Page 22 of Accidentally Abducted (Nereidan Compatibility Program #1)

Jake

Three days since I returned to Earth. Three days of staring at the communicator, willing it to do something, feeling the empathic bond grow fainter with each passing hour. Three days of trying to pretend I wasn't fundamentally changed by my time with Zeph.

I should be looking for a new job. I should be apologizing to friends who texted worried messages while I was gone.

I should be doing anything other than sitting on my couch, scrolling through real estate listings I have no intention of pursuing, the container of alien gemstones open on the coffee table beside me.

My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears. It's become a bizarre ritual, looking at houses I could theoretically buy with my newfound alien wealth, imagining a life I have no desire to live. As if material possessions could somehow fill the Zeph-shaped hole in my chest.

I scroll to the next listing. A sleek downtown condo with floor-to-ceiling windows and a rooftop garden. "You could grow herbs," I tell myself without enthusiasm. "Maybe some tomatoes."

The truth is, I don't want a mansion or a condo or even a modest starter home. I don't want to be anywhere that Zeph couldn't find me if... if what? If he comes back? If he abandons his people, his duty, his entire world for someone he knew for three days?

The reasonable part of my brain knows how absurd that hope is. The rest of me doesn't care.

I've kept my phone charged but silent, responding to texts with vague excuses about food poisoning and a broken phone.

I've ventured out only for necessities, unable to bear the thought of small talk with baristas or cashiers.

How do you make conversation when you've seen the stars from an alien ship?

How do you care about the weather when you've floated in bioluminescent pools with someone who glows when they're turned on?

I close the real estate app and pick up one of the gemstones, turning it in the light. It catches the afternoon sun streaming through my window, fracturing it into prismatic shards that dance across the wall. Beautiful, valuable, and completely meaningless.

A knock at the door startles me so badly I nearly drop the stone. I shove it and the others back into the container and tuck it under a couch cushion, heart racing with irrational panic. No one knows about the gemstones. No one knows about any of it.

The knock comes again, more insistent this time.

"Jake? You in there? It's Derek."

Of course it's Derek. The universe apparently hasn't finished with its cosmic joke.

I consider not answering, but knowing Derek, he'll just keep knocking. With a sigh, I haul myself off the couch and open the door, coming face to face with the man the aliens actually wanted.

"Hey," I say, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. "What's up?"

Derek looks exactly the same as he did three months ago when we broke up, annoyingly fit, perfectly groomed, and radiating that particular blend of confidence and cluelessness that I once found charming and now find exhausting.

"Dude, where have you been?" he asks, leaning against my doorframe. "I knocked on your door yesterday, and your neighbor said she hadn't seen you since Tuesday."

"I was out of town," I lie, keeping a firm grip on the door. "Friend emergency."

Derek raises an eyebrow. "Must have been some emergency. You look like shit."

"Thanks. Always nice to get your professional fitness assessment."

He shrugs, unperturbed by my sarcasm as always. "Just saying, you might want to hydrate. Your skin's got that dull thing going on."

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, funny story, 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?"

"Life. The universe. Everything." I attempt a smile that feels more like a grimace. "The answer isn't forty-two, by the way."

Derek doesn't get the reference, just looks at me with increasing concern. "Look, I know things ended... not great between us. And I never really apologized for how I handled it."

"Derek—"

"No, let me say this." He sets the box down and takes a step closer, his expression serious in a way that would have meant something to me three months ago. "I'm sorry for how things ended. I wasn't fair to you. I made it sound like all the problems were on your side, and that wasn't true."

Three months ago, this apology would have meant everything. Now it feels like a message from another timeline, one where I never experienced the blue light, never met Zeph, never felt what it was like to truly connect with someone.

"It's fine," I say, and I mean it. "Really. That feels like a lifetime ago."

Derek studies my face, clearly thrown by my lack of reaction. "Are you sure? Because you seemed pretty torn up about it for a while."

"I'm sure. We weren't right for each other. You were right about that part."

He seems relieved but still confused by my easy acceptance. "Well, good. I'm glad we can be... you know, friends."

"Sure."

"So, brewery tonight? I could pick you up around eight."

"I really can't, Derek. But thanks."

He sighs, then reaches out and squeezes my shoulder in that familiar way he used to when he thought I was being difficult. "Alright, but the offer stands. I worry about you, you know."

The moment his hand touches me, I flinch so hard I nearly hit my head against the doorframe.

It's not that his touch is unpleasant, it's that it's the first human contact I've had since Zeph, and the difference is staggering.

Derek's hand is cool, impersonal, carrying none of the empathic resonance I've grown accustomed to.

The absence of that connection is like a physical pain, a reminder of what I've lost.

Derek pulls his hand back quickly, startled by my reaction. "Whoa, sorry. Didn't mean to—"