Current mood:	sick
Current music:	"The Mixed Tape" - Jack's Mannequin

Title: Ever and A Day [2/4]
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Bert/Quinn
Summary: Bert goes away to rehab, and comes home to find that with sobriety comes awareness.
POV: Second-Person [Bert]
Notes: I'm sick, which means another long wait for updates. Sorry this is short. Thanks for the comments, I love you all like Geetard loves himself. ♥

One.

Ever and A Day


Ten. Eleven. Twelve.


When you finally looked up from your spot on the floor (you refused to lay on the bed), three obnoxious numbers glowed brightly in the darkness. “One.” You utter this with surprise—time seems to have slipped from your grasp, the minutes trickling through your cupped hands like murky water. Grimacing, you rise slowly, giving the bed a wistful glance before walking out to the kitchen.


“I still believe.”


His words won’t leave you in peace, ringing clearly in your mind. Feeling lazily for the light switch, the lights flicker on a minute later, bathing the small kitchen in a sickly yellow light. It reminds you of something, but you don’t try to remember. After all, what good are memories if they only bring bitterness?


Shaking your head, your gaze lowers to your wrist, bare and unmarred. There used to be at least one hundred bracelets there, most of them black, with a few coloured ones wedged between them. He bought them for you ‘just because’. They slowly disappeared over the years, due to general thoughtlessness and a million trips up to the hill where you went on your first date.


And now they’re gone.


Just like he is.


You thought it’d be nice to leave it all behind, back then. There was something in living the way you did that made it easy. Too easy, when you really think about it. “I need a drink,” you whisper to the warped shadows you create as you make your way to the refrigerator. One o’ clock, and all you want is to forget again. Forget it ever happened.


Forget he ever happened.


“Fuck.” Even in his absence, you can feel him watching, eyes filled with sorrow. It was for him that you changed. You would do anything, if it meant his lips pressed lightly against yours, calloused fingers tracing imaginary circles on your inner thigh, his heartbeat rapid and in sync with your own…


Despite your best efforts to ignore the tightness in your chest, it won’t go away. His voice is still in your ears, a faint whisper above the pounding of your sick heart. Shutting your eyes tightly, you take a deep breath and count to five. One... Was he sorry? Two... Did he think of you? Three... Is he somewhere safe? Four... Does he still love you? Five. You don’t know.


And you know you’ve lost.


Slowly, with slight hesitation, you open your eyes, taking a few steps back towards the living room. Reaching your hand out, you turn the lights back off. After lingering for a few moments, you head back to your room, unsure of what to do without him here with you. Everything feels wrong. Frowning at the silence, you mutter under your breath. “You bastard.” You don’t mean it.


You lay down on the bed with a heavy sigh, on your back, staring up into the darkness. He told you once that if you stare at the ceiling long enough, it begins to look like it’s falling towards you. For the second time, your eyelids fall shut, and you watch the lights and colors dance behind them. Part of you is enjoying this for one simple reason.


It doesn’t remind you of anything.


And that’s all you want.



go to chapter 3.