disclaimer: i don't own anything

notes: picking yourself up after a break up is something else. warning! curse words used

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Two hearts heavy on the ground, leaving cracks in the pavement.

It is raining, and my face is wet. This umbrella is old, broken, and filled with holes.

"O-out of all nights to talk," Ash stands still, shivering with a tiny vapid smile.

"Listen, this isn't a joke," I grab his attention. "You forget that you don't live here anymore." Ignoring his attempt to humor me. My back facing my apartment building. Moonlight and the flickering streetlamp giving us guidance. I can see him crystal clear. It looks like he hasn't shaved since November. Yet I wonder if he regrets seeing me in such light? Despite this, my feet are planted firmly.

"Who's in your heart now?" I ask him, and he turns to meet me.

Every step he took forward, I took one back. His face showed sympathy, a mournful mouth scrunched up. His chocolate laced stare pitying me. A heavy name dangled on his tongue, a name so sweet he could not spit it out so easily. That would be pure evil. Her precious name must be handled with care, he speaks of her gently. With every little letter he beams brighter as his chest falls heavier. I know that her name is secure between his lips like the way his heart is secure in her dainty hands. I know that I am bitter woman with a bitter heart.

But now his hands are gripping my hands with shaky force. I didn't realize I allowed him to come so close. I bite the inner corner of my mouth and the metallic taste of the blood is rancid on my tongue.

His eyes are resentful and I am growing impatient.

"Is it me or her, Ash?" I raised my voice, like a miserable child cornered, he stared at me.

"I'm sorry-"

The words whispered in my ear on the night he proposed were now fiction. In my head memories of our childhood awaken as angry tears formed again in the corner of my eyes. I have never felt more calculating, so cold.

With his plea, the pounding of my heart nearly stopped. I set my foot back, but he did not step forward. He stood tall, drenched by raindrops the way guilt settled on his features. He showed me how he felt nights ago, with his teeth grazing her collarbone and her nails digging into his back as she gasps for Ash to touch her more. To walk into your own living room to see your boyfriend's hands caressing the small of another woman's back. Something within you cracks.

I give a shaky laugh, knowing his answer to my question. Another step.

"Was it ever me?" And another.

"Misty," his voice shakes. "Through thick and thin..." Another. Two other. Three other.

I look at Ash. A melancholic smile firm on his face, his answer still remaining. He really looks like a child in this light. The kid he was back then wouldn't betray me like the man I once thought I knew now did.

"How could you do it?" I said, not having time for any more questions.

"I should have told—"

I stop and turn to face him one last time.

"And all I did was believe in you."

With his unspoken answer, I leave him in the dark.

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"It's no good."

Gary is standing in my kitchen. He is leaning his back against the counter, throwing empty liquor bottles into my recycling bin. It's been two weeks since it rained. I've eaten two cartons of Ben & Jerry's Phish Food in the last four days to get the clichés over and done with. It took angry grieving and breaking plates but I am growing. I realized what I had with Ash ended before Serena came into his life, it ended when he stopped looking at me like maybe I was magic. It ended when he stopped looking at each other.

A cold chill runs up my spine with every image of Ash taking her behind these walls, the same walls covered in photos of us, memories we made, and things we've collected.

I called Gary. He listens, fights, and shares takeout with me. Takes out the broom from the closet after plates and photo frames shattered. People don't see the warmth that emits from Gary when he is kind and the harsh words he spills out of worry. People have asked me what is between Gary and me as if I can ever label this pseudo-friendship, this strange alliance—this strange something. He's something to me. For now it's better left unsaid.

He continues rummaging around and asks, "What's no good? The red wine? That doesn't spoil."

My back is slumped back against the icy metal of my fridge, sitting on the floor with my knees to my chest. I look up at Gary with heavy set eyes.

"No—you being here. I'm still trying to process why I like you being here."

Gary shook his head, "I figured it was because my ass looks good in blue jeans and I kill spiders. Besides you called, and I came."

I snort, "I'm better than this. I should be better than calling you just to distract me as if I'm some train wreck."

"And I should know better to come at your every beck and call but here we are, in your kitchen, distracting each other." Gary sighs breathlessly, "I'm as guilty as you."

"Yeah, well, I should kick you out. You have work tomorrow."

"As do you," he retorts. "I'm not giving you a reason to kick me out, Misty."

"I should—"

Gary turns away from the counter, kneeling towards the cold floor. His shoulders are tense and I can see how he avoids staring at my blue-stripped pajama shorts. I'd be lying sinner if I denied the sense of pride that hits my gut every time he lingers on me.

He settles beside my crouching body, bringing warmth to my right side.

"You won't," he says softly.

I rest my head on his shoulder. From the corner of my weary eye, I see the corner of Gary's lips slightly curl into a hopeless grin masking the pain tinted on his face. Something within me is telling me to wake up before you drown the boy with your actions and tears. To stop calling for him by name. To stop grazing your fingers along his jaw when you're not even drunk. To stop confiding in a man with his own mess.

Then he lays his head against mine and our breathing syncs in an amazing way. And I indulge in the peaceful quiet he brings every time he steps through the doorway.

"God," I whisper. "I don't think it was ever me, Gary. I'm so stupid for thinking that he and I could have been something great-"

A single tear runs down my cheek and I am furious at myself for letting it reach my chin.

"No," he insists, lightly touching my tightened fist. "To Hell with him. We both know you know you aren't stupid. It's just the transition from being confused and hurting to wanting to set his life on fire—I'm surprised you haven't resorted to the latter, actually."

The thought has come to mind.

"You can't always be strong," he offers. "It takes someone strong to let themselves be weak."

"Bullshit," I reply. "That's such crackerjack box bullshit, Socrates."

"Yeah but maybe its bullshit I want you to hear."

"Maybe you're right. Still kind of shitty."

And then:

"Misty?"

"Yes?"

"I think it might be you," he says, not daring to look at me.

"Fuck," he says, over and over, "it might have always been you."

I remain curled at his side, face pressed into the crook of his neck, I whisper a soft "thank you" that burned my throat and swallow up every word. Then nothing is said.

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notes: cheaters suck and so does binge drinking. thank you for reading! please review and comment about anything you like or wonder about! xo