her senses were dulled. the succession of reactions following her initial, compulsory greeting could only be explained by such a statement: her senses were dulled. either that, or she was just stupid. or both. as he’d turned round to face her, and as she took a step back, room seeming to swivel with the sight of him, that was the only thought she had – her own mind-numbing stupidity. perhaps stephanie had thought he was someone else. perhaps she’d known it was him and simply wanted to make sure. after all, she’d seen him not even a year before for the funeral – ezra’s presence in frey shouldn’t have been surprising. yet the memory seemed to pierce her chest right then in an overwhelming bout of dizziness; her drunk heart reopening the wound of two people she’d lost: her mother and her husband. what was left of the smile she’d had seconds before increasingly disappeared as her hand reached out to steady herself on the back of his chair. stupidity.
& she was – stupid for thinking that coming over here would have been anything but distressing, for thinking that he would have been… not so… ezra. flagrant and dismissive, brusque and… and… honestly, what the fuck?
if stevie were to be brutally honest with herself for a moment, she could have admit that she’d known it was him. a lifetime condensed into the span of ten years with a person guaranteed that you’d never mistake them for someone else – if anything, the likelihood that she saw him in other people was even greater. she probably wouldn’t have been able to count on her fingers the amount of times she’d seen someone in passing, either in the very bar they were currently at or simply walking down the street (hell, in one of her classes there was a 20-something-year-old who reminded her of ezra exactly), and committed a double-take. it was impossible not to search for him. even seated, stevie noticed his height… the way chairs always seemed to be too small for his legs, and if they weren’t then her feet would dangle, toes just skimming the floor… his shoulders, broad and heavy; strong enough to support his body over hers, panting as he’d move, and strong enough to carry her to bed when she’d fall asleep at the table… his—
how long had it been since he’d said hello? stevie hadn’t felt this lightheaded on the way over to his table, and she wasn’t sure what brought the sensation on. she swayed as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, feeling another second pass before time caught up to her body. her gaze focused on him, her attention on the way he’d said it – hi – before she rode the only emotion she could muster, aside from embarrassment: a n g e r.
❛ who the fuck… why– don’t fucking look at me like that. it’s been months and all you have to say to me is– is hi? i thought you’d be past acting like a little… a little–
she’d sputtered, rather than spoke, flaring up and acting out against all thoughts that told her otherwise. then, when words failed her, and before she could even make the decision to, stevie slapped him.
— tried to slap him. her trajectory was off, hand-eye coordination failing her, and what she imagined was smooth exacted itself poorly. her body lurched forward to reach him & still she missed – it was more of a scratch really, as her fingernails nicked his cheek. ezra had probably anticipated the move before she made the conscious decision to do it, dodging it just in time to only deepen her embarrassment. stevie let out a huff, stumbling against the table as her own arm threw her off balance. the blue moon nearly slipped out of her hand before she smacked it down in front of ezra.
❛ shit!
He continued to stare at her blankly, waiting for a reaction. Although, his stare was hardly blank, considering a slew of thoughts began to sift through his head. It had been a little since he was this close to ex-wife — since he was able to see her features up close and at this moment, her manic expression. Nothing was different. Years later and Stevie still couldn’t hold down a drink (which was very evident from the smell of alcohol on her breath). Granted, the woman he knew preferred not to go out. She chose studying over premiere parties and their old New York apartment instead of the city’s lively streets. Theoretically, he was looking at somebody new, and her overdressed demeanor expressed that. He pulled his jacket over his shoulders.
“Stevie,” Ezra started. Out of all the possible emotions, he least expected the girl to be angry. He was bracing himself for an awkward hello, or even a roll of the eyes — but not a line of heated words and eventually slaps. Attempted slaps, anyways. His lips parted in an attempt to calm down the wild woman, but he was interrupted by her slow swings.
“What the fuck are you doing?” His eyes were wide, his expression laced with shock. The truth to the situation was simple: Ezra didn’t know what to do. The brunet didn’t mean to insult Stevie with his vague hello. If anything, he was unsure of how to approach her. The last time he saw her was her mother’s funeral, and even that, he debated attending. Everything with and about Stevie felt wrong. Saying her name, talking about her, looking at the forbidden tattoo on his wrist… Ezra spent so many years loving her, but it took less than half of that for him to rip their marriage apart. Ezra’s ignorant choices made it difficult to greet her with more than a hello — no matter how many times the artist circled his thoughts at a drunken three A.M.
“Fuck you, Stevie.” Ezra’s face scrunched in slight frustration. “I mean, Jesus Christ., what the fuck has gotten—”
His confused rampage was cut short by Stevie’s ambitious movements (for somebody who was not very steady on their feet to begin with) and eventually lack of balance. He had only drunken a small sum of alcohol, but for Ezra too, watching her fall was like slow motion.
“Fuck.”
Hastily throwing his arms around her, Ezra frantically caught hold of the girl before she hit the wooden ground. She felt light in his grip, and it was an effortless act for him to hoist her body upwards, and secure her footing by wrapping his arm around her waist. “Are you alright?” Ezra raised his eyebrows. His features screamed a slather of emotions: annoyance, frustration… but there was also a hint of concern.














