Chapter Text
It's a normal morning.
Normal.
Back to normal.
It's been nearly a year since you moved out. Ten months, nineteen days. I'm not counting.
We didn't have a messy breakup. It wasn't even a breakup—we weren't even dating—we drifted, and you just.. disappeared. It felt like you took me with you, but left my body here. To do what? Nothing, really—roughly eleven months and I've done nothing. I don't remember the last time I thought of a girl that wasn't you.
It's nothing—well, I feel nothing when I think of another girl. I don't know why. I don't feel broken, and, to be honest, I feel no problem with having no romantic or sexual attraction to others. I don't know why that is, either. I used to love it. I loved thinking of someone who was hot or what could be, what could've been, whatever else—but now I don't even bat an eye at it.
I pour my coffee into my mug. It's robotic. Purely routine. I don't feel like cleaning right now, so I leave it be, trying to walk out of the break room, when I nearly run right into—
"Do you know how to watch where you're going?" Coupé's low voice is nearly dangerous when she stares at me like that. I wish I really felt it.
"My bad," I leave her with, trying to move past her, but she stops me.
"That's it?" she deadpanned. I stare for a moment, not really sure what to say. I think one of my ears twitched.
"What do you mean that's it—" I ask, and she replies quickly.
"You have no snarky comment?" It's really unlike her to say so much—to me—like this.
"I'm just trying to get to work," I told her. She just stares back at me. I know she can see right through me. She probably sees nothing.
"You're so edgy," she scoffed, walking into the break room. Real kind of her. It's easy for me to pretend it didn't happen.
I get no more than ten minutes of peace before the rest of the team begins to show up, and—of course, you. I watch you—everything you do. When you adjust your hair, furrow your eyebrows, laugh at someone else.. everything. You're so beautiful.
I feel the hollowness—the hollowness everyone writes about. It feels like every hair is standing on end—my arms are tingling like they're going numb. I see the way you used to look at me—how I felt so wanted, so desired. How you told me I was your everything. It was like I forgot every argument, every time you'd ignore me for hours on end just to "teach me a lesson."
I remember when I told Robert and he thought it was funny. He thought it was funny that I would constantly go back to you or always be thinking of you. It wasn't funny to me. It wasn't anything to me. It was also everything. I felt nothing thinking about it—it felt normal. I remember the look Visi would give me whenever I mentioned that we weren't talking. She never said anything about it, but I always knew what she was thinking. "Why?"
Truth is, I'm not so sure either.
I wonder what it could've been like—if I never stepped away. I know you wouldn't have changed, and I don't think I wish you would've. I loved you the way you were. I craved you for it. You were unlike anybody else I ever knew. I felt so alive, and I felt so dead, and I was so ecstatic, and so depressed. I felt everything. I felt nothing. I don't think I'll ever feel like this again.
I come back to my senses. I probably look weird just standing here alone. Do I? Why aren't you here? I blink a couple times, taking a deep breath, before Robert calls for me.
"Look alive, man. You're on the job," Robert eyed me. He pauses, giving me an up-down. Do I look bad? Is it apparent I'm not really here? I almost hope somebody will say something. He doesn't.
"Sorry," I told him lamely. He looks back at his computer. Why do I want him to ask me about it? Am I just that desperate for attention?
Next thing I know, I'm back in bed. What did I do today? I remember making my coffee. I remember... seeing you... I'm glad Robert didn't out us on a mission together. What would I say if he did? What if he chooses to just to fuck with me? You'd hate that. You'd probably rather be teamed up with any other person who isn't me. Anybody else—is there someone you're talking to? Is that why you're so okay? My stomach twists. It starts to hurt, and my chest is tight, and my nose burns—I roll over onto my side. This feels like when we were close. How are you still hurting me when we aren't even friends anymore?
I want to go to sleep. Why can't I go to sleep? My eyes are stinging and my vision is blurring. This is so embarrassing. I feel so ashamed. Why can't I stop thinking about you? Why am I like this? I close my eyes, inhaling slowly. I need to relax. It's never this serious. It wasn't this serious to you, it wasn't this serious to me—I'm just being dramatic. I feel like hitting something. Or crying. I'm already halfway there. There's so much tension in my body. Why couldn't you just stay? Why couldn't we have been forever?
One day passed. Then two. Then four. Then a week. I can't think of a single productive thing I've done this week—in fact, I can't think of a single thing I've done this month.
I pour my coffee again. I internally debate whether I'm going to stare at you all day or pretend you're not there. My stomach feels sick. Is this the right time for me to be drinking coffee?
Drink my coffee. Save people. Hey, could you tell my life is falling apart? "Talk" with my coworkers, even if I'll forget we even saw each other later that day. It's so dull. I miss when you were here. At least I felt something—even if it was nothing good. I kinda liked how anxious I got. I miss it. I miss feeling so awful. I also felt really great.
"Sonar, hello?" I look down. It's Punch Up. I almost hope he says "is there something up with you?" but I know everyone's already tired of hearing me complain—about the same thing. The same thing that's already over. That's already long gone. I need to let go.
"Sorry—what's up?" I asked him, blinking.
"We're going out for drinks," he told me. That's.. not a question.
"Okay," I agreed dumbly. Will you be there? I feel my stomach twist again. Fuck.
Punch Up just nodded to me. He stared at me for a minute longer. He knows something's wrong. Of course—everyone does. I'm so obvious. I bet they know it's the same damn girl, too. I avert my gaze, as if it'll shield me from him. I still feel weird.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
I feel a bit better.