A/N: Wow, this started out as fluff. I'm sorry it got so depressing; I think my inner writing psyche needs therapy. Please review, pretend I am Abby and your review is a Caff-Pow!
9-Down Tile
Tile – the wall of the bathroom in their attic in Marseilles. He could still feel the cool stone under his palms as he pressed Jenny against it and lost himself in her completely. She renounced the tile and left. She returned, bringing reminiscences of tile. In memories and hope he began to find himself again. Now she is gone forever and tile has come back to mock him. Not real tile, but patterned linoleum marked out in squares barely visible below a layer of grime. Fake tile obscured by all too real blood. He is forever lost by that tile.