Hi there!

PLEASE READ: I know I have prompts I owe people, but with finals I'm not going to have a chance to write for another two weeks. But, I was going through my drafts and found this from when I was writing Gone (if you haven't read it, go check it out on my profile!) so I decided to post it to tide you guys over! I promise you all who I owe prompts, they are coming! Thank you for being so patient and understanding!

Prompt: Reverse Gone scenario

Thank you for all of your kind reviews and for favoriting and following. Please send in prompts, I'll be getting to them soon!

Enjoy!

He's never felt more alone. He was alone before her, in a sense. Although he was surrounded by his loving family, eager women, and adorning fans, he would return to the silence of the loft, and realization hit him. He didn't have anything solid, just drifters. He had pieces of realness to latch on to, keep him afloat, but the ocean is a rough place, and you're bound to drown at some point.

But then she came along, and there was a period of complete wholeness, his time with her. Looking back now, it was too short. No matter how he looked at it, from every angle, point of view, and lens, she was taken from him far too soon. All the time in the world wouldn't have been enough.

He can't step foot in the precinct, not without being reminded of how she was ripped so viciously from his grasp. If only he would have gone into work with her that day, if only he hadn't have had a chapter due, if only. They said she had lead as point, the position she always preferred. She entered the building, and her internal clock started ticking down to zero as soon as the shot was fired. It was only a matter of time.

He had answered his phone that day, he had been happy, delighted even, having finished his chapter and went as far as to start the next one. He thought it would have been her, telling him how her day was going, when she was going to be home, when he was going to see her again. He beat himself up for answering so happily, it made him feel like a complete jackass. He had not expected his friend on the other end telling him to come to the hospital immediately. Something was wrong, but no one would give him any answers. He was forced to wait a long while, too long. A doctor eventually emerged from the double doors, his head down, not facing the poor man. They had tried everything they could, but unlike last time, she hadn't been so lucky.

It had been a complete blur, the weeks after. He never really knew what was going on. One day, he was in his office, and turned on his laptop for the first time since the attack. His background was a picture of her. It sent him into a fit of untamed rage. He had thrown his laptop across the room and knocked over an entire row of books on the shelves. He had screamed so insanely at Alexis, something he had never done before. It had rattled them both to their core. He knew, then, that he was a changed man. His old self, his being, his personality, was gone when that bullet pierced her heart. Any bit of joy and happiness left in him was gone for good. He hadn't even tried to apologize to his dear daughter. He was embarrassed and ashamed of his actions. But he also felt justified. He had been left alone because of a man with a gun. It wasn't fair.

He shut everyone out, the loft vacant of any other soul, his mother moving out with Alexis after his first episode. Just him, alone, trying to cope with reality; something that he can't change with a piece of paper and a pen. It's not that simple. So he sits and sits and lets the world around him live their happy, stupid lives. It makes him so unbelievably furious that there are people all around him living normally as if he hadn't lost his entire world, his soul, his everything. She may not have been his first, but she was his last, no matter what.

He can't, absolutely won't, take off his wedding band. It seems to him that it's the only real proof that she was here, that she was his and he was hers. It seems to him like his last dedication to her; never again will he look at a women the way he did her. Never again will he feel the joy that her smile brought to him. Never again will he experience a love so passionate. Never again will he hear her call him babe. Never again will he hold her in his arms and whisper in her ear as they fall asleep. Never again.

He drinks now. The whiskey bottle is never far from him. He doesn't even care what kind, just as long as it blurs his vision and thoughts. Just as long as it dulls the pounding in his head. Just as long as it makes the pain go away. It's his drug of choice.

He's long since lost his imagination, his creativity, his passion. His writing comes to a halt. His series of all series is stopped mid production. There's no new chapters, no deadlines, no printing, no tours, or signings. All things that have grown from his paper and pen are gone; just like his muse.

Sleep is a rare occurance at night. He just lays on his back staring at the ceiling, not daring to look right, the empty space too much for him to bear. Instead, he just stares. Stares at nothing, stares at everything, stares at anything besides the right side of the bed. The alcohol makes it impossible for him to think straight. He hates this feeling, knows he needs to cut back, but cutting back means living through the headaches and heartaches with complete understanding and cognitive thinking; he's not ready. It's just too painful.

If he happens to be taken over by exhaustion, he doesn't dream, he won't let himself, in fear that she will appear. He has to use his brain even when he sleeps, continually telling himself to see blackness, because blackness is better than pain. Nothing at all is better than pain.

He sleeps for a very small amount of time. When he wakes, the alcohol has worn off, and his brain is somewhat relaxed. It's the only time he can imagine her without being sent into fits of rage. He tries so remember everything good about her, everything that made him want to change his ways to be a better version of himself. He imagines her soft curls, her big, brown eyes, her incredible smile. He imagines all the time he spent with her. All the time they had. And when he thinks of time running out, the last tick before the screeching of an alarm, he gets a sour taste in his mouth, and goes back to the shell of a man that he has become.

Because she's gone, and she's never coming back.

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Xoxo