#▸⠀ 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄/𝐑𝐔𝐄.⠀ ⠀ [ … ] ⠀i never liked him.

[egojock]

[ PARTY ]: sender arrives at the receiver's house to attend a party that the receiver is hosting. ( rue duh )

knock knock prompts ! ( accepting. )

nate beams when he opens the front door to see rue standing on the front porch, giving her a cocky lift of his brows. he'd always thought it was the darndest thing that despite not being his biggest fan, rue never failed to show up at one of nate's parties. or mckay's, but they were pretty much nate's by proxy. he steps to the side to allow her entry, gaze roaming over her petite frame. if she happened to be clean right now, it might not stay that way for long. "rue. glad you came. we needed someone whose a master at her craft," he greets, and it's almost amicable aside from the insidious implication. rue was great at partying. nate was too, but he had different vices -- he couldn't numb his feelings with anything other than alcohol when he was being piss tested for PEDs. he'd have to toss back some vodka redbulls and call it a night. nate would allow himself to blow off steam because it was all a balancing act, but he was always thinking about the big picture. life after east highland, when he was out of cal jacob's kingdom into one of his own. alcohol numbed some of nate's issues with control, made him feel less inhibited and like he actually had autonomy over his own life, up until that illusion boiled over into something tumultuous. they were both familiar with putting their bodies through extreme things if it meant that their minds would be quiet. there wasn't anything nate wouldn't do for that feeling of peace, that illusion of safety. "what can i get you?" to drink. she's already got a guy for the other nefarious shit she likes to do, and nate would really rather not think about it nor waste his breath trying to categorize their ambiguous relationship.

[egojock]

❛ fucking hit me already. ❜ ( rue )

darker vibes prompt ( accepting! )

she thinks so fucking lowly of him, understandably so, and the goading sound of her voice has the desired reaction. his hackles are raised, tongue prodding at the inside of his cheek with irritation. when he put his hands on maddy, it'd been because she was so comfortable airing truths he himself wasn't comfortable with, emasculating and humiliating him. there was no excuse for his actions, his immutable rage, but nate resorted to violence in specific situations -- mainly when he was being provoked or taunted about his sexuality. at times, he can't help but be impulsive and reactive, but nate erred on the side of careful calculation. being in rue's presence unnerves him. addicts were manipulative and charismatic, because that's how they get their fix. at this point in his life, the manipulation felt like a gentle breeze blowing on his face and the concept of putting his hands on rue seemed so laughable when he's seen her walk into door facings or struggle to stay upright. "i know you like to self-destruct in any way possible, but do you think i was born yesterday?" he questions, letting out a derisive snort as he folds his arms against his chest to meet rue with a measured look. nate would characterize rue the way people would most addicts, as unreliable and impulsive, but he knows that despite her incessant substance abuse that she's got her wits about her. enough for nate to be suspicious and wonder what the play was here. despite the tension and animosity, he didn't hate rue. he just didn't like to deal with wild cards. she was difficult, unapologetically obtrusive and not as malleable as other girls in his life. "don't tell me fezco's hiding around the corner ready to bludgeon me with another fucking smirnoff bottle." he doesn't understand their relationship, how fezco's simultaneously holding her back in life but trying to protect her from the big bad nate jacobs. he was literally a drug-dealing gangster with a heart of gold, and somehow more trustworthy in her eyes. maybe if nothing else, another head injury could bring him some much needed perspective. his defensive posture falters and he brings a tired up to scrub over his face, brows pinched. he'll level with her. "look, i've kind of had a long day, so can you give me something more to work with or find some new and exciting way to destroy your body that doesn't come with consequences for me personally?"

[egojock]

@redemptioninterlude: you still live at 28 fuckboy lane? ( rue )

nate grins menacingly, teeth pearly white and sharp. they were far gone from their east highland days, wasting their youth in the most self-destructive and flamboyant of ways, but he had to say that nate hadn't placed his bets on this. little rue bennett not only made it out of the swamp of east highland, but to the silverscreen. with her all made up like this, seemingly blemish free and flawless, it was hard to recognize any trace of the rue he used to know. despite her contrasting appearance, he supposes it's a small comfort that she's as uninhibited and as callous as ever towards him. fame and fortune hadn't changed her contempt for him at least. it flatters him more than it should. "nah. moved on to greener pastures, same as you," he offers, an appraising brow lifting as his gaze roams over her smaller frame. while rue had evidently elbowed her way up in the world, nate had actually gotten drafted and wiggled his way out from underneath his father's thumb, which is more of a lateral shift than anyone could've anticipated. nate can burn bridges almost as well as rue can, and after he'd turned his father into the police he knew he'd have no choice but to forge his own path in life. he still remembers what he'd said to her the night of the winter formal and he knows it's his ego talking, but he wonders if his flimsy attempts intimidation had resonated. everyone loves an underdog story, but he hadn't placed his bets on rue actually making anything of herself. nate has plenty against rue and vice versa, but his doubt isn't something she should take personal, he's pragmatic and knows how hard it is to claw your way up when it feels like the deck is stacked against you. "looks like you're not better than me after all. what did it take to sell your soul to the big wigs in hollywood, huh?" nate being a sell-out wasn't a huge revelation to anybody, but rue always postured like she might pursue a more unconventional path after graduation. she looks well, arguably more clean-cut and wholesome than she'd been in their teen years but nate has no doubt she's still snorting lines after filming wraps up. he'd always liked that about her, that rough authenticity even when it was levelled against him like a blade against his throat, but maybe she'd lost her edge.

[egojock]

it's easy for nate to stand here and criticize rue for falling back into old patterns, repeating the cycles, tantamount to standing in front of a porcelain sink with a whiteknuckled grip thinking about all the things he needed to change about himself. self-improvement wasn't a far cry from self-mutilation, and so maybe the fact that nate could barely recognize her dolled up like this meant she had changed a little. even if only outwardly. he can't make heads or tails of what her relationship might be like with this director guy, but nate knows rue -- or at least he'd like to think he does. her relationship with jules had been as codependent as they come, so it's easy to predict that whatever situation she's in right now is just as dysfunctional and precarious. nate's been too focused on his career and training to entertain having a love life right now, but he knows if he did he'd only play out the definition of insanity. doing the same thing over and over again whilst expecting different results. sometimes, cassie calls him and maddy gets pissed off when he doesn't return her phone calls. he tries to keep in touch, but they're all busy with their own individual lives now and more often than not, nate is exhausted. professional sports was cut-throat and he couldn't afford to let up on any slack. his father is rotting away in a 6 by 8 jailcell and every once in a while, nate takes the time to write him a letter or send him press clippings of his games. nate hasn't gotten to the point where he's able to visit him just yet, he's not prepared. burning that bridge had taken a lot of willpower, and attempting to heal it might be an exercise in futility. he spends a lot of time thinking about whether people can truly change, and wakes up every day trying. he figures the routine is likely similar for rue. nate scoffs, head dipping low with an amused smile, because she's got him there. cassie was easy and vulnerable, also at her lowest ebb, and nate is nothing if not an opportunist. "and you are? it's funny how you act like everything you've done in your life hasn't also been motivated by self-interest. i thought you didn't care about pretense." he clicks his tongue derisively, like he's disappointed she's changed so much. when rue was using, she was adamant on how much she didn't give a fuck. nate can't even follow the podcast bullshit she's talking about, clenching his jaw as he lets out a frustrated sigh. "i'm not here to exploit you, rue. you kinda have that role filled anyway." he shoots her a measured look, trying to communicate something without actually verbalizing it and then he shrugs his shoulders. but that begged the question -- what was he here for? nate shifts his weight from foot to foot. "have you been in contact with jules?"

so much is supposed to have changed. rue is supposed to have grown up, in the time she's left kicked out, the things that she resorts to doing. it hurts, you know. remembering all that. how she scrapes and scraps and it kind of works until she like, GETS WITH MALCOLM and things both get better and don't. that she realizes on a level how weirdly fucked up it is that this director who's like, 12 years older than her could never really have any good intentions with someone like her. weak. vulnerable. who needed a roof over their head and someone to make sure she didn't completely fall off the fucking rails, at first she thinks, oh god, this could be good. she gets sober again. she acts. things feel positive, and warm, and good, and like, maybe, rue bennett is growing up into a real person now...

as if she wasn't QUITE actualized before this. as if nothing really mattered or counted. and what that shit made her feel when in a lot of ways, it felt like malcolm was the one forever telling her that she was a leach while he was the one sucking all of the life and authenticity out of her. relations are brittle. he's trying to convince her to quit, because she hasn't really had her big role yet, even if she's like, booked and filmed a few things where she is, there isn't the buzz around any of it that he feels counts. and part of her... wants to believe him. he keeps saying he'll take care of her. he's shooting that movie, that magnum opus about her life. the one starring that girl that isn't her, even though she auditioned to play herself, essentially... which is like, a hell of a thing to think about...

enough fucking SELF PITY, alright? she doesn't want to drown.

she could still be a viper, sharp edged and real. that that was still in her, no matter what this situation was with malcolm. wasn't she? still her? even as he captured bits and pieces ( even the things with the nail file, for fuck's sake... ) and put it all on paper to be played in the lens of another woman? sourness sucks on the inside of her stomach. nate, oddly, reminds her of what it meant to be her worst, but also her best. clever. alive. pulling out and dicing, straight, the PERSONHOOD of whoever was with her. "and yet, you were still doing the whole cassie thing to begin with." that's right. that's nate. it'd be more convenient for her if much hadn't changed, and for some awful reason, she wants to latch on to that. she never really was a good person... was she? "i somehow don't doubt that at the bottom of your soul, you feel like everyone needs to know your opinion, solicited or not, so yeah, i can't lie? the podcast route totally feels like a nate jacobs move in my eyes. you were never really the charitable type so..." she swallows the more acidic takes - he hasn't said anything yet to deserve that. and maybe that's the small wins from her end. before... she would salt the earth behind her. nuclear, without ever the reason... it's an awful habit. malcolm gets the brunt of that now.

- @egojock

[egojock]

without a doubt, nate was conceited, but that didn't mean he wasn't caring or selfless in his own way. aaron was a fuck-up, clueless about how the world worked much less what was going on within his own home, so he didn't really expect aaron to figure out his life path on his own. besides, he didn't seem to have as much against their father as nate did. he burnt that bridge and the possibility of taking over his father's real estate company along with it. aaron could knock himself out. they were never really close to begin with and he only really kept in touch with his mom to send her money. when it came to nate's football career, it became do-or-die. the silver spoon nate was born with was poisoned, so he'd forged his own. on the surface, it looks like rue is leaps and bounds away from where she was, physically and emotionally. a polished appearance that nate would've been drawn to in highschool, standing pedicured toe-to-to with him at 5'10 and nate, inevitably, finds himself comparing the rue standing in front of him to the slouching, strung out and abrasive rue he knew back in east highland. nate's gaze follows hers', and he shakes his head with a presumptuous smirk on his lips, jumping to conclusions already. "looks like not much has changed except you've got pretty packaging. typical. did you trade one codependent relationship for another?" nate asks, head tilting towards the director he saw her make eyecontact with. his tone is dry, judgemental -- but there's no malice in it. not really. nate struggles with breaking out of self-destructive patterns, because as smart as he'd like to think he was, they were all byproducts of their environment. nate is momentarily stunned, any smugness wiped clean, a contrite look on his face. he's torn on what to say, knowing that she's likely to dismiss whatever comes out of his mouth regardless. "oh. i'm sorry, that's .. a raw deal," he murmurs, gaze averting to their feet. as per usual, the moments where they see each other as fully realized people don't last long, souring the amicable atmosphere of the event with their targeted antagonism. had she not been so quick to piss him off, maybe he would've said something like he's glad she chose not to die, bare minimum shit but rang true and important regardless. nate scoffs, keeping his bittersweet sentiments to himself. "who the fuck do you think i am, tra*vis kelce? tangling with some taylor sw*ft type would be like fucking cassie all over again. like i said, greener pastures," he retorts, bristling at the assumption.

it's another event. she attends because her agent asks her too, another project on the horizon, and rue, well, she's kind of hitting it big, isn't she? which is like, one of those whole against the odds things. what a funny fucking moment to be remade and recast, as someone who was more quiet and private, despite being known as being haunted and troubled by her complicated family life. instead of pathetic, people saw it as a CINDERELLA STORY. yeah. yeah right. that was real fucking funny. hollywood is as fake as she saw it to be, only worse, and maybe she can swallow that shit because of everything else that followed along with it. it's easy to lie, when it's what you do for work, and you were so equally unsure of what was real coming out of someone else's mouth.

what she doesn't expect is to run into none other than nate fucking jacobs. now. it hadn't escaped her the directions that his life had taken since they'd peeled out of east highland, and frankly, given how much he'd managed to GET AWAY with, she kind of wasn't expecting him to leave the comfort of home. then again. he'd managed to break from the shit that mckay had managed to find himself in in college... mark that as another thing stolen from mckay, she supposes, but none of that shit mattered at the end of the day. happy to try and avoid him until he came tapping at her shoulder, so fake that it left a visceral roll of disgust moving through the core of her.

which is like, WHY SHE SAYS IT. because fuck him, really.

here, she stands tall ; heels, on 5'10 height, leaves rue on level, her gaze a sizzling distaste that he'd know to pick up on. he always did. the ask met with a glance that guilty sneaks over to the boyfriend she has. malcolm. a director, who was currently debating the catalogue of barry jenkins' work with a cinematographer who looked BORED TO TEARS. urgh. "i don't think you need to sell your soul. when you're kicked out at 18, it's either you buckle up, or die. guess i didn't decide to die." her voice intoning, dry and purposefully leaning bored to annoy him. again. fuck him. "let me guess. you're here trying to find some next pop star high flyer so you can go pop off on social media and then start a podcast? fuckboy lane definitely suited you better, but from what i can see, not a hell of a lot has changed for you other than the setting. sad."

- @egojock