AUTHOR'S NOTE - I have realised that the more I think about them, the less I like them. The drabbles, that is. Not Jibbs, by any means. :)
Only five more left after this, kiddies.
Oh, also, I hope this is angsty enough for you. I fear my angstiness might have drowned in the recent flood of smut. *sighs*

DISCLAIMER - Still no.


THE FIRST TIME HE REALISED HE WAS IN LOVE WITH HER

"The heart was made to be broken." – Oscar Wilde


He could run from himself only so far. He should have known that by now.

But still, he ran. He ran until he couldn't any more. Until there were no more places to run and no more places to hide. Until there was no more bourbon to drown the reality in, until the skin on his hands became bloody and sore.

And when the truth finally caught up with him, it hit him with all its interests.

And he was faced with it where he usually was faced with his truths – in his basement, in the silence, alone.

She was gone.

That he accepted. That he made peace with. That he might even forgive her.

The truth he was faced with, months after she had left, was not even that he missed her. That he also knew.

No, the truth that hit him out of the blue was the fact that he was in love with her.

That was where his running, his hiding, his denying ended. That was where he met the dead-end.

That was the thing he could never forgive her.

She made him vulnerable like he hasn't been in years; practically a sitting duck. And then she shot him. She left him.

She broke his heart.

No goodbye; no explanation. Just him and the scribbled letter, left to mend his wounds. To try and fix his heart.

Again.

And he would try and hate her. And he would try and forget her.

But he already knew.

Try as he might, she would still be gone and he would still be in love with her.


- TBC -