Quote of the Chapter:

"I half closed my eyes and imagined this was the spot where everything I'd ever lost since my childhood had washed up, and I was now standing here in front of it, and if I waited long enough, a tiny figure would appear on the horizon across the field and gradually get larger until I'd see it was Tommy, and he'd wave, and maybe even call."
― Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let Me Go

Chapter Forty: I have (too many) regrets

He'd been avoiding her. Ever since she'd posted those keys through the mail slot, gone in the middle of the night, Meliodas had been avoiding Elizabeth - everything to do with her.

Over the past few weeks he had been doing everything within his power to keep himself stable. First it was the pictures, neatly taken down, boxed and put away, deep down in the storage cupboard. Next was that scrappy puppy she'd found - which had been dumped at Ban's a week later. He couldn't bear looking at it, couldn't bear thinking of her. So Meliodas simply got rid of it.

Everything. Every little thing was gone. Reminders hurt the most. More than the pain of knowing, the burden of existing, the reminders stung most.

Burying himself in his work used to be something Meliodas could do easily. Slipping into autopilot, his limbs wired to the automatic instructions of his brain, had always been something he could rely on. Throughout his entire life cruising by on autopilot had been living. Watching the world change, everything flicker and whither and die, before him had always been the norm.

What had changed now? Why now did he struggle to shut off the other side, full of sunshine, full of light, full of laughter, that she'd brought?

Now Elizabeth was gone, key posted through the slot and all her stuff gone, what was there to stop him? Darkness had always taken root within Meliodas. Darkness would always exist within him. Usually, that darkness would spread without a problem. But now? God it was like talking to a damned brick wall.

Some days Meliodas wished he had never let her walk out. Some days he wished he'd never met her. Some days... he just wanted her to come back.

Part of him thought about it - seeing her again. Eyes closed, drifting away in the muddled bliss of whatever he'd done to get her out of his mind, he'd just lay there. Head filled with clouds, senses dulled with artificial joy, sometimes he'd still see her, the ghost of a beautiful woman, smiling at him with a radiant beam that rivaled the shine of angels' halos. Other times she was gone, slipping into the distance as a hazy shadow, a fuzzy, faded memory.

But sometimes, sometimes, Meliodas did think about actually seeing her. Washed up on the shore, covered in sticky sea salt, clothes clinging to her pale skin. Those brilliant blue eyes of hers would sparkle like lost jewels - pretty sapphires - as she laughed, flipping her soaked silver hair over her shoulder. There she was, with all the wreckage, happy and smiling and waiting. In the wreckage. His wreckage.

No wonder why she was never coming back.

"You look like shit," Zeldris. True to his word he had come down to London, reluctantly.

Being a mess was always the best thing Meliodas was good at. In the past he had always been all over the place. Hopping on the trains, always going from north to south and east to west, he had never known stability. Stability was robbed from him as soon as his mother had died. But now the difference was that all the turbulence in his life was beginning to show. Fine cracks, spreading like fractures in a windshield, he was breaking down. This time he couldn't hide it.

"Well, I feel like shit," Meliodas grunted out in response, pulling open the fridge. Nothing was really there because he hadn't bothered to restock. Settled in that decision, he took out a carrot and bit off a solid chunk with a satisfying crunch. "And I quite like being a piece of shit."

"You're not a piece of shit," Zeldris sighed, a hand pinching at the bridge of his nose as he set down his newspaper. Yes a fucking newspaper. Because apparently Zeldris liked the read the damned Britannia Mail in the late afternoon of a weekday evening. The Britannia Mail... Elizabeth... she worked at the Britannia Mail. She wrote for the-

Shaking his head, Meliodas slammed the fridge door closed, knocking off a few loose letters and weak magnets. Right now he couldn't afford to think about her, couldn't afford to be reminded of her.

Releasing a sigh, the blonde took another bite from his carrot, "I might as well be a piece of shit."

With how everything went, with how he had tried to make amends, he was definitely nothing more than a piece of shit. Only a piece of shit would get into Elizabeth's pants after breaking her heart; only a piece of shit would break her heart twice in a month-long period. No matter how careful he was around her, Meliodas would always shatter Elizabeth's heart. Too careless, too brash and too stupid he would always take her for granted, like a child who bemoaned the freezing snow on a winter's day.

Now that Elizabeth was gone - now that the snow had melted - he wanted her back. But when she was back, if she did come back, would Meliodas truly change? Would he ever stop breaking her heart?

Probably not.

Alas, Meliodas King was always a stubborn, selfish bastard. All of him wanted her around - even the shitty fucker who did nothing but sulk and strop all day. Kind and understanding, loving and compassionate, Elizabeth Liones would always be the only thing he'd ever want. The only thing he'd ever need.

Lazy days spent staring at the TV; staring contests that could span for hours: those were things he missed about her. The quiet. The tranquility. The overwhelming serenity that came with being around such a genuinely lovely person. Ever since he had met her, Elizabeth had always provided the long-lost peace that Meliodas had lacked in his life. To Meliodas, Elizabeth was peace. And now that she was gone, locked out of his life like an audience watching an onstage tragedy, only turbulence could fill her void. Only trouble could replace her tranquility.

"Just talk to her," Zeldris grumbled out, shaking his head as he roughly fanned out the newspaper. Drawn to the noise, Meliodas turned to his brother once more. Immediately he turned away, catching a glimpse of the bold headline. Was he trying to remind him of Elizabeth on purpose?

"There's nothing to talk about," Meliodas responded, his teeth grit with both exertion and agitation as he tried to preoccupy himself. Turning his back on his brother, he stretched into the cupboards. Obviously, he already knew their contents, he was interested in reading the fine print on a can of baked beans, tomato flavouring suddenly taking a keen spot in his concentration.

"There's everything to talk about," Zeldris spoke from behind him, still turning pages in the paper. "And from the looks of it your window of opportunity is closing. She went to France last week."

Yeah, he heard about that. From a friend. Of a friend. Of another close friend. Getting direct information on her had became a commodity, Elizabeth making sure to keep her own business airtight when it came to Meliodas' usual avenues. True to her word - well, her actions - she was locking herself out; she was officially severing him from her life.

Just like everything else, everyone else, Meliodas was losing her. Washed up in the waves, carried out to sea, Elizabeth was going to end up like everything else Meliodas had ever neglected in his lifetime: gone.

A hand gripping into his wild hair, the blonde sighed, "You know why I can't tell her everything, Zel." Otherwise she'd already know.

"Because you're a pussy," Zeldris answered quickly, assuredly. No grin was on his face as Meliodas turned to face him, a thunderous glare on his face as he took in his little brother, stone-faced and plain from his perch at the table. "You're a cowardly, quivering pussy."

There it was, the truth he never seemed to avoid: Meliodas was a pussy. That was one thing his old man had been correct about all those years ago. Looming over him, dark eyes flashing with coldness and cruelty as he stared at his own son - his own flesh and blood - bleeding out onto the pavement, he had said it. You are no son of mine. You are a pussy.

Over and over again that message had been on replay over the years. Countless times it had been delivered: in the house, on the street, in the back of someone's car. Every time Meliodas would just brush it aside, rolling his eyes as he called his father every name under the sun. Because the old bastard never truly knew what he was talking about; the old bastard didn't even know anything about his son.

But maybe he had known - even back then - how much of a coward he truly was.

"I'm only like this because I sacrificed everything to avoid this happening," Meliodas let out a sigh, setting down the tin of baked beans. Running a hand through his wild hair - much more untamed than it usually was - he turned to his brother. "Because I'm selfish and an idiot and I don't listen. I'm an asshole whose only concerned with what he gains and what he has, and because of that I have to live with the consequences."

"Sounds like you're just self-hating," Shrugging, Zeldris casually brushed it all aside. Like he always did. Sentiment and all that crap never was his kind of thing. Nevertheless, surprising Meliodas, he approached his older brother, two heavy hands set on his shoulders as two green eyes bore sternly into his, "Listen Mel, I'm not an expert or anything - just, you know, married to an actual woman - but I think you need to talk to her."

Immediately, his expression stiffened, "Not happening."

"Then you stay stubborn, Mr Piece-of-Shit," Zeldris grinned, patting him twice on the left shoulder. Turning away, he then tucked his newspaper under his arm, awfully smug as he added, "Because that means I'm gonna be here for a long time."