A/N: Forgive me; it's therapeutic. It's been a hard couple of months. Credit to Kings Of Leon for the lyrics.
She took my heart
I think she took my soul
He couldn't bear to listen to that song. Fingers teased with the off switch, a desperate longing to end the torment that he put himself through every time he turned that CD on. Every time he picked that CD up. Every time.
Every bloody time.
He couldn't get out of the cycle. A day at work wasted, a longing stare at what used to be his to touch, even if only in private, a pitying look, a wrenching yet dull pain in his stomach at the realisation that very day, as he grew more bitter, more alienated and ultimately more alone, Ziva was flourishing. She had moved on. Left him behind.
What did he expect, ultimately?
It had been good. At least he thought it had been good. He had, though he hated to admit it, bee in love. He had considered whether he was in love about three or four moths into the relationship and had almost gagged on his coffee at the realisation that he had -indeed- fallen deep into the pits of love. He would have much rather have lied to himself, to Ziva to anyone who asked; kept his heart and pride protected. Don't get in so deep you can't get out. Wasn't that what he always told himself?
It had been a year and a half. More. He could count the days down to the number. It was five hundred and eighty-five days. A year and a half that he had seemingly wasted on someone who he don't know if they had even cared for him. And even now after they were through he was being plagued by questions and insecurities that he would like to destroy as easily as he had deleted the texts on his phone, the voicemails, burnt the letters, the little love notes and destroyed every gift he'd ever been given.
Was he ever actually loved back? Or was he in a sham of a relationship? Had he felt that any God would listen, he would have prayed that the answer to that was the first.
Had he done something wrong? Or was he utterly unlovable? It hurt him that it was a possibility, yet he knew it could not be discounted. He knew that he wasn't exactly the easiest to get along with, cruel and manipulative at times ~ cryptic and unreadable with the tendency to get angry at other times. But he had never been so low in his life as now. A tear trickled down one cheek; a sign of weakness cast away in the hope that nobody would ever know it had streaked his cheek. A cork popped, a glass poured. And another, and another.
The final questions were the ones that broke his heart over and over and over again with terrifying frequency; had they only stayed together because neither of them liked the idea of being alone? And when he had told Ziva how much he loved her, did saying the words 'I love you' back just become habitual? Had they meant anything?
It had been as though they were just playing a part in some ironic play that fate decided to cast them both. It had had comedy and tragedy and had ultimately ended without the fairytale ending that they had both originally wished for.
An alcohol induced slumber it would be today. Just as it was every night. He'd rather feel nothing at all than the pain that insisted on following him round like an old nightmare. Just like those old tired lyrics…
She took my heart
I think she took my soul