They released her from the hospital after another couple of days of observation. She pulled herself out of the wheelchair as soon as she cleared the front door, opting to wait for her Ma to bring the car in front while standing. She didn't even know where she was supposed to go.

At some point, she'd have to return to their- to Maura's house, but it's not like she had an apartment anymore. And there was no way in hell that she was going to stay at her Ma's place in Maura's backyard.

Her Ma pulled up and Jane hopped in silently. She spent the drive actively ignoring the copious looks of concern her mother shot her, but she was grateful Angela didn't seem to feel the need to speak. There was only so much a woman can deal with at one time.

"I didn't think you'd want to stay with me, so Frankie offered up an air mattress on his living room floor." Her Ma looked over at her once again. "I thought you'd prefer that."

Jane nodded her agreement before adding a soft, "Thanks, Ma," because the woman was driving and shouldn't have been able to see the movement.

They didn't say anything about where else Jane won't be going. They didn't let slip the slightest mention of a certain tortoise-loving doctor. They didn't discuss the current status of Jane's marriage.

Jane was thankful they didn't say anything. She got out of the car at Frankie's and pulled a bag of clothes from the trunk before suffering through a too-tight hug from her mother. She waited til her mother drove away before mounting the stairs.

Frankie was waiting in the doorway. He didn't utter a thing, simply gestured for Jane to come in and pointed out the tent looking ridiculous in his crowded living room/kitchen area. "I don't have another room, this is the best I could do." He shrugged when he said it, but Jane gave him a long hug in appreciation. He was a good kid when you got right down to it. He shouldn't have had to take in his older sister.

"I pulled the double: night shift with a morning right after, so you have the place to yourself for a while," he said as he slipped into his room. Ten minutes later he reappeared. "Beer's in the fridge, game should be on at seven, and I'll see you tomorrow."

He didn't treat her differently than usual. He didn't coddle her or force her into a hug. She loved him for that; for knowing her. For knowing her the best, not including her best friend. Or maybe it was ex-best friend now. If it was ex-wife, it was probably a good indication that they would no longer be LLBFFs. Even though they'd promised.

She contemplated the beer in the fridge, but she didn't want to steal his liquor. Plucking the spare set of keys from the counter, she left the apartment. She returned thirty minutes later with a bottle of vodka in a paper bag tucked under her arm. She'd give herself one night. One night to try and forget, to try not to feel anything, but that's all she'd get.

This wouldn't break her.

She'd make a game of it. For every good memory, one swallow. For every bad one, two. She eyed the bottle beside her. There were a lot of memories; one bottle wouldn't get them all done. She shook her head. That was the point. The aim of the game was not to die from alcohol poisoning. She couldn't go out like that, not about something like this. Just one night.

There was an unforeseen flaw to Jane's master plan. Alcohol doesn't actually make you forget; it just removes you from reality for a moment. It doesn't erase pain; it magnifies it. That was the lesson Jane learned while lying on the air mattress in her tent, in the middle of her younger brother's apartment, with a quarter bottle of vodka cradled beside her at three in the morning.

She couldn't stop crying. Rivers of tears streamed from her eyes, ugly sobs wracked her chest, and her nose was stuffed up. Still, she soldiered on. Two good memories in succession, causing yet another increase in her roller coaster-like crying jag. Another bad one. Two swallows. It led her to another painful memory. Two more swallows. And another. Two more.

It'd been eight and a half hours since she'd started her well-deserved pity party. With a last good reminiscence, she drained the bottle. Idly, with her vision scrambling before her eyes, she feared the massive hangover she'd have to endure when she woke. Looking around her at the dark canvas surrounding her, she was also thankful she'd hidden her phone. A blubbering, drunk phone call, vomiting out the sea of emotion within her, would have been disastrous.

Instead she made a promise to herself; one she hoped she'd remember and keep: Never let her know how much it hurts.