A/N: Sorry for the delay. My responsibilities at work have been piling up on me. It's been really overwhelming, being in a different country, with a different culture and learning a new language. I've hit the one month mark as well as the had the first breakdown/cry! So I'm much better :P
The sun shone brightly, alone in the sky.
She hated the sun. And the pain it always seemed to bring with it. She wished the clouds would come back to blot out its light. To deliver her from all this with the rain. And to wash away her insanity.
"Why are you always in here now? Isn't the kitchen Bobby's territory?" The voice jerked her out of her glum thoughts.
John pulled a chair out and seated himself across the table from her. She only stared at him, unable to open her mouth on account of the incoherency that reigned her thoughts. John was talking to her.
"You just sit here… staring forlornly outside… And I don't think you really like tea because you never drink from that cup." He watched her, awaiting a response. "… I mean… that's just my opinion."
She looked down at the full cup trapped between her hands on the table. A pitiful attempt for comfort. One that never worked because she never felt comforted by the fact that she'd lost him again.
John sighed at her silence. She could feel his eyes on her, his brows that were probably knit together in frustration. His fingers tapped on the tabled as he leaned back in his chair, tilting it on it's hind legs. She didn't really know what to say to him or what he wanted to hear. He didn't say anything else for a while, and she looked up to see him staring out the window.
She hadn't dared to ask anyone about Remy. She already knew what to expect. She'd been through this before. There was no point, and no one seemed to be blinking an eye about his disappearing. He didn't exist. Again. She had no one to go to who would believe her. She had no proof. Her memories proved nothing, save insanity.
When he turned to meet her eyes, she dragged her eyes to her cup again. He leaned forward, letting the chair fall back on it's front legs, and she thought he was going to leave. Instead he asked, "… Why am I mad at you?"
She looked up at him. He didn't remember… because he didn't remember Remy anymore. So he had no reason to be angry at her for spending so much time with him. She wondered how thrown off he felt about this lapse of memory he was experiencing, if his confusion came anywhere near matching hers. Probably not.
She stared into his eyes, where she could see his worry and uncertainty.
"I don't know," she said.
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