Driving had allowed him to clear his head, but that was about it. He didn't manage to sort out any ideas, didn't manage to have any major revelations. Two hundred and twelve miles on the odometer and four cigarettes later and he was back on his doorstep. He had considered flowers, or chocolate, or something, but nothing seemed right. So he had dragged himself back home, too tired to brush the scent of smoke from him.

He didn't know what he was going to say, and even with the hours he'd had to think of something, he still took his time to pull out his keys, sift through them, and then unlock the door.

It was quiet, he noticed.

And dark.

He skimmed the area as he slid off his shoes, quieter now than he had been when he first got home. He completed the usual ritual—close the door, lock it, put the keys on the table.

But he didn't call out 'Honey, I'm home'—and not just because Acubens was sleeping on the couch. Or rather, not Acubens—new Acubens, whose name he did not know. He wanted to congratulate her, wanted to welcome her, but for now…

He glanced away from her sleeping form and to the closed door of their bedroom.

He should go in, he should talk to Raven.

Jett took a step towards the door and then hesitated; no, he should make sure Acubens didn't catch a cold. And put away the food that must have gotten left out; though he had not eaten, he had no appetite. The smell of food caused the slightest rumble in his stomach, though the thought of tasting, chewing, swallowing…

But he couldn't leave the food out; the bugs would come. They couldn’t have bugs in their nice, clean house.

He would have to take care of that.

Leaning over the girl, he pulled a blanket from atop the couch, mindful not to disrupt her sleep. He opened it careful and then lay it atop her. She did not seem to wake, but he did not linger to find out; he moved across the living room and into the kitchen, promptly putting away food and cleaning up what little mess he seemed to find. Or maybe he was just cleaning up nothing; he went through the actions without thinking too much.

Perhaps he had spent five minutes on the tasks, but ever moment was blending into the last and it was happening too fast—and too slow. There was a certain nervousness he should not have had that churned in the pit of his stomach. He had been able to ignore it before, but now it was building. He wasn't certain, but he almost thought his hand was shaking.

Must have been because he hadn't eaten anything. Or that he was tired.

Going to bed sounded like a good idea.

And he could lay down next to her, and feel her warmth against him. Listen to her soft breathing, wonder what she was dreaming…

…And that sounded good. That sounded like home.

Jett released a sigh; he'd been getting himself all worked up, letting his nerves all bundle, and why should he worry? He would just sneak in, and this would all be all right.

He wrapped his hand around the cold doorknob and twisted slowly, careful not to make a sound. He didn't want to wake Acubens or Raven; he just wanted to get in, curl in bed and hold her.

The room was dark, but he expected as much; Raven was sleeping after all. It would have been weird if she was up waiting for him. He kept his eyes averted from the bed, keen instead on focusing in the tedious act of unbuttoning his shirt.

One button down, then two.

His eyes nearly flicked up, but he refrained.

Three, four.

Five.
His hands froze when there wasn't anything else to occupy themselves with; no more buttons. The pause was unconventional and if Raven was looking at him by now--for, surely she was--she must think him odd.

He shrugged off the shirt quickly and looked up to meet her gaze, to explain himself, only--

Only, she wasn't there.

Where she should have been was empty, and worse--things were missing.

But what was most distressing wasn't the things that were missing--it was the thing that shouldn't have been there.

A note.

He could hardly make out anything but an outline in the room and, fumbling, he flicked on the light. There was no grace in his step; it was nothing more than an emotional charged rush to cross the distance between him and where she should have been.

Handwritten notes were the best and worst things.

That someone could take the time to painstakingly spell out each word, to know that their mind was utterly focused on a message they wanted to deliver. To know that they were thinking of you, just you, as they spelled out each word, one letter at a time.

Hand written love letters were one thing.

But hand written goodbyes were another.

At first, Jett couldn't read it. He recognized letters on the page, recognized that they spelled words that symbolized something, but his mind was racing, and his eyes were darting, and it just wasn't computing. For a minute, or ten, he just stared at the paper. It was a foreign language that made his heart pound and his stomach sink, and he stood there until he realized he was dizzy.

And then he sat, on her side of the bed, and read the letter.

Again.

And again.

He read it until the words were burned into his mind, until even when he lowered the letter and closed his eyes it played in his mind like a mantra.

Reading the letter had taken a while, but understanding it took longer. He thought of each individual sentence, dissected it, challenged it, and accepted it.

He was angry, and hurt, and worried, and empty.

He felt weak.

Weak, that he could have let Raven worm her way into his heart. Weak, that he had loved her so uncontrollably. Weak, that his chest seized and his eyes burned. Weak, that his stomach knotted so tightly he thought he might vomit.

Weak, that she was gone, and he was alone.

Weak, that he had to face her. His mother. Everyone.

Jett drew in a steadying breath, but it did little to comfort him. Gently, he ran his thumb over the letter, but he couldn't bring himself to read it again. For a while, he stayed sitting on her side of the bed, waiting until his emotions ebbed and he was left with nothing but a dull numbness. It was late, then, and emotional and physical fatigue left him as close to 'okay' as he was going to be with this.

Mechanically, he stood to assess. A trip around the room, into the bathroom, the closet. He hadn't realized how much of their room was hers, but now it looked foreign--more barren than a hotel room. He didn't want to be here; he wanted to go home, to the bedroom at his mother's house. Untouched, because she insisted she wanted it to be exactly as he left it, as if that would encourage him to come spend the night and visit her more often.

It sounded more appealing than anything right now, but he couldn't.

He wasn't going to abandon Acubens in the living room, even if he had no ******** idea what to do with her. This was Raven's idea and she'd left the girl lying on the couch. Just like she'd left the dog, he noted dully, looking at the tiny paws sticking underneath the bedroom door.

He hadn't even thought about the dog in any of this; he'd gotten it for Raven, and it was her dog. He sort of assumed she'd have taken it with her when she left.

Jett watched as the paws inched closer into the room, and for a while he just stood there. It wasn't that he wanted the dog to suffer or miss them, and her occasional sad whine should have struck a cord in him, but it just felt like too much effort to walk to the door and open it again. Begrudgingly, and perhaps only because a distant car alarm roused him from his thoughts, he opened the door for the little dog.

She seemed confused when the door opened and stared blankly for a second before her head lifted to greet Jett. Her tail wagged and, seeing the opportunity she bolted inside and was on the bed before he'd even closed the door.

She liked to curl up with Raven, so it didn't surprise him when he turned around and saw her trying to make herself comfortable on Raven's pillow. Broke his heart a little, but it didn't surprise him.

His phone buzzed, suddenly, and despite the slow stupor he had been sinking into all evening, he had it out and half a foot from his face in almost an instant.

And his mood sank just as fast.

Jett had expected a text from her, an update. He didn't even want an apology, just to hear that she was coming back. That it was a mistake, that they could work something else out.

It wasn't even a person texting, just some stupid automated message.

And all the emotions Jett had worked so hard to repress came flooding back.

Jett did not know how to grieve gracefully. He did not know how to handle his emotions, and he certainly did not know the best way to channel them. Not when Raven was involved.


In a fit, he gripped his phone--his fancy, six hundred dollar phone--and hurled it so hard at the wall that the screen shattered on impact. The casing split when it hit the floor, and the dent in the wall only reminded Jett how fragile everything was. He forgot about Acubens in the other room, or neighbors and what they might think, and all he could think about was breaking something.

Breaking something worse then how she had broken him.

He swiped his hand through the air, fingers curling along the cold ceramic of their bedside lamp. It shattered in a hundred pieces when it hit the wall, and Jett might have relished in the satisfaction of destruction had a sharp whimper not caused him to jerk towards the sound.

The sound of a little dog, scared, and confused, trembling on Raven's pillow.

And he stopped, and the cold emptiness came flooding back.

Jett nearly reached to stroke the dog's fur, to reassure it, but she flinched away and he froze.

She was scared. And had every right to be.

He wasn't in his right mind.

But then again, maybe he hadn't been in a long time.

The room was dark, but his phone screen, cracked as it was, was glowing. He looked to it, eyes half lidded, and assessed. He would need a new lamp. Maybe he would go shopping tomorrow.

He'd need a new phone, too.

When he moved away from the bed, the dog barked, once; Jett didn't understand the purpose of her bark, be it fear or concern or because she had attachment issues worse than his own. He ignored the bark and picked up the remains of his phone. The cracked screen made it impossible to see anything; the touch sensitivity made it all but useless. He poked and prodded, ignoring the splintered glass; after a few seconds, the light dimmed, and after a few more the phone went dark.

It was strange, how in the darkness he could hear so much better.

His heartbeat was loud in his ears, and his breathing labored. The dog's collar jingled from her tremors.

And then the room slipped into quiet.

His heartbeat slowed and became quieter. His breathing became more even and soft. The dog relaxed.

And nothing was any better, because when Jett turned back around, Raven still wasn't there.

Finally, defeated, he walked to the bed.

He was exhausted, and was kicking himself for throwing his phone; the only way to contact her unless he powered up, Mirrorwalked somewhere else, and stole one, but even then the numbers were all jumbled in his head. He knew he should sleep on it; he wasn't going to say anything worthwhile if he got in contact with her. He was too upset; he'd only make things worse.

The walk to the bed felt like the longest walk he'd ever made, and he crawled onto it, wriggling his way up to the headboard. By now, the dog had calmed down and was watching him with more curiosity and fear, but her eyes were just boring into him. Like she was judging him or something.

He didn't know. She was just a dog, but he wasn't going to let anyone see him--

Jett paused, grunted, and then pulled the pillow away from the dog, lying face down on the bed sheets and pulling her pillow over his head. It still smelled of her--her shampoo, her perfume. How she'd wound up with his and left hers couldn't have been an accident, but right now he didn't know what to think of it.

It was difficult to act like everything was okay--like he wasn't on the verge of a breakdown, teetering between forcing himself to keep everything inside and just letting everything spill out.

It would have been so easy, just to let it all out, just to...

A warmth at his side made him tense and he hoped, just for a moment, that it was Raven. But he realized the warmth was too small, and too covered in fur to be her.

The disappointment struck, hard.

The effort to keep everything bottled up wasn't really worth it.