6 weeks earlier...
Kurt knew before she spoke; the sparkle of yesterday was extinguished. Her eyes moved slower and always more down cast, skimming the floor, rarely raising to eye level. It was in her voice too, quieter, with a meekness that wasn't usually part of her speech patter. She was unhappy in a way he hadn't seen before, like a small slice of bereavement.
"I'm here to pick up my things." She hadn't even bothered to come inside she just stood at the doorway, nervously pulling and tugging at her fingers, forcing him to reach out and cover her hands with his. She pulled back but only slightly and made her silent demand once more. Accepting his defeat Kurt moved aside to allow her entrance into the house they once shared.
Everyone had convinced them that moving in together so soon would never end well but he was far too happy, far too in love that he had insisted. Jane, of course, had never been in any place to deny him anything and immediately agreed to his request. The very next day she moved in.
She maneuvered around the house almost zombie like, stopping at their shared bedroom and picking up everything that belonged to her.
It took her roughly twenty minutes to get all that she needed.
"Jane, I'm sorry," Kurt whispered as she was about to leave. Ignoring his apologies that would never change what happened, she turned and walked out slamming the door behind her.
"Weller, are you alright?" Patterson asked, looking up at me from behind her computer screen. Her blue eyes scanning mine frantically. I noticed that her blue eyes appeared glossier and her cheeks flushed. I also noticed her freckles too. For the first time. Then my eyes travel to her blonde hair; disheveled. My insides shrunk as I realized that she had been here all night. Like the rest of us, Patterson had taken Jane's departure really hard and had devoted her time to following every possible lead that we've had on her for the past six weeks but it always led to nothing.
I think of all the cigarette butts and alcohol probably littered around the house. To be honest, I haven't seen much of my house. My eyes would travel every nook and cranny but I wouldn't see anything. It was as if, along with Jane, my sight had left me too— it thought me not worthy enough to stick around, not worth all of the pain I'd most likely give.
The house stopped being my house the minute Jane left. Now it was just something I stayed at every night because I had nowhere else to turn to.
"Are you?" I asked, eyeing her appearance. She was still wearing what she wore the day before; white long sleeved shirt with little brown flowers scattered around the sleeves and a pair of black pants.
She doesn't answer, just types, her fingers whizzing over the keyboard.
No one had heard from Roman either, except for that one time I swallowed my pride and called him for some sort of information on Jane. He greeted me with some very colourful language and a threat to knock my teeth out if I ever called him or his sister again. I guess I deserved that. The office had become so dreary without Jane around. Her laughter didn't ring through the hallways after she pulled some stupid but really funny prank on our coworkers. Not a sound could be heard neither close at hand or in the far off distance. Even my own breath seemed to die as soon as it left my mouth. It was an eerie sort of tranquility, so instead of being soothed my senses became heightened. I felt like the prey even though no predator could be detected. It was as if the world were encased in a cocoon, a bubble, and there was no way out.
All I am is sadness, every other emotion pushed from my being. Where there was the love, the light, the laughter is an aching hollowness.
She presses her hand into her cheek a little, tipping her head down and raising those eyes. When she looks at me like that; pitying, I feel it all the way throughout my body.
"We'll find her, Kurt. I promise," the blonde haired woman assured, tapping away on her keyboard.
"Thanks Pat," I said offering her a small smile before turning on my heels and walking out, closing the door quietly behind me.
"Hey Kurt!" I heard Reade call from a distant away, I turned to where his voice was coming from and saw him running down the hallway clad in a black sweatpants a white T-shirt.
I scrubbed my hand across my face and braced myself for whatever news he had for me. Along with Patterson, Reade too had been searching. Evey week he came with a different story that usually ended with him apologizing for not having more. I loved my team for the effort they were putting into finding Jane but this was my battle. I pushed her away. I had to be the one to bring her back.
"Hey man," I greeted casually, digging my hands into my deep pockets.
He looked out of breath like he had just ran a marathon.
Sadness sits an inch below his face, eyes remaining dry, expression impassive.
The look on his face says nothing is good. My breath hitched and suddenly I felt like I had shards of glass stuck in my throat; every breath more difficult than the last.
I moved nothing but my eyes, my mind racing while every muscle stayed rock still.
"I have this friend," he started, shifting nervously and scratching behind his ear. "Well...he has a three year daughter—" his voice trailed off; the conclusions were inescapable.
"Reade, get to the point," I said impatiently, waving my hand around.
"You found her?" I asked softly when he continued to stare at me, my voice cracked and raw. I stepped closer to him and rested both of my hands on his shoulders and squeezed as I waited for his response.
"I found her."
A torrent of happiness starts to come up through me, spilling out as tears. Tears for what I thought I had to grieve over and don't anymore.
Tears for the last six hopeless weeks.
Loneliness. It makes your life miserable, breaks your heart into thousand pieces and still each broken part of you.
It keeps you obsessed with her, you just miss her face, her eyes, her smile, her scent all the time knowing that you are never going to get her again. Life becomes vulnerable as you are enslaved by her thoughts, you try to be normal but you just can't. Each and every thing seems meaningless, at the starting everything looks extraordinary and ecstatic but at the end you are left with nothing except agony and emptiness.
The white noise whoosh of traffic was rhythmic, almost lulling.
Kurt had wasted no time. After collecting the address for where Jane had been residing for the last 5 weeks, he rushed out to his car, slamming the door quickly behind him and sped down the road.
Through the window, he could hear the risings and fallings of conversations being held, chatting and the yapping and shrieking of young children. The roaring sound of the motorcycle revved behind him intrudes like profanity jogging him out of my deep thoughts.
Thoughts of her.
Jane.
His Jane.
She left 6 weeks ago but he could still hear the doors bang. She must have slammed every one on the way out. Kurt was certain they'd come off their frames from the way the noise cracked into the air. She's not the strongest woman, but she really put some power into it. I guess anger can do that.
The ache of longing to be with her echoed through the very marrow of his very bones. It was a chill wind trapped in the chambers of his heart. With every spare moment his mind would rehearse a new letter to her. Time itself seemed to slow to such a leisurely pace, it seemed cruel to him, ringing out the seconds.
No one could ever know that missing someone could take over every fibre of your being and wring you out like a wet sponge every day. It was a torment Kurt had been unprepared for.
When the sadness comes my appetite is ash on the floor. The food gets stuck, four bites and I'm done. The urge to cry comes and goes, chaotic, powerful, spilling hot tears. In between the floods it sits heavy on my heart. I won't sit still though, I won't curl up and refuse to move like my body wants. This too will pass. I rested my head in my hands and begin to rub my temples, trying to massage away the throbbing headache. If only my head would just stop pounding.
Roman appears suddenly at the frame of the door. He doesn't say anything, he just watches me in silence —studying me.
I looked up at him and smiled. He nodded in acknowledgement, his head against the doorframe and his arms folded.
"What's wrong?" he voice sounded exactly how I felt —tired.
I shrugged. I didn't look at him to see his reaction; frankly I didn't care for his sad, sympathetic gazes today. But then I felt him move closer, he silently wrapped his arms around my shoulder and sat in silence as I gathered my thoughts. In that moment, I suddenly felt different. It was a sensitive act.
People who didn't know Roman that well would think he was a raging psychopath but he wasn't. He was just a little boy forced to grow up too fast, the younger brother who wanted to always please his sister. He wanted to repay her for everything she had ever done for him even though I had told him countless times that no payment was required.
"You always take care of family, Roman. Always"
His temper was like a slowly filling glass. There was no problem, no outward sign of fury until the liquid reached the top, then all bets were off. If you were smart you ran for cover.
As kids one of the first things I remembered about Roman was that he was the kid who sat at the back of the classroom, always drumming on the desk with his pens and pencils. And he'd kick the chair of the pretty girl in front of him but when she turned around to scold him, he'd just give the biggest smile and flashed his pearly whites at her; that was how he'd always got his way. I always admired his ability to worm his way out of any situation.
I could always tell when Roman was getting all worked up. His arms would go all rigid and his muscles would pop right out. He felt like a warm statue to touch.
"I should've killed him when I had the chance." I didn't have to ask who he was talking about.
Roman was livid when I turned up at his house at 3am with a bleeding hand and torn clothing. It took all of the willpower I had to calm him down before he went over to Kurt's house and committed murder.
In a subconscious gesture of disgust his nose wrinkled and he drew his head backwards. "OK, OK," he muttered, noticing my discomfort.
"I'm gonna be okay," I whispered throwing my head back on his shoulder.
