I hear the door quietly close behind me as I leave her apartment for the last time. The familiar clicking sound and hiss of the frame as it moves together haunts me as I walk away, tears silently streaming down my face, blurring the familiar corridors. I stumble, then catch myself, gasping for breath. I have to get out of here before I break. I never expected it to end like this…I never expected it to end. But it has, it ended and I can't breathe. I nearly fall again, stumbling down the too-familiar stairs and, too soon, I'm at the front door. Am I really leaving? Is this really the last time I'll ever walk through these doors? I pause, daring myself to stay just a moment longer, aching to hear her voice calling me back – calling me home. But it doesn't come, as I knew, deep down, that it wouldn't.
Tears are making permanent marks down my cheeks and yet I remain silent, fearing anybody hearing, anybody seeing me this broken. And I am, I'm already broken and I know it. I can feel my insides churning against me, fear and regret eating me alive. But I can't turn back. I have to walk through these doors, because she's not coming after me. She gave me her decision, spelt it out to me, and knew I had no choice but to walk away. Did she hope I'd change my mind? She had to know I needed this to be real. Once again, I hear the doors clicking shut, frames sliding noisily together. Once again, this sound spurs on my tears and gasps for breath and once again, I stumble, catching myself against the side of my car. It's over.
The drive home was a blur. I remember lights and sounds, but can't place them. I don't even remember the streets I passed or the turns I made, or how I did it all while crying hysterically. I don't know how I made it back alive.
That night was a blur too. That night, and most of the next day. Nothing seemed important, nothing was important, except for the fact that the love of my life told me she wasn't ready. I know I cried – there's no doubt about that. How I managed to stop crying is what truly amazes me. How I managed to pick up the phone and hold a conversation for an extended period of time without breaking down all over again seems impossible. And yet, somehow, I did.
There was a point where I became numb, too. There had to have been or I never would have been able to survive.
I'm glad I didn't bring much with me when I moved here. I knew it would only be a few months from the beginning, but I'm known to over pack, as most females are. And packing itself seems unimportant, where things end up, what they get mixed with. All I know is I have to be gone. I have to be gone before she knows and tries to stop me because if she did, if she tried, I know I would give in. I always was unable to resist her, and if she came here asking me to stay, I would be completely helpless. Love and devotion don't fade that fast. I'm still in love with her. I think I always will be.
I can't even bring myself to say goodbye to the rest of the team. I should, I know I should, but they would ask questions. They would ask questions and I would break down, and they would tell her. And then I would stay, I know I would because I know her. I know she would come and beg me not to go. And I would stay.
I will miss them though. Through everything that's happened, they've become my family. Every last one of them.
The last box is packed. Everything is waiting for me in my car, my landlord expecting the keys back. I look around one last time, numbly searching for anything I may have left behind, and memories come flooding into my conscious. The numbness is gone in an instant, replaced by searing pain and clawing nausea. I remember her waiting for me, naked in my bed. Her leaning against the doorframe, wearing only a towel and smiling at me, beckoning me forward. I open the bathroom door and she's leaning over the sink, brushing her hair. Then she's in the shower, pressed up against the wall, kissing me like tomorrow will never come.
Downstairs is the same. I see her everywhere. Sitting on my couch watching movies, in front of the fireplace surrounded by pillows and sheets. Then she's in the kitchen making me coffee, cooking me dinner, naked on the counter, head thrown back and screaming my name. And everywhere else in my apartment, taunting me, hurting me, and yet loving me all at once.
It's Sunday evening. The team will be back together tomorrow, writing up reports and waiting on another case. I won't be there. I should be, but I won't. I'll be far away, where I can start healing the shards that have become my heart. I'm afraid of the numbness, afraid and glad for it all at once. It means I won't have to feel, I won't have to hurt. It also means I won't be able to heal – not that I think I would be able to anyway.
My name is Jennifer Jareau. My name is Jennifer Jareau and all I can do right now is hurt. I fell in love. Madly, deeply. Forever. But I can't say that love can truly exist without anybody else knowing about it. And I guess that's my biggest problem. Because if it wasn't for that belief, I never would have left. And she never would have let me. My heart forever belongs to her, and if there were such a thing, I would call her my soulmate. Emily Prentiss. Even saying her name tears me apart, but it needs to be said. Because this is our story.
a/n: not completely sure how far I'll get with this story. I basically have the whole premise planned out in my head already, but not sure how far I'll get with writing it out. So please r & r, let me know what you think, and if I should continue. I should also mention that this is my first fanfic in about 3 years, so bear with me if I screw up at times.