Notes from Mama Lobster: Named for the Radiohead song.

A quick shoutout to a guest... you bring up a really, really important point. It's just so common for people to be willfully ignorant of the danger in these situations... I can't tell you how many times I've seen obvious signs ignored by friends and family. It makes me seriously happy to think you were on her side. (And the cheap shots will keep coming. I don't think I've crossed every cliche off the list yet, but we're getting close.)

From Brooke Stardust: ┬──┬◡ﾉ(° -°ﾉ) She has left that table flipped for far too long. So many thanks to her for beta reading.

How to Disappear Completely

== Be Dave

5 days, 15 hours, 56 minutes and 24 seconds. That's how long it's been since you've seen Jade Harley. You don't even know if she's alive, and you don't think you have it in you to find out.

For 4 of those days you didn't use. You were done. Cleaner than a fucking toilet bowl on health inspection day. You didn't deserve the release, the euphoria of it all. You would have been sober and so much less of a danger to anyone, or the withdrawals would have killed you. Either way, the world would be a better place.

But you were weak. When the sweat and shaking and memory became too much to bear, you gave in. You did it to make the look of betrayal on her face go away.

The liquor burns on the way down. 151. It tastes like rubbing alcohol and it's exactly what you need. No pleasantries about it, just a vile fire in your throat and then nothing.

Bro tells you that you didn't mean it, like that somehow makes it better. Like thinking you're fighting off Noir in the snow while you're actually trying to murder your wife is a perfectly acceptable way to spend your time. Of course that doesn't count as domestic violence, officer, you thought she was a dog demon! Now everyone just pack up and go home, you're clearly a model citizen and the perfect husband.

You doubt that Bro really believes it either. He probably just doesn't want to clean up after your suicide. He can't even look you in the eye he's so fucking disgusted by you.

Another swig. You miss your mouth this time, spilling the liquor onto the filthy sheets below. Fuck, you can't afford to waste booze right now. It's not like you're in any state to get some more.

== Dave: do nothing

You are more than totally ok with that. 7 days, 23 hours, 5 minutes and 44 seconds.

The bloodstains and grime coating the sheets below you don't matter, as you will never change them. They still smell like Jade. On day 6, you woke up and thought she was there next to you. It was warm and comfortable with that smell like gardenias, and the way the light reflected off her little pixie nose was too adorable not to kiss. It's a shame Bro was there to wrestle the gun away from you when you remembered that she was gone.

After that, Bro took all the weapons upstairs. Every sword he owned, every rifle she kept locked away in case of emergencies was gone. Even the stupid kitchen set that you were so terrible at using was deemed a danger and removed. Now, when the memories hit, you are defenseless.

They hit fucking hard, too, and often. So much more often now that you are alone. Old ones, new ones, ones so terrible you're pretty sure your brain forced you to not remember them until now. Jade kept them at bay sometimes, and here and there you could forget how stupidly shitty the universe seemed to be. Now every fucking time you close your eyes you can only see her fucking seizure and shit it's in your head it's in your head shit shit shit make her stop looking at you like that is she even still alive?

One frantic drink and the memory washes away with a burn. Where the fuck did you leave your dope? You know damn well Dirk didn't flush it; asshole learned his lesson last time.

== Dave: cry and angst

As if you do anything else with your time now. It's almost like you believe you could still function as a human being if you wanted to.

10 days, 19 hours, 33 minutes and 6 seconds, but at least you know she is alive. There's a mumble from the living room. Bro left the TV on, and he must have forgotten to turn the volume down. Even through the headphones you can hear the dramatic overtures of whatever new Shounen anime he's into. Ever since he's set up camp in the living room he's been flooding your whole damn place with turntables, smuppets, and ridiculously creepy hentai.

He keeps insisting you leave the apartment with him, if only to go for food. Why he wants to be seen in public with a phlegm-gargling nutsack like you is beyond your imagination. He keeps talking about the importance of routine and some other psycho-babble. More than likely he's been talking to Rose, you know he could usually care less about that emotional shit.

He's gone now, though, and he refuses to take you with him this time.

Asshole. You chuck a pillow across the room at the thought.

You know that's not fair. He won't take you with him because you can't go. It would just be fucking wrong. You don't deserve to be near her and it's completely cruel and unfair of you to want to go with him.

Then again…

Since when have you given a rat's ass about fairness? Since when has the universe given a rat's ass about fairness? This whole situation is fucked to shit anyway and there's nothing you can do that would really make it worse. Rock bottom's a buddy of yours now, and you may as well spend some more time bonding.

== Dave: get up

10 days, 20 hours, 8 minutes and 20 seconds. It takes you a little while to get your ass in gear.

Coke is too much for this; you're not stupid enough to think otherwise. You don't have the option of fucking this up, and on coke that's all you do.

Dope it is, then. You'd also be stupid to think you could handle this without any chemical help at all. You can't handle lying in your goddamn plushy-soft bed without chemical help, let alone looking at the girl whose life you destroyed.

The door out of the apartment looks a lot more threatening than it used to. Maybe it's just because you haven't touched it in so long, or maybe it was the last barrier between you and the real world. Who the fuck knows. Rose is better at figuring this shit out than you are.

Your stomach settles and your mind is made up. The handle turns easily enough, and you are gone.