Six weeks. Six weeks, and he was still as alone as he was when Belle forced him to leave. He had been on the ground at the town line for far too long before deciding it was probably best to leave. He had hurt his true love. She was hurting, but she would come for him. She always did. That was what kept him sane at night.
Except she hadn't. He'd gone to New York, knowing that was the first place she'd look for him. Stayed outside Bae's apartment, waiting. Waiting. Waiting for hours, days, and when the third week rolled around he accepted it.
She wasn't coming for him.
The moment he realised it, he changed. His shoulders slumped, his legs gave out while he gave up. Gave in to the pain that was finally overwhelming him. He'd stayed there, on the ground, staring but not seeing, until a friendly tourist offered to buy him McDonald's. The Dark One, being offered dinner at a cheap fast food restaurant because he didn't look like he could feed himself. But he didn't care. He took the dinner invitation and let himself be led. He didn't notice the woman arriving just as he turned the corner.
After, he walked. He kept walking, days and days and days. His leg killed him, and he could feel it getting worse every hour. Infection, probably. He didn't care. It didn't matter. He was too much of a monster to keep his own son, and now, he was too much of a monster to keep his Belle. He didn't cry. Any tears he had had been long used up. He just walked. An empty shell, finding places with people. Finding places with light, with sound, so he could feel something in his numbness. So something could overwhelm him again. The bright lights dimmed the blue eyes that crossed the street.
He got by. He ate, once a day, maybe. Enough to keep himself alive through the fourth and fifth week. His leg got worse. The pain was killing him, but he kept walking, hoping somehow he could punish himself for hurting Belle as much as he did. It wasn't enough. He walked and walked and walked until his feet ached and the image of the grey pavement and the feet around him was seared into his brains. It all became a blur, and he didn't notice anything different about high heels.
At the end of the fifth week, the snow started. He was freezing, couldn't feel his feet or his hands, but he kept walking. Walking to somehow, someway, stay alive, so he could feel what he did to Belle. She didn't deserve him. She never had. The sixth week was when the hallucinations started. Belle was there, on every street corner, in every shop window, in every stranger's eyes he saw her pain. He couldn't look in the mirror, because all he saw was her. She was everywhere at once. Not soothing him. Not anymore. Never again. Brown hair disappearing around the corner seemed like just another vision.
In the end, he gave up. He gave up trying, he gave up eating, he didn't walk to stay warm anymore. Didn't imagine her arms wrapped around him at night, and she started fading. He didn't remember how she smelled, how her hair messed up in the mornings, didn't even remember the taste of her mouth. He knew he should see a doctor. He could feel the infection from his leg spreading, but he didn't care. Not anymore. A world without Belle was not one he wanted to live in. Still, he kept walking. Not to live anymore, but to die.
He didn't hear his name being called out by a familiar voice as he crumpled to the ground, welcoming the darkness. He had finally stopped walking.