The Broken Hearts Club

Thirteen. When The Night Begins

He felt like a stone. He felt like he did when he left the academy: full of accolades but they meant nothing because of his father's abuse. He couldn't move. He had been angry the last two days, yelling at Delaney and the rest of his team with them having no idea why. He couldn't tell them. He couldn't tell anyone. If the Capitol ever found out, he would not be the director of the Bureau anymore. He would hope for a suspension but it would probably not be short lived. Then he felt complete sadness. He was not a crying man but every night since her passing, he brought himself to the verge of multiple panic attacks in a mess of tears. He tried to stop them but he couldn't. He tried to remind himself that he barely knew her, barely even got to be with her. But his feelings still stayed anyway. He remembered a C.S. Lewis book he had read once. "No one ever told me grief felt so like fear." He had only ever been in love once and he feared what work would look like without her, what home would look like. Well, he already knew what that looked like.

He was laying in bed way past his alarm this morning, just staring at the ceiling. Today, it seemed that he had entered the last stage of grief: numbness. Everything just felt... gray. Lifeless. Dull. But, he did have to go to work, nonetheless. He got out of bed with a lot of effort; his body felt like a ton of bricks. He threw the covers back on, not bothering to make the bed. He hadn't ever since her passing. He could barely summon up enough energy to even make a coffee; there was no way he was going to be able to make the bed. The shower water was cold- his landlord probably forgot to pay the water bill again. As he does. Daughtler didn't care though. Everything was numb. He got dressed in a dress shirt and red tie, sighing deeply when he remembered it was her favorite color. He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like he had been through the ringer. But still, it was all numb. He ditched the suit jacket, deciding to just grab his winter coat. He put his coffee in his travel mug in silence, so silent you could probably hear a pin drop in the apartment. He put his folders into his carry on, grabbed his coffee, and walked out the door. He locked it behind him, turning when he heard his name.

"Director Daughtler."

It was his neighbor, Sue. She was a sweet old woman who Daughtler knew had early onset dementia. He had often found her wandering outside.

    "Sue, how many times have I told you? You can call me Nathan," he said, trying to smile but he knew it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Nothing had reached his eyes recently...

    "You know I forgot. Are you... alright? You came home awful late last night, dear," Sue said, looking at him with a worried expression on her face.

She was right. He had. He could still feel the headache and pressing pain behind his eyes and temples. He knew he couldn't come home right away. He had walked slowly, shuffling his feet, multiple people asking him if he was alright. He still didn't know how he ended up at his apartment...

    "I'm alright, Sue. Thank you. Just a late night at work," Daughtler lied, hoping Sue would accept it.

His colleagues and employees would not, however, so he knew he had to come up with another idea before he reached the front door of the Bureau building.

    "Well, I'm always home if you need anything."

Daughtler smiled. This time, his smile was the closest it had ever been to a true, genuine expression.

    "I appreciate it, Sue. Have a good day."

The older woman smiled and walked back into her apartment as Daughtler's smile dropped and he put his sunglasses back on, walking out of the apartment complex and to his car. He threw his stuff on his passenger seat and rolled down his windows, starting the drive toward work.