Page 43 of Accidentally Abducted

I resist the urge to tell him that three days ago I was radiant, glowing with the aftereffects of alien sex and empathic bonding. Instead, I cross my arms and get to the point. "Did you need something, or is this just a wellness check?"

"Oh, right." He gestures vaguely with one hand. "I left a couple shirts here when I moved out. Realized it when I was packing for a fitness retreat coming up. Though I'd grab them on my way to the gym."

Of course. Derek and his endless supply of identical athletic wear. I'd packed up his remaining things weeks ago, tired of finding reminders of him in my drawers. He just hadn't been home whenever I'd gone to give the box back to him.

"Wait here," I say, not bothering to invite him in. His surprised expression as I close the door in his face gives me a small, petty satisfaction.

I head to the closet where I'd stashed the last traces of our relationship, hyperaware of how small my apartment suddenly feels. Three days ago I was in space, floating in bioluminescent pools, making pancakes in a kitchen that responded to thought. Now I'm digging through a cardboard box of my ex's forgotten belongings.

When I return to the door, Derek is scrolling through his phone, probably checking his Instagram likes. Some things never change.

"Here," I say, thrusting the box at him. "Should be everything. Two shirts, a protein shaker, those weird compression socks, and that book about optimizing your sleep or whatever."

Derek takes the box, rifling through it with a pleased expression. "Awesome, thanks. I've been looking for this shaker everywhere." He holds up the neon green monstrosity like it's a lost treasure. "It's the perfect size for my post-workout blend."

"Fascinating."

Either he doesn't notice the sarcasm or he chooses to ignore it. "So, what have you been up to? Besides your mysterious friend emergency, I mean."

"Oh, you know. The usual. Making coffee. Getting fired for unexplained absences. Being abducted by aliens. The standard stuff."

Derek laughs, and the sound grates on my nerves in a way it never did before. "Wait, you got fired? That sucks, man."

"It's fine. I was due for a change anyway."

He nods sagely. "Sometimes the universe forces these transitions on us when we're resistant to growth. I always say—"

"Please don't tell me what you always say," I interrupt, unable to bear another one of his Instagram-ready platitudes. "I'm really not in the mood."

Derek frowns, finally registering my tone. "Jeez, sorry. Just trying to help."

I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face. "I know. Sorry. I'm just... it's been a weird few days."

"No kidding. You sure you're okay? You seem really off."

The concern in his voice is genuine, and for a bizarre moment, I consider telling him the truth.Hey, Derek, funnystory, aliens tried to abduct you for their compatibility program, but they got me by mistake. You were supposed to be experiencing empathic bonding and bioluminescent sex, not me. Isn't that hilarious?

"I'm fine," I say instead. "Just tired. Job hunting is draining."

"I bet. Hey, if you need a recommendation, the juice bar next to my gym is hiring. The owner's a client of mine."

"Thanks, but I think I'm looking for something... different."

Derek shifts the box to his hip, studying me with uncharacteristic attention. "Different how?"

"I don't know yet. Just... different."

A week ago, this conversation would have been excruciating, Derek offering unsolicited advice while I struggled not to roll my eyes. Now it's just empty. Nothing he says can touch me, because he exists in a world that suddenly seems impossibly small. He will never know what I know. He will never feel what I've felt.

"Well, if you change your mind about the juice bar, let me know." He takes a step back, then hesitates. "Hey, I'm heading to that new brewery tonight with some friends from the gym. You should come. Might do you good to get out."

"Thanks, but I'm not really up for socializing."

"Come on, Jake." Derek's voice softens, taking on that concerned tone he used to use when he thought I was being self-destructive. "You can't just hide in your apartment forever. Whatever's going on with you, isolation isn't going to help."

"I'm not isolating. I'm... processing."

"Processing what?"

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