Octavia was everything to him, and so was her memory.
Her smell lingered everywhere. Small reminders of the place she used to have in his life. The crushing reality that she would never stand in that place again. Her scent permeated his thoughts, sunk into his mind heavily. The smells were older, faint, as if she were gone away on a mission. When he had been drunk, he could delude himself into thinking that. It had happened so often in their lives. Second nature, and part of who they were. Both as a couple, and as hunters.
Sober, he had no choice but to accept the scent for what it was. Octavia wasn't on a mission, and those smells of her simple existence would fade more and more. The moment he washed a piece clothing or the bedsheets, it would disappear entirely.
Not even her ghost would linger in those all too important places.
So he sat there, mutely, watching as Ruby did it all. Biting the inside of his cheek so hard, he bled. Swallowing the crimson, the tears, all of the ugliness he had no words for. Stifled goodbyes in the back of his throat, because he couldn't do it.
He just couldn't do it.
And as he soon found out, he couldn't watch Ruby do it, either.
That was when he looked over to the open cupboards above the sink. The storage for the cleaning solutions they kept well out of Zhu's curious reach. They were now staring him in the face, the large bottle of bleach, the drain cleaner, any of it. Just a swig. He would be gone. Just that easy…and when he really thought about it… it was that easy. It was just like Ruby said. If she had wanted to hurt herself, a cut on her hand was the least of the damage she could cause…and really…as a hunter…with guns for weapons…it was that easy.
It was that simple. And that terrified him.
He stood up on wobbly legs, leaving the things he couldn't bring himself to think about behind. Droplets of yesteryears floating around in the endless expanse of his home. Or, rather, what he used to think of as home. Now, it was just hell.
Unmitigated, total, complete, hell.
Hands in his pockets he walked along the roadside between his home and the corner store. Ruby had his wallet, his money, everything he might use to get himself a drink. He wanted it so badly he could imagine the taste. Yet it wasn't the flavor he wanted. No, he just wanted to forget a little. Just a bit, so that he didn't have to think about anything, or anyone. He felt the urge to steal it, the idea stinging behind his eyes, prodding him with all the ways he could successfully attain just a few moments of quiet for his head.
None of them were worth it though. He wasn't worth being a burden to others either, not even strangers, so he went back home and sat on his front stoop, reconsidering the chemicals on the top shelf time and time again. He couldn't honestly name the reason that kept him from doing it, but there was something, about the idea, something about leaving everything behind that twisted his gut in the same way living did.
Killing himself wasn't the answer, he knew that, felt it to be true…but, as he sat there, watching the world turn, he struggled with the right thing to do. The answer placed in front of him, a path he was afraid to walk alone.
The path of living.