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Aftermath

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So that’s it, then.

So she’s gone.

Forever.

 

Henry takes another swig.

 

Damn.

Fuck.

Fuck this.

Fuck her.

 

Fuck her for leaving. For leaving with one final cryptic-as-hell conversation.

 

And a kiss.

 

Just generally fuck everything.

 

He closes his eyes against his pounding headache. Nothing a few more beers can’t take care of.

 

Alright. So whatever. Whatever. What- fucking -ever.

 

He doesn’t know why this is affecting him so much.

It’s not like they were anything.

Because they weren’t.

 

He tries to think about Jacinda, like how he was.

Like how he was thinking about her a few hours ago, before Roni told him the news.

 

Hey Henry. Yeah, Ivy’s gone. Gone? Yeah, gone. Where? For how long? Oh. Well. Not sure. Forever, maybe. Yes. Forever. Why? Nothing in particular. She wanted to be with her sister. She wanted to leave the Heights. Too many bad memories, or something.

 

Something.

 

He pulls out his phone, and squints at the screen.

 

Damn, blurry. Probably too much to drink.

 

Fuck that.

Drinking makes him feel better.

Makes him forget about her.

 

He puts down the phone and finishes his beer.

 

He wishes he could put his finger on why exactly he’s doing this, why exactly he’s decided to sit in his apartment (alone) and think about her (alone) and get out-of-his-freaking-skull drunk and wonder where and why and how she’s left and if he’ll ever see her again.

 

But he can’t figure it out.

 

He has the most disturbing inkling that it has to do with emotions or some crap.

 

“Ivy.”

 

He tries out her name. It feels strange now.

 

“Ivy Belfrey.”

 

Foreign.

 

“Ivy fucking Belfrey fuck you.

 

Hmm. That sounds better.

 

His words die in the silence of the room.

 

He misses her.

And there’s a shocking revelation that must quickly be drowned in another Guinness.

 

He misses her. Not just like he’d miss a friend, which is the disturbing part. He misses her. Like, with actual feelings.

Fuck.

 

More beer.

 

He can’t do that. He must stop that, immediately. He doesn’t. Everything that he thinks he’s feeling right now? It’s just the alcohol.

 

Or at least that’s what he tells himself.

 

Jacinda is who he thinks about every day. The one who makes his heart flutter and makes his face flush and makes him grin like a dumb teenager every time he sees her.

 

With Jacinda, it’s fate.

 

Unbidden, his lips buzz with the ghost of a mistake.

And his mind returns to Ivy.

 

He really needs to stop drinking.

(Not gonna happen)

But he should.

 

Because when he drinks he remembers her.

It’s not working, the alcohol isn’t helping him, he’s trying to forget her and it’s not working and he misses her and he wants to stop feeling this way because he shouldn’t be feeling this way, but he is.

 

He is.

 

He’s going to find her.

 

And suddenly Henry Mills feels a lot better.