It was 3:02 in the morning. 12 hours of driving. Countless thoughts of Emma Swan.
In the first hour, she was the foot on the pedal that drove 90 in a 25.
In the second hour, she was the pair of eyes in the rear view mirror that looked back at him.
In the third hour, she was the voice that screamed every curse word imaginable.
In the fourth hour, she was the hand writing on the note he scribbled for Henry.
In the fifth hour, she was the sound coming from the radio.
In the sixth hour, she was the bloody knuckles that had stopped the noise.
In the seventh hour, she was the alcohol in his system.
In the eigth hour, she was the apology text.
In the ninth hour, she was The Savior that had no intentions of saving him.
In the tenth hour, she was thoughts of a baby girl with blonde hair and brown eyes.
In the eleventh hour, she was the sobs that escaped him with no signs of stopping,
In the twelth hour, she was making him sick to his stomach.
Now, she was the way he was curled up in a ball somewhere out in the woods with no desires of being found. He couldn't play it off anymore, acting like he didn't feel a damn thing for her. Because he did, and it was physically and mentally tearing him to shreds.
He wished he didn't need Emma. It was always the game of cat and mouse. They were always going around in circles, making themselves dizzy and confused. Their love was insanity at best, and if this was the way things would always be between them, he didn't want it at all.
But he did. He wanted it so badly.
