Going Nowhere Fast
by Meagan

I'm the biggest asshole on the face of the planet. Not to mention whatever lives *in* the planet.

I took a perfectly nice, intelligent, caring woman, and turned her into someone who can walk in on me screwing her cousin and not bat an eye. Well, okay, that's not quite true. She was more than a bit upset. But she didn't give a damn about me. It was the fact that *her cousin* was a more than willing participant. For me, she felt apathy. After the weekend was over, we would go back, and everything would be just as it was before we went up to the cabin. But for her cousin, the one she had worshipped since childhood, she felt hatred on a level that even I haven't experienced. Either on the giving or receiving end. Compared to her, I had warm fuzzy feelings for that monster unleashed halfway through my junior year of high school.

I had let her down so many times that I wasn't even a blip on her disappointment radar.

And that was what did it. What made me avoid her for the rest of the weekend. I didn't want to look in her eyes again and see the calm directed at me and the fury directed at my ex. *I* was the one she should have been pissed at. But she just didn't care.

So once we got back home, I started thinking. A lot. The first thing I decided was that she had to get out of my department. Get her away from guys who just obliterate her self-esteem, who turn her into the apathetic creature she was. Well, okay, not *guys*. Just me. I asked her to leave the department. She just blinked and said, "Okay." That was it. No protests, no tears, no threats of sexual harassment charges. And she would have had a damned good case. There was no "sleep with me, and you'll get a promotion" or "sleep with me or lose your job," but it was still very much a forbidden thing. I was her *manager*. They're supposed to know better. I was going to talk to whoever I could to get her a better job, but she managed to do just fine without me. In less than a week, she was gone. And that made me think some more.

When had my life spun out of control? I remembered her first day on the job. She was trying to find the coffee filters in the breakroom, and I teased her about using caffeine as a crutch. She just shrugged, smiled, and said, "At least it's not crack." Someone as skilled with a comeback as I had tried to be in high school. Someone I could respect, but that's not how things turned out. I seem to recall actually *caring* about people. Having true friends who I was willing to die for and who were willing to put their lives on the line for me. Not even in return for anything. Just to keep everyone in our lives. I distinctly remember the feeling of having hands reach into my chest and pull my heart out when someone I cared about found me kissing someone else. Twice. I remember those people actually being upset about betrayal.

So after she got out, the next step was to get me out. If I was twenty years older, everyone would say I was going through a mid-life crisis. Except instead of having an affair with a twenty-three-year-old, I was ending one. So I must have been having some sort of breakdown.

When most people talk about soul searching, they usually mean that they look deep within themselves, examining the recesses of their souls for fragments of meaning. For me, it was a search for my soul. Period. I was wondering if I even had one any more. Then I decided that it must have been there -- *somewhere* -- since it was an issue that mattered to me. Now I knew what a gypsy soul restoration curse must feel like. Well, sort of. I mean, I hadn't actually killed anyone. Unless you count the vibrant person she used to be. I knew I had been an utter bastard for years. It took her complete apathy to make me care and remember how I used to be.

It wasn't like I couldn't afford to take time off. I was highly paid -- extremely overpaid, to be honest. And instead of blowing the extra money on things like cars, boats, or vacations, I just saved it. Invested it. You'd be amazed at how well some of those stocks perform. And then there's the company's personal leave of absence policy. I could take up to three months off and still have a job when I came back. If I decided to come back.

And, really, that's what it came down to. I could take a break, or I could make a break.

I just didn't know which option to choose.

~~~~

"Lex?" I had one more box to carry out to my car, and then I would be done. Ready to go "home" and clean out the fridge, pack the car, and get out of town. But she was there at my office door. Saying the name of the so-called man I had become. A name bestowed by work buddies in honor of Lex Luthor and his ruthless business practices. Because they thought it fit. Of course, they thought it was an honor to be named after him. Their favorite movies were _Wall Street_ and _Glengarry Glen Ross_. And they always rooted for the bad guy.

I didn't know what to say. She had obviously found the note. I hadn't been sure since I hadn't heard anything in the two weeks since I had left it. "Please don't call me that."

She frowned. "So what am I supposed to call you?" I had forgotten we met after I had acquired the nickname. After everyone started using it. She didn't know any better.

"You're not." Oh, *that* was good. Just throw her aside and offer no explanation. I sighed. "Look, I didn't mean that the way it sounded. You need to stay away from me. For your own good. I wasn't like this before." And I actually miss that loser I used to be, I added to myself. He may have been a loser, but people loved him. Cared about him. Money and power doesn't always mean success. I didn't have friends. I had drinking buddies and hangers-on. "I'm going away for a few months. Maybe when I get back, we can get together and see if anything has changed."

Again with the blink and "Okay." She turned to leave but faced me once again. And handed me a backpack. "It's for the road." Then she left.

Well. She wanted me gone just as badly as I wanted to leave, so everything worked out. I picked up the box, slung the backpack over my shoulder, and locked the door behind me.

~~~~

So it was time to hit the road. As I passed the couch, I saw it. The backpack. I had dumped it there when I got home that last day after work and promptly forgot about it. I was torn -- leave it behind, thereby making a clean break from everything, or take it along as a reminder of where I had ended up? I ended up taking it. If nothing else, out of guilt. There must have been a reason she gave it to me, and I owed her at least that much.

I sat in that car for a solid ten minutes before I even put my key into the ignition. This was it. Time to leave everything behind. I remembered the road trip I went on after high school. I hoped this one went as well.

But for some reason, I decided to open the backpack. Tentatively, as if I was afraid she had packed a snake in there, waiting to bite me. Because I really, truly deserved it. Instead, I found a small pillow. A couple of blank books. A packet of Bic pens. Sunblock. Lip balm. Gum. Breath spray. Toothbrush and toothpaste. A first aid kit. A bag of turkey jerky. A bag of peanut m&ms. A box of Cheez-Its. A can of spray cheeze. Two bottles of water. Stationery with stamps. Vitamins. Clean underwear. Socks. A flashlight. Batteries. Maps. A compass. Road flares. A phone card. A can of Fix-a-Flat.

And a cd. That was another thing of hers. She loved music, and she loved making mix cds. And she had made this one. No track listing in the case.

But I had a cd player in the car. So I put the disc in the player. The first thing I heard was a chorus of voices. Led by David Byrne.

I had to turn that song off right there. The accusation -- she had seen every single one of my mistakes and never said a word, but she remembered every face -- was right there, all but screaming at me. Or so I thought. Because the next song changed things. A woman with a mournful voice and a guitar.

So I went back and listened to that first song again. And then I heard it.

~~~~

She lived in a small apartment building. The apartments themselves weren't small, but there were only about ten units in the building. It was a secured building, but I let myself in. We had traded keys at some point. I couldn't remember when. Yet another cause for self-hatred. What was supposed to be a significant step in a loving relationship was something I knew we had done but was unsure how. It was like waking up and realizing that you had just had sex with someone but couldn't remember how, why, or their name. But I knocked on her apartment door. One small step in the right direction. I wasn't sure she could hear me over the loud music inside. If she couldn't, I was going to take that as a sign I was supposed to leave and never come back.

But the music was turned down, and then the door opened. "Sorry about the noise! I forgot the sound levels on this one was all screwy..." And she stopped. "Sorry. I thought you were my neighbor." But she didn't glare at me or shut the door. She just looked at me curiously.

And I had no idea what to say. I knew that I had to see her, but I didn't know where to go from there.

"Lex, are you okay?" Her face clouded with concern. *Concern*. Not pity, not disgust, not malevolent glee.

And I think that's what did it. "Please. Call me Xander." And then I started crying.

Now the concern turned to shock. She had never seen me cry. Hell, I had thought I had forgotten how. And all she did was gather me in her arms, press my head to her shoulder, and murmur comforting things. Then she walked me to her bedroom and tucked me into bed, first removing my shoes, then bringing me a glass of water and a cool, wet washcloth for my face. Just like I was a two-year-old. She just sat there beside me, stroking my head while I made her pillow a soaked mess.

I must have fallen asleep. The next thing I knew, it was dark outside, and she was gone. Well, not *gone*. Just not in the room with me. So I assumed she had given up on me. Like she should have done long ago.

And that's why what I found in the living room surprised me. She was sitting there, calmly reading a book, music turned low. Just reading. As if nothing was happening. As if I hadn't destroyed her.

"You know what changed my mind about you?" I hadn't even been aware she noticed me standing there, so her voice made me jump. "That pen. Did you know it's been on my Christmas list every year since I was ten?" I shook my head. All I knew was that she refused to use plain old ballpoint and rollerball pens, and I always got ink on my hands when I used hers. I remembered someone from my past telling me that the nice ones -- translation: the expensive ones -- didn't leak and blob all over the place. I thought it would be a nice parting gift. Do *something* considerate for a change. "And I remembered _Say Anything_, when she gives him the pen because her dad was making her break up with him. And that's when I knew. You weren't the man I knew. But instead of finding out that my nice, sensitive boyfriend was really the biggest jerk on the face of the planet, I discovered that the asshole I slept with --" I winced at that. It was true, but it still hurt. And it hurt even more that she had just blithely accepted me in that role. And that she thought she deserved nothing more. "That he was really a good guy covered in slime. Once you got rid of that, you weren't nearly as bad as you thought you were. And that you hated the slime but couldn't quite figure out how to get rid of it."

I stared at her, speechless. Again. She has the ability to make me do that.

And then I looked around the room. She had two suitcases and a backpack sitting by the door. A backpack like the one she had given me. Except the one she gave me was blue, and this one was green. She saw me looking at them. "It's up to you." I picked them up and carried them to my car.

So now we're going nowhere fast, just like my mother always said I would. But at least we're enjoying the ride.