Disclaimer: I am not Jodi Picoult and I do not own or claim to own the rights for the novel Vanishing Acts. All credit goes to that magnificent author. The writing is mine—with the exception of the dialogue, as I am writing from another character's point of view.

Summary: Eric's true feelings as he discovers that Delia, his fiancée, and Fitz, his best friend, have been having an affair behind his back. One shot for right now, but could be made into more.

Author's Note: I'm writing this because I love Eric's character in Vanishing Acts. I just finished the book yesterday and I didn't think that the ending was satisfying, though I loved the book. Why build up the fact that Delia and Eric had this great, strong relationship to just give Delia to Fitz? I find Eric's character compelling and realistic and I love how he had completely given up his drinking just for Delia. I'll probably write an alternate ending to this book soon.

Broken Promises

I hold my breath as the jury walks back into the room. I try to analyze their expressions; trying to discover if they have condemned my client to up to ten years of incarceration. They will not look me in the eye and their faces are not easily read. Was it guilt on their faces?

"Will the defendant please rise?" the bailiff commands.

Andrew Hopkins stands up to hear his sentence. My arms are shaking in both nervousness and fear, but I manage to keep my legs steady. I manage to keep a strong façade of stoicism on my face for Andrew. My chest puffs out from beneath my black suit in false arrogance for Delia, a thirty year old woman who just found out she was kidnapped by her own father when she was four. She is also my fiancée. My startling blue eyes sparkle and say that everything will be okay; when it's truly not. Andrew's life is on the line. Delia's life is on the line. It was my duty as the defense attorney to make sure that things went our way; that the jury believed that Andrew was not guilty. Delia is depending on me.

Guilty. The one word could change two lives—both Andrew's and Delia's--forever. What if the jury did agree that Andrew was guilty? Andrew—or Charles Matthews, should I say—truly was guilty. He kidnapped a girl, his own daughter, when she was only four years old. But throughout my life I have learned that nothing is ever in black and white. There are shades of grey between guilty and not guilty. Andrew kidnapped Delia, sure. But it was truly for her well being. Delia's mother, Elise, was a drunkard who did not care for Delia properly. Worse off, she had custody of Delia—whose name at the time was Bethany Matthews. Living with Elise surely would have driven Delia insane. Living with an alcoholic meant that you needed to find a way to fend for yourself when you were five years old. It meant that you would know how to do the laundry, cook dinner, and keep your mother from throwing up on the carpet when you were about six years old. I should know because my mother is an alcoholic; she has been my entire life.

You don't know how it feels to walk home from school every day because your mother forgot to pick you up—or worse, because she was too intoxicated to drive to school. You don't know how it feels when you open the door and find your mother sprawled across the floor, unconscious. It's something that sends your young heart racing every time. You don't know how having an alcoholic parent feels. But I know. I've known since I was five years old. I still feel it everyday of my life; it's not something I can run away from. I feel hatred. I feel sorrow. I feel pain. I feel anger. I feel melancholy. And most of all, I feel helpless.

I send a sideways glance at Andrew. In some ways, I believe he is a hero. He saved his daughter from all those negative feelings and replaced them with positive ones. Delia Hopkins possibly had the best childhood a girl could have. Andrew never forgot his daughter. He doted on her. He bought her ice cream and chocolates and made sure she did her homework. He bought her toys and dolls, but refused to spoil her completely. Delia is the woman she is today because of Andrew Hopkins, not Charles Matthews.

I look back into the courtroom, trying to keep my mind busy so that I don't trip over my own stressful thoughts. My eyes land on Elise Matthews. I can relate to the petite, dark haired woman as well. Delia and I have a daughter of our own, my beautiful Sophie. If Delia ran away with Sophie, I would go insane with worry. I would never stop looking for her if she was stolen away from me. I wouldn't be able to sleep, and if I ever managed to I would have nightmares about terrible things happening to my daughter. Elise Matthews probably experienced all of this first-hand; but then again, she was an alcoholic. She was unreliable. Maybe she just drank all her problems away.

Alcoholism is something that connects my sympathy to Elise, as well. I know how it feels to be lost. I know how it feels when you think you've got nothing at all and need an escape. I know how it feels to drink because you want to relieve the pain. I am a recovering alcoholic. I started drinking in high school; but that was mostly for experimental purposes. I became in alcoholic in college. I became an alcoholic to fill the space in my life where Delia used to be. I had realized that I took Delia for granted. We were high school sweethearts, and I knew that I liked Delia a great deal, but it wasn't until she was gone that I realized that I was truly and madly in love with her. I felt true pain and longing for her. Every one of the nine hundred miles we were apart from each other stabbed at my heart ferociously. I drank because of Delia. I stopped drinking because of Delia as well. I don't need the alcohol anymore. I have a new addiction: love, which is perhaps the most dangerous addiction of them all. You give your entire heart to someone and hope that they don't break it.

The reason that I drank viciously has been resolved; Delia is my fiancée. Still, though, I go to AA meetings to make sure I don't relapse; even though I already have slipped once. In the midst of the stress in this trial, I have tried to lighten my mind by drinking. An alcoholic doesn't know what he's doing; he just knows that the alcohol relieves the pain. When I slipped, I needed a release from the stress. I needed relief from the 'what ifs'. What if I couldn't save Andrew? What if Delia never forgave me and I lost the love of my life?

I feel incredibly guilty for it; especially since Delia found out I was drinking late at night and ran off somewhere—probably to Fitz. But even in my drunken state, I knew she would be safe with him. He was the best friend to both Delia and me. He would take care of her.

"Eric?" Andrew calls out in a whisper, pulling me out of my reverie, "Are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah," I say quickly, a tinge of nervousness in my tone. It is the first hint of my real feelings that I have not managed to hide. Andrew doesn't notice. He is too preoccupied with his own thoughts.

"Have you reached a verdict?" the judge calls out the jury and I can feel my breath catch.

I glance over to the jury and watched as a redhead nods. "We have, Your Honor."

"What say you?"

I hold my breath, waiting for her response. Here it is, the moment of truth. This one sentence could possibly be the happiest moment of relief in Andrew's and Delia's lives or it could be a condemning curse that will send both of them off the edge. Even though the woman only pauses for a moment; it feels like years. I pray to God that Andrew is proclaimed not guilty. I pray to God that I have not let Delia down. I will never forgive myself if I have let them down. I pray for their sakes, as well as mine, that everything will be okay.

My heart is racing a million beats per second as she begins to speak. "In the case of The State of Arizona versus Andrew Hopkins, we find the defendant not guilty."

My mouth widens into the most glorious of smiles and I jump childishly into the air. I expel the breath that I have been holding ever since the judge asked for the verdict, feeling both a mental and physical relief. I watch in complete delight as Delia runs passed me and into her father's arms. Andrew pats her back in the most loving of ways. I can't help but feel proud that I am the cause for all this bliss.

I can't watch the happy moment for long because reporters have started swarm around me, jamming their microphones in front of my face and asking me a myriad of questions.

"How did you know that Mr. Hopkins was not guilty?"

"Was this case harder than all your others because you were defending someone that you love?"

"Tell me about your feelings on the verdict."

I answer all their questions vaguely and quickly, darting my eyes around the room and trying to find Delia's familiar face. Soon, the reporters fade away and Emma Wasserstein, the prosecuting attorney comes and shakes my hand. I eagerly grasp her hand, proud that I have won the case and then I exit the courtroom with a bounce in my step. I am ready to find Delia and embrace her.

But when I round the corner, I find that Delia is embracing somebody else. Her lips were pressed against his mouth passionately, her fingers running through his bright red hair, and I feel my bright mood sink down into a betrayed darkness. She promised me she wouldn't leave me. I asked her to promise me. And she did. She left me like her mother left her father. I feel hurt and angry and I barely manage to hold on to my composure. My legs feel like jelly, but I manage to hold on.

Fitz sees me. I know this because his eyes widen as his gaze catches upon me. He's been caught in the act kissing his best friend's fiancée. Delia can't see me, but I know if she had, she would have had a similar reaction. She was caught kissing her fiancée's best friend.

The first thing that comes to mind after the heartbreak and the betrayal I felt was, 'Damn. That bottle of whiskey stashed in the bathroom cabinet has never looked so good.'

And from that moment on, I knew I was headed back into the back spiral of alcoholism. I was going to relapse. I only stopped drinking for Delia. Now that she has been snatched out of my life, I would have to drink again. Maybe I could stop myself before it happened, but it was doubtful.

"Oh," I say softly, my voice shaking. The word was light, almost a whisper, but Delia now knew I was here. She stopped kissing Fitz and turned around and I took in a deep breath, trying to stop the moisture in my eyes. "It's like that." I send a glare in Fitz's direction. Right now I believe that I'll never forgive Fitz for this. He knows how much I love Delia. He knows what I've given up for her. But I have always known how much he loves her.

Then I glance at Delia, my lips forming into a melancholy half-smile. Love is a powerful addiction. No matter how much I wanted to be mad at her, I wasn't. I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to tell her that she was the filthiest excuse for a human being I have ever met. I loved her too much to feel anger towards her. I just wanted her to be happy. And if she was happy with Fitz, then so be it.

The silence was overwhelming. I try to speak again. "I was trying to find you," I mutter, a traitor tear falling down my cheek. "I was…" I was about to break down. I wouldn't let Delia feel guilty for breaking my heart. I don't want her to feel guilty. So instead of continuing, I silently shake my head and turn on my heel, starting to walk away in the opposite direction. The only thing that gives my true feelings away as I walk is the shaking in my shoulders.

I need to get home. I need to get to that bottle of alcohol hidden away in the trailer that Delia and I were temporarily living in. But soon enough, I hear footsteps behind me. It's Fitz's heavy steps. I quicken my pace, trying to get away.

"Wait up!" I hear him call from behind me, and my feet stick to the wooden tiled floor like cement. The salty water in my eyes have prevented me from seeing another clearly.

"Can I talk to you?" he asks me soothingly.

I bite my lip. For a moment, I was ready to say 'No, you can't talk to me,' and then simply walk away. But after a moment's hesitation I nod my head and rest my back against the wall, sliding down against it until I was sitting down.

I glance up at Fitz after a few moments, my eyes looking expectant. He hasn't spoken one word, even though he said he wanted to talk to me. I decide to break the silence.

"Let me guess," I begin, my voice tinged with a hint of cruelty. "You never meant for it to happen."

"Hell, yes, I did. I've wanted her since you two started dating." He gazed at me, looking for some sort of surprised response from me. This wasn't news to me. I knew Fitz liked Delia forever. He had no sense of subtlety. I always noticed him glancing at her when we were together. I was surprised that he had been so blunt about it, though.

I blink and then laugh a tad cynically. It is not a response that I would normally give, but then again, I have never felt this type of heartbreak before. I have never felt this kind of betrayal. "I know," I tell Fitz.

Now it's Fitz's turn to be surprised. "You did?"

I laugh again, this time for real. "For God's sake, you're about as subtle as Hiroshima, Fitz." It's then that an epiphany comes upon me. If I couldn't have Delia, I wouldn't mind if Fitz had her. He was the only one I could trust Delia with. I would be in pain for the rest of my life, but the thought that Delia was happy with Fitz would be enough to get me by. I lighten up a little bit, my mind slowly becoming less chaotic. As I gain control of my thoughts, I manage to put on a façade again. I don't want Fitz to know what's really going on in my mind. "At least I didn't lose the girl and the case," I say jokingly, a bouncy tone in my voice to cover up the fact that I would rather have the girl than the case.

"Incidentally, I never meant for it to happen,"

I laugh. He didn't mean for it to happen, but he hoped it would. I wasn't that stupid.

"I should beat the crap out of you," I say in an entirely too fake teasing voice. I truly did want to beat him up right now.

"You can try," he replies, joining in on the joke that really isn't funny at all.

"Yeah," I say in the quietest of voices, entirely serious as I muse to myself. "I just might do that." And then I look up at him. His eyes are on me, caring and worried. I shake my head and decide to be mature and tell him the positive side of things on my mind. "If I can't take care of her myself, there's no one else I'd want to take my place." He's the only one I could never trust my Delia with.

I have something else to say, but I hesitate to say it because I don't know if I can do it. "I'm going to clean up," I finally tell him, a strange sense of hope in my voice. "This time for good." It's probably a lie and I know it. I know how hard it is to keep away from drink. I will try to do it. I hope I can do it. But without Delia to lean on, I don't think I can.

"I want you to," Fitz tells me soothingly. "I'd like that."

Right now, I don't want to be near Delia and Fitz. I want to be near to them separately, because it's upon the two of them that I depend on. But I don't want to be near them together. It will send me into the worst sense of feeling. I would definitely relapse into an alcoholic if I went with them. I've decided I will stay in Arizona until I have enough strength to see Fitz and Delia together, and even when I move back to New Hampshire, I know I will always be waiting in the wings. I will always be waiting for Fitz to screw up and for Delia to come back to me.

I smile, turning my head towards my friend. "Be careful what you wish for, I've learned my fair share about abduction."

Fitz and I sit there in silence for a few minutes, having a completely quiet conversation. I can see the love in his eyes and I know it's not as much love as I could have given her. But if that's what she wants, I'm willing to give it to her.

Finally, I stand up and say goodbye to Fitz.

The first thing I do when I get home is rummage through the bathroom cabinet and eagerly open the bottle of whiskey. I take a long swig of it. I want to forget this whole thing ever happened and pretend like Delia is still by my side.

I break my promise to Fitz and to myself. I relapse. But they've broken their promises to me as well.

I feel myself sinking into a buzz. The sweet-sour taste of alcohol has never tasted so good.