Notes from the Underground

Scene: A Quiet Night in Belize – Jessica and Sam Discuss Notes from Underground

The waves murmured outside the open window, the air thick with salt and the distant hum of late-night music drifting up from the beach. Jessica sat cross-legged on the couch, a whiskey glass resting between her fingers. Sam was across from her, his own drink untouched, an old paperback lying open on the table between them. Notes from Underground.

She smirked. “Didn’t take you for a Dostoevsky guy.”

Sam leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “Man can surprise you.”

Jessica ran her thumb over the rim of her glass. “It’s a hell of a choice, though. A book about a man who’s convinced he’s too smart for happiness. Or maybe just too broken for it.”

Sam finally picked up his drink but didn’t sip. “That’s not how I read it.”

She arched a brow. “Oh?”

Sam tapped the cover with a finger. “It’s not that he’s too smart. It’s that he’s convinced his intelligence makes him unfit for the world. But the truth is, he’s just afraid.”

Jessica swirled the whiskey, watching the amber liquid move in lazy circles. “Afraid of what?”

Sam held her gaze. “Losing himself.”

Jessica exhaled through her nose. The silence between them stretched, thick with something neither of them had the words for.

Then, quietly: “That’s why you brought it up.”

Sam shrugged. “You read too much into things.”

Jessica smirked, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Pot, meet kettle.”

Sam chuckled, finally taking a sip. “Fine. Maybe I thought you’d see something in it.”

She ran a hand through her hair, exhaling. “The Underground Man… he destroys his own happiness before anyone else can. He sabotages himself.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah.” A pause. Then, softer: “Sound familiar?”

Jessica’s fingers tightened around the glass. She didn’t answer.

Sam let the silence settle before adding, “He spends the whole book saying he doesn’t need anyone. That the world’s a game and he refuses to play it. But in the end… it’s all just a way to justify the fact that he’s alone.”

Jessica leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “And you think that’s me.”

Sam didn’t flinch. “I think you spent a long time telling yourself you don’t need anyone. That you’re just here to burn the past down and disappear.”

She studied him, her expression unreadable. “And?”

He set his drink down. “And you’re still here.”

Jessica exhaled, leaning back into the couch. The room felt smaller suddenly, the weight of the conversation pressing in.

She picked up Notes from Underground, flipping through the pages before settling on a line. “’I swear, gentlemen, that to be overly conscious is a disease. A real, thorough disease.’”

Sam watched her. “You agree?”

Jessica met his gaze, something flickering behind her eyes. “I think it’s a choice.”

He nodded once, accepting the answer. Then, after a moment: “So what do you choose?”

Jessica let the book fall shut. She looked at him, at the way he waited—not pressing, just letting her decide if she wanted to answer at all.

And maybe that was the difference.

She lifted her glass. “To bad decisions.”

Sam smirked, clinking his against hers. “To better ones.”

She took a sip, then set the glass down, her gaze lingering on him a little longer than before.

And for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t afraid of the answer.