gravity wins. He’s a fucking mess. “This”—he waves at Julian, disdain curling through his voice—“doesn’t look platonic.”
It takes my mind a few seconds to catch up. Julian’s half asleep, shirt rumpled, his hair flattened on one side from how he passed out. I can practically see the dots connecting in Nate’s drunken brain—and every single one’s wrong.
But Nate’s gaze isn’t even on me anymore. It’s on Julian’s chest, zeroed in. “Nate,” he doesn’t break away. “Nate,” I say louder. “Stop looking at Julian’s nipple.”
He lifts his eyes to Julian’s. “Bro, did you pierce your nipples?”
Julian’s eyes light up, even if he still looks a bit groggy, and a slow smirk spreads across his face. “Wanna see what else I’ve pierced? Maybe that’ll show you what a real man looks like.”
I smack Julian in the ribs. “Kells, don’t start. He’s already malfunctioning.”
Andrzej’s laugh bursts out before he can stop it. He plants a hand on Nate’s shoulder, steadying him when he sways. “Man, he roasted you good,” he says, chuckling.
Nate scowls, muttering something I can’t quite make out, and Andrzej tightens his grip. Nate doesn’t lighten up, though, his focus darts between Julian and me, and he shrugs off Andrzej’s hand.
“You think this is funny?” His voice cracks through the hallway and into my apartment. “You”—he gestures at Julian, the movement sloppy but full of venom—“you sleeping here now? Did you two fuck? Is that all it takes?”
“Nate, stop.” My voice is low, warning. The last thing I want is an audience in the form of nosy neighbors.
“No.” He takes a step closer, unsteady but intent. Julian’s already in front of him, a quiet wall between us. Nate’s jaw works, breath hot with alcohol. “You don’t get to tell me to stop. You—” He points at me, finger trembling slightly before he drops it, eyes glassy and furious.
“You don’t get to tell her shit, Nate,” Julian says, pressing his chest into Nate. “You don’t want her cozying up with me, don’t break her fucking heart.”
“Julian! I don’t need you to fight anything for me.”
Nate scoffs. “As if you would, Robyn.”
Julian and I snap our heads to Nate while Andrzej mutters about Nate’s stupidity. My stomach knots.
“You didn’t fight for us. You threw it all away.
” His voice wobbles, with a slow drag of vowels, but the words cut clean through the room.
“Yo-you just decided one day you were done.” He laughs, sharp and hollow, running a hand over his face.
“But maybe that’s good, isn’t it? That’s what you wanted, right?
Focus on your diagnostics training?” He enunciates with a mocking flair while adding air quotes to the last two words.
“Never have to worry about who you leave alone all the time.” He’s back to holding himself up with the wall, blinking and straining to keep me in focus.
Andrzej steps forward, hands raised slightly to pull him back. “Come on, Nate. You’re—”
Julian slides aside, and I force myself to meet Nate’s eyes. “What are you saying, Nate?” My voice is sharp, but tight in my chest, each word trembles with the coil of fury and dread in my belly. I thought he was confused, or maybe just into her. It’s about to get worse.
“I’m saying you abandoned me. For your career.” He gestures at me, a flick of his wrist that somehow makes my blood burn hotter.
Andrzej steps closer, a hand brushing Nate’s shoulder. “Come on, man, let’s not—”
“No! Andrzej, let him say it!” My voice climbs.
“This program of yours ruined everything!” he shouts. “You’re always gone! It’s like being in a relationship with myself.”
My jaw tightens, fists trembling at my sides. “Nate, it was only a year. I’m more than halfway through—”
“A year you didn’t have to do!” His voice cracks into a shout, rough from drinking and exhaustion.
He gestures wide, nearly hitting the doorframe before catching himself on it.
“You said so yourself! You’ve been dangling this carrot of being done for years: intern year, then general medicine, more general medicine …
” He shakes his head hard, but it does nothing to clear his eyes.
“But it’s always something with you! You were supposed to be wrapping up!
And then, out of the blue, you take this competitive fellowship? ! What the fuck?!”
My chest heaves. I dig my nails into my palm. “So you feel cranky, like a toddler, and your response is what? Having dates and making out for thousands to see?” I shout, leaning forward, trembling with fury. “Tell me, Nate—what came first? Because I … I can’t even decide what’s worse!”
Julian’s hand lands on my shoulder. “Robyn, maybe you should cool it—”
I shake it off, spine rigid, heat coiling in every nerve. “Tell me, Nate! What came first?!”
“You’re never with me!” His voice drags, thick with booze and bitterness. “All we do is fuck and nap.” He breathes hard through his nose, the smell of alcohol cutting through the air.
I take a step closer, fists balled, breath coming fast. “How pathetic are you that you can’t handle your own company while I work?”
“I’ve been second to med school our entire relationship!” He exhales sharply, shoulders slumping as if carrying the weight of it all, but eyes still burning.
Heat pulses through me, like electricity in my veins, limbs tense, chest tight. Every word from him is fuel. “You know why I took up this program?” My voice rises, ragged, shaking with rage and exhaustion.
He shakes his head slowly, the motion loose and uneven, yet defeated. His shoulders sag forward, breath spilling out in a rough exhale.
“Do you even remember how bad my board scores were?” My voice catches, jagged, almost breaking. “I—I barely scraped by, Nate. Barely got a residency in Chicago. You think it’s easy to land a full-time neurology job after that?”
I swallow hard, shaking my head, laughing—it’s sharp, bitter, and it hurts more than it helps.
“Why do you think I’m obsessed with doing a good job?
Because if I don’t, if I fuck up … I get shipped off to some tiny hospital in the middle of nowhere!
You want that? You’ll resent me for having to quit your Mr. Big Architect job to design single family homes!
” My voice disappears. The way you already do.
“And that’s all without wanting to do right for patients like my mom, Nate. ”
The words scrape across my skin, cold and cutting, and for a second, the room tilts. Julian and Andrzej freeze at the edges of my vision, witnesses to Nate and I lashing out at each other.
For a second, Nate’s eyes fill with hesitation, and his tense shoulders relax.
Then he hardens back up. “Well, it doesn’t even …
” he bites back. “Doesn’t even matter now.
” He points, finger trembling. “You left me alone a long time ago … and then you broke up with me anyway.” His voice drops to a rasp. “Guess we meant that little to you.”
“Nate, I already told you. I don’t have time; I don’t have energy for this.
I have literal lives in my hands.” My body is heavy, muscles screaming from the day, heart still racing from rounds, but the anger under my skin refuses to let me stand still.
“So maybe it’s time you really feel. Nine seconds, Nate. Nine. Fucking count them.”
On a reckless impulse, I grip Julian by his shirt, curling my hand around the fabric, and pull him to me.
My chest presses against his, burning, tension coiling through my limbs.
Every exhausted fiber in me hums with fury, and for a moment, we just hold each other, eyes locking—silent, electric confirmation humming between us.
Maybe there’s a point to this stupid trend, because I feel a rush of dopamine that used to be just Nate’s.
Then we collide. Lips crash, desperate, sharp, the heat of frustration and need igniting through the fatigue that weighs on my shoulders.
Our heads tilt. One. I part my lips, a taste of the heat of his mouth against mine.
Two. His tongue slides in, soft but masterful, pressing into mine.
Three. Our tongues tangle, hot and frantic.
His heart thrums, steady under my fist. Four.
His fingers thread into my hair, tugging gently, and a shiver runs down my spine.
Five. Our tongues tease and spar, each swipe stoking my anger.
Six. I bring him closer, pushing my body against his.
Seven. We switch sides, bodies sliding, adjusting, skin brushing skin with a friction that makes my exhaustion flare into raw energy.
Eight. We slow, breathing ragged, chests rising and falling, the heat lingering in every nerve.
Nine. We pull away, hearts hammering, breaths mingling.
For a suspended second, all I feel is the dopamine rush.
Nate has tears running down his cheeks, disbelief written across his face and slack jaw. I press against his chest, and it stiffens under my touch. His shoulders sag, then tense again.
“That’s nine seconds, Nate.” I grab the door with my other hand, and his gaze flickers between me and the door, his chest heaving, a sharp inhale that makes my fingers twitch against him.
“Tell me if it still feels like a fucking prank to you.”
Then I slam the door in his face.