Chapter 32: Since You've Been Gone

The little things were driving Chase crazy. Everywhere she looked, every single place she turned, there was a nagging reminder of her ex boyfriend. Despite living in the same house, with bedrooms one floor apart, the two had managed to successfully avoid one another in the few weeks since breaking up. Spader had still not returned to school, and since he spent the majority of his day in his bedroom, it was easy to stay away.

But the memories they shared were so potent and all-consuming that he may have well been standing in her face at all hours. She couldn't watch her favorite movies without thinking of how they had been cuddled together on the couch, making out during the slower scenes. She couldn't stand the smell of salt water or chlorine – the two scents that lingered in Spader's hair and on his skin no matter how many times he showered. She couldn't even listen to her favorite rock songs without crying over him due to some sad verse or another. It was getting to be quite ridiculous.

No matter how much she tried to tell herself that she hated him and wanted nothing to do with him any longer, her heart knew that her mind was a terrible liar. She still loved him, and missed him terribly. Patrick had certainly filled a few voids in her life, but no matter how much she loved him, he still was not her Spader.

It was frustrating that her daily life was still being interrupted by the split. Chase was not normally someone to allow her emotions to affect her life cycle. While she certainly was an emotional person and often was too quick to let emotion guide her choices, she had always been able to bottle them up when she truly needed to. So why now, when she most needed her wits about her, did they decide to desert her?

Love was a very, very annoying thing.

Why in the hell had he taken so many pictures of her? Spader growled in frustration as he went through photo after photo from the large shoebox beside him on the bed.

In the months that they had been together, even when they had merely been friends, he had amassed a large collection of pictures. The moment his friends had showed him how to work a camera, he had been hooked. And his favorite subject was naturally the one he loved most. He was certain that Chase didn't know just how many pictures he had taken, or she would have thrown a fit before. Not only did he have pictures of her waving at him or dashing down the basketball court in a game - he also had many candid photos of her.

There was a set of photos in which she was playing Guitar Hero 3 in her underwear, rocking out to Barracuda and lip-syncing the song. There was a set in which she was making all sorts of stupid faces – she had been doing impressions at the time – and a set where she was dancing around the house in a banana costume, singing "Peanut Butter Jelly Time" just before Halloween.

But his favorite set by far was the one in which she was sleeping. Each picture in this set had been taken at a different time, but each reflected her inner beauty. Despite himself, he still had to admit that she looked peaceful and innocent in her sleep, and that it was when she allowed herself to be so vulnerable that she was most attractive.

One picture in the set caught his eye as he set the others down. In it, Chase lay curled on his own bed, wearing a pair of his boxers and his favorite t-shirt. She was snuggled into his pillows, and was tightly clutching her stuffed wolf doll to her chest.

Longing tugged at his heart as he looked over the picture. Bitterness and hope all roiled together as he traced her sleeping face with a finger. He set the picture back down in the box with a sigh. Standing, he picked the box up, fully intending to get rid of it.

And then he caught his reflection in the mirror and saw what shirt he was wearing. It was the same one that Chase had been wearing in the photograph.

The box felt ten times heavier in his hands. Why did it have to hurt so badly? Why was it so hard to let go of the one who had hurt him?

He set the box down on the bed once more, and pulled the shirt off of his body. After tossing the shirt into the box, he picked it up once more and shoved it into the closet. He couldn't destroy his memories of her – they were all he had left.

"Do you mean it, Press? Really?!" Jo was on the edge of his seat, hands tightly gripping the armrest as he expectantly waited for his friend to re-state the good news.

"Full forces commander! If I still know Danny as well as I think I do, we'll see them in a matter of a few months!" Press grinned as his friend wrapped him in a hug.

"Hobey, mate! I would kiss you if I weren't straight! Hell, I may still kiss you!" Jo exclaimed, kissing Press on the cheek and then dancing around the room like mad.

A genuine smile broke out over Press' face as he too began to cheer and leap around. They opened bottles of sniggers from Jo's personal stash, and began to have a bit of a party. They were halfway through singing "Rebels of the Sacred Heart" by Flogging Molly when a knock at the door drew their attention.

"I got it." Jo crossed to the door and swung it open. His face lit up when he saw who it was. "Come in, kiddo! Have a bottle, we're just talking about your favorite person!"

Press smiled warmly and embraced the newcomer. "It's almost time for us to go back and help fight. Are you ready to battle again?"

A determined smile crossed the newcomer's face. "Yes. I think I am, Press. I think I am."