CHAPTER TWO

He didn't want to feel anything. He was on the way to that point, but not quite there. He could still remember what had happened, could still feel the pain in his wrists and ankles and around his stomach, could still feel the terrible thirst, could still feel his fingers around his brother's throat, and hear his screams. Worst of all, he could still remember what he did to his partner, and could still remember the woman who brought joy in his life. He took another drink of the amber colored liquid and briefly reveled in its heat as it flamed down his throat. The expensive alcohol didn't give him what he wanted. Memories of her flooded his mind, images of her laughing at one of his comments, smiling at him, resting in his arms. The pain the memories produced were as bad—maybe worse—than any he'd experienced, including those produced by his partner's kidnapping and his time in that prison. He ached for this woman physically and mentally. As good, as kind, as smart as his partner was, she couldn't know that his life had been like. The woman in his memories could. She understood. She knew.

He took another drink. He didn't know what he wanted more, oblivion or more memories of her. He stared out his balcony, the lights blinking and blurring in his sight. His lips felt numb, and an enjoyable warmth encased his body, but his mind refused to shut down. "It was so good," he thought. The few months with her before both of their lives began to spiral into chaos had been the best of his life. He would never blame her for leaving. He understood something about how a job could became a life, and, although he knew she had changed his feelings about that subject, he didn't know if she shared his attitude. What he did know was that if you loved someone you didn't cling to them or force them to stay. He let her go away, and when she returned is life was in a state beyond chaos. He thought that perhaps one reason he didn't know how to deal with her return was because some part of him didn't expect her to. He certainly wasn't used to people returning to him. When he saw her at the funeral, he didn't know what to say to her. He wanted to rush to her, to beg her for absolution, and to plead with her to stay. But he couldn't.

When he heard the key in his lock, the first thought that came to his sodden brain was that someone had called his landlord to check on him. A vague, desperate then flicked on the edges of his mind that the sound was that of his partner, and the hope quickly turned into a terror that she would see him in this pathetic state. Even with his senses befuddled by alcohol, he recognized the intruder's steps were those of a woman, and that they weren't those of his partner. A faint, familiar scent reached him, and then a soft voice.

"Bobby."

END CHAPTER TWO