Chapter 15: A Fall, Delayed

Alexander walked down the steps leading away from Miranda's apartment.

She had thought the evening had went well. She had been unusually affectionate, and unusually open. Unusual, that is, if one didn't consider the fact that she had drank a tall glass of a brew mixture.

Part of Alexander felt pretty terrible. He knew that this was not the way that Miranda had acted on the phone when he was pursuing her initially. He also knew that once the drop hit, even though the emotional effects would be diminished, thanks to whatever alcohol or juice Adrian had added, she would probably regret a lot of her actions. Would she blame Alexander for not stopping her?

His thoughts required more distance, and so as he passed the Cliffside Library, he decided to take the long way around the Observation Walk. The Neptune River churned below, and if Alexander was forced to describe the rumbling sound he would have decided that it sounded almost... hungry.

Alexander strolled forward onto the outstretched promontory, and leaned against the railings. There was no one around; the only sounds were the river below and his own heavy breathing. The mist from his breath hung before him, floating briefly before dissipating into nothing.

He had to also consider that Miranda might not realize what had happened to her. From the sounds of it, she had never drank a brew before. And while all their talk that night about adapting internal stories was relevant, it also was a little abstract. Would Miranda even make the connection?

His sister, if she was faced with this kind of a problem, might start making a Punnett square of possibilities and outcomes, and try to decide based on that. A lot of her decisions she made instinctively, but when faced with a truly difficult problem, she would use this method.

What were his options? He knew right away what his instinct would tell him: run with the situation as far as he plausibly good. But this was probably not the best way to make his decision.

The Punnett square, then. Miranda might know, or she might not. And he could tell her, or he could not. Technically, there were more options than this; he could tell her and establish some serious distance, or he could tell her and try to keep the relationship going. Perhaps it could be a Punett cube?

He shook his head, as if to try and clear it. He had no mind for this sort of thing. Numbers, expected outcomes... this wasn't a good way to solve his problems.

He was a writer, after all. What would this decision look like from a story perspective?

Well, if he didn't tell her and kept the relationship going, that was pretty wrong. He was taking advantage of her, plain and simple, and that never ended up well in stories.

If he did tell her and kept the relationship going, then it was more of a misguided man redemption trope. That usually ended well.

He ran his fingers through his hair. If life was a story, as he truly believed, what did he want that story to look like? He tried to imagine telling his fictitious children the story of how he and his fictitious wife, Miranda, first met. Yes, she was kicked up on brews, not fully in control of her desires, and fell in love with me.

Yeah... when he put it that way, he looked like a pretty terrible bastard.

On the other hand... there were stories that were never told; secrets that were never spread. He didn't think for one second that he knew everything his parents had done in their lives; they probably had done some terrible stuff. If he was explaining the fictitious love story with a different girl... he didn't even have to mention Miranda at all.

He banged his head against the top rail. What was he doing? He had finally gotten more intimate with a girl he had a huge crush on, and he was already coming up with contingency plans on how he could gloss this over with a different girl?

Maybe he was doing this because it was already off to a bad start, and the type of 'relationship story' he wanted was perfect from the beginning. Well, that was certainly a defeatist attitude.

It was surprising how lonely he felt. And it was surprising how... tempting the water below was. Songs from Drain Jump ran through his head, unwelcome.

It would solve a lot of the problems that he was having. Well, not solve, more remove them.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small flask. He took a swig.

Comfort flowed through him, steadying his mind and clearing his thoughts.

What was he worried about? Miranda has practically said that girls did this to themselves all the time anyway. From his perspective, as a guy, this situation wasn't different from any other normal situation.

So he should continue in the relationship, and not worry about it. And besides, Miranda wasn't going to be on the brews all the time. They would just have to see whether they could last in normal times as well as this kicked up time-- and Alexander was confident that they would. Sure, the brews provided a happy initial spark, but how was that any different than, say, if they had met and Miranda was wearing a gorgeous, eye catching dress? This was far from the crisis that he had thought about on the walk over.

As he walked away from the promontory, some detached part of him realized that he was sure glad he had the flask with him. If he had not... who knows what would have happened? He thought back to about a week and a half ago, too. What if he had been on the Observation Walk instead of by some random tree in the middle of the neighborhood?

A shudder ran through him, piercing the calm warmth of the Comfort that he had drank. That had been a close one, indeed. Well, he was prepared for that circumstance again.

Another shudder ran through him as he finally, finally remembered who had gotten him into that mess in the first place. Adrian had acted at dinner as if he didn't know Alexander at all. Maybe he didn't remember either? Alexander certainly hadn't, not at first. And the way Adrian was acting this evening made it hard to tell whether he remembered. The first evening at the brewery was a bit of a blur for Alexander. Perhaps it was for Adrian as well?

He distinctly remembered, however, from that first night, Adrian saying that he never touched the brews. But that couldn't be right-- Adrian had implied that night that he had made those sort of drinks before, often. And he had certainly been drinking one too.

As he left the library behind him and continued towards the graveyard, beyond which lay his apartment, a light snow began to fall. He looked behind him and wondered whether Miranda had hit the drop yet, and if she had, whether this was making her feel any better.

Chapter 15: 1,197 | 30,231/50,000

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