This story is kind of dark, extremely unromantic, and not even a little funny. Sorry I'm kind of messed up sometimes. Inspired by Pink's Who knew

Song prompt: Who knew

I didn't understand why you had to leave us, me. I still don't. If someone had told me a year, a month or even the day before ya told us? That you'd be walking out? They'd be lucky to come away missing a few teeth.

I remember that first hesitant night, some grimy roof top, some argument. Like two falling stars burning together, ya called us. An' I hit you, and when you didn't hit me back, I believed.

That last night before your training journey, I was still so angry I couldn't see strait. You came to me, I was jus' standing in the dark, to angry to even move. Ya touched my hand, you undid me with a word, a look. "Please." ya said.

That night, well even I have ta' admit it was somethin'. Everything had this extra sharpness because I knew I wouldn't have ya' again for so long. And after, when we were finally finished an dawn was pressin' up against the sky, we promised all those thing that I guess lovers do. You said even though we'd be apart, we'd be together. Forever. I believed you.

At first it was hard, those first three months I found my self sneakin' in to your room on the regular about once a week just ta' smell ya on the sheets. I used to run my fingers over the spines of your books just because ya' had touched um. I was careful then, didn't want ta' do it to much cuz your smell would fade.

Then it was harder, the next three months your letters got less frequent, more distant. I was in ya room three, four time a week. Sleepin' in your bed durin the day. I started hitting the rooftops with Casey at night. Just for some distraction. It was ok if my smell gradually started replacin' your own, if I picked somethin' up off your desk and didn't know exactly where it went back. You'd be home soon, arms around me an' puttin' everything back in its place, or so I belived.

The next three months when you stopped writhing all together. They were even harder. Worry was breakin' me apart, and so I did the only thing I knew how to do, I broke stuff. Faces mostly, but I also totaled a couple ah cars, bikes, store front windows, even went a few rounds with the sofa one night if anyones ever wonderin' why it looks so worn. Drove Don up a wall, Mr. Fix it, Doctor Donnie. But he couldn't fix me, and I think that got under his shell a little.

Casey and I were out almost every night now, and if Case wasn't around Nightwatcher rode solo. Most nights he came around though, he was my best friend and he was going to help me get through this last difficult stretch. He'd fill the void you'd left with a grin, or a beer or a punch to the shoulder or a good tip on which warehouse we could find some action. He didn't see that I'd already started to grow into the empty places you'd left, I didn't either. You'd be home soon and things would fall right back in ta place. It was what we believed.

The week before you were supposed to be home, I was half out of my shell with anticipation. Casey sensed ta extra swagger in my step, and gave me shit about it. Said we'd have to bash the skulls of a few extra punks b/c my ass would be too sore to ride the shell cycle next week.

I think I handled the first week after ya were supposed to come back pretty well considering. I was anxious, but the Jungles a long way from NYC, any number of things could of caused delays, hell not a lot of calendars in the rainforest maybe you had lost count. But you were on your way back to me. ya were almost by my side again I believed that.

The next few weeks kind of all blur together, I vibrated between giddy although gruffly express excitement at your impending return and bouts of dizzying terror that ya weren't coming back. That something terrible had happened to ya out there. At some point I can't pin down I started spending a lot more time in your room. Like all of it, I'd lock myself in there for hours, then days.

Some time in the second month, after a several day disappearance in to your room Mikey picked the lock. He had a grill cheese with tomatoes on it, called it a pizza sandwich. Got me to eat it by crying, not those big crocodile tears of his, real ones. Mikey told me between sobs that you were fine, that I needed to stay strong for when you came back. I could see he was half trying to convince himself. I told him I know if you were dead. I believed it.

Three months in to your extended absence I started to feel the changes in my self. I still spent an amount of time in your room that can only be described as unhealthy. But my fear and grief were now punctuated with anger. Anger wound its way up and started filling the holes ya left in me. Mikey had now decided that one part time job wasn't enough. It was now his full time mission to keep me alive and functioning. I didn't make it easy on him. I think it was out of pure desperation to try something, anything to help me that made him reach out and kiss me that first time.

I took him right there in your bedroom, the last your scent still lingering on the sheets. The first time I may have screamed your name at the end. All the times after that, I rarely said anything at all. Mikey only once suggested we try doing it somewhere other than in your bed. One short sharp refusal from me and he dropped it. I think he thought of himself as a place holder, just something to hold me together until ya came back. I thought of him as a weapon, I learned his body, his likes and dislikes. I thought his pleasure would hurt you. I made him cum over and over again because I believed that.

By the time we came up on the six month mark I had fallen into a kind of routine. I was back out on the streets as Nightwatcher almost every night. Sometimes with Casey, but more often on my own. By day I'd sleep, occasionally fuck Mikey in your bed if he was around, or break something of yours if he wasn't. I tore the pages out of your copy of art of war one at a time. I took your favorite book and made it a calendar of my anger. Mikey would sneak back in and carefully smooth the pages and tape them back in.

It was easy for him to sneak into your room, with a roll of tape or tub of spackle to fix whatever I broke because I was spending less and less time in there. I was also spending less time with Mikey, which I felt a little bad about. But revenge sex only works if the person you are trying to hurt knows or cares. You were out there dead or alive, but either way you weren't coming back. That's what I believed.

Strangely, I felt better. Better than I had since the day ya left. You were gone and whatever we had wasn't strong enough to bring ya back to me. But I was free of you, and the weight of our love now. Whatever happened from here was up to me. I poured myself into the role of Nightwatcher with more enthusiasm than ever. I felt like I had found my place, my purpose. Real danger and fights every night, Mikey's constant adoration didn't hurt either. With you gone he needed someone to look up to. It felt good that it was me even if he didn't know I was the Nightwatcher.

Rolling steadily towards the nine month mark, I was seeing less of Mikey. The occasional tumble on your bed on the most difficult days. The rare ones when I found myself back in your room, finger running down the now very battered spine of Art of War wondering why. It was also around that time when I had my first experiences with women. Adrenalin fueled trysts in dark alleys, usually after I had saved them from some jumped up purse snatcher. I was always careful to keep their hands busy, or face them away so they couldn't go for the mask. Few ever did anyway, it was Nightwatcher they wanted. I never found anything in those rough brick walls, or their soft pink skin that compared with you. But I believed it was enough for me.

At almost a year of your extended absence, two years total- I'm pretty content. I like being the Nightwatcher, putting all the anger you left me with, not to mention all the anger I already had to good use. Life's not perfect, but neither am I. We get by just fine without you.

Then you came back, and my world fell apart a second time. Fuck you, Leo.