send.

initials

     "Fuck you! Fuck you, she could be dead out there, and you won't do anything!"
     The doors to the station slammed with an air of finality, April's cries falling on deaf ears in the darkened street.
     The police station was, to your inner, guilty relief, no help whatsoever. They claimed that it was out of their hands, seeing as Cass wasn't a minor and her parents had no concerns. She was, technically, allowed to go off wherever she pleased, even if she did so without giving her girlfriend any indication. April's absolute breakdown definitely didn't soften their wills, and Jon was eventually forced to throw her over his shoulder and carry her out.
     Now, the three of you sit on a nearby bench, watching the girl with her head in her hands sob so hard you're worried her lungs will burst. Your own hand rubs reassuring circles over her back, unsure of what to say. You're afraid to tell any more lies. You don't know if your tongue can take it. Every one burns like acid, and your head is pounding with images of Cass flashing behind your eyelids. Everytime you blink, you see her unfocused, cloudy eyes looking up at you from the leaves in the park.
     A shudder runs through your body and Jon wraps an arm around you. You lean silently against him, but all you can think of is those eyes, like a fish out of water.
     "I just don't get how they can sit in there and do nothing. They didn't even care. They barely looked at me." April shakes her head, her voice weary and afraid. "She's probably alone and scared and it's all because I had to go and fight with her. God, I'm such shit."
     "Hey," Jon says softly, leaning over to rub at her shoulder. "Cass is strong. She'll be able to take care of herself." The words make you flinch inwardly, remembering the streaks of mascara. April's words seem to narrate the scene that plays out in your head, a play-by-play of the emotions that registered on the blonde girl's face.
     "She's not as strong as you think she is, Jon. Cass is... Scared. And confused. She needs help, she needs people, she doesn't... She doesn't handle being alone well. She doesn't like it. She freaks out. She's defensive and protective and bitchy sometimes because she's afraid." Her voice breaks off with a hiccuping sob and you feel your chest tightening, squeezing your ribs suffocatingly around your lungs. You hope Jon doesn't feel you trembling. All you can think of is eyes, eyes, eyes.
     You spend the next day, your last full day with Jon, plastering posters around the town and doing your best to keep him away from the cemetary. You want to be home, curled up in his arms, or laying in bed with your hands in his hair, or sprawled out on the couch with your legs tangled in his, anywhere but out here in the bitter cold, watching his features contort with concern everytime he smooths down a sheet and sees her face, the weight on your chest getting heavier and heavier each and every time.
     The wind is bad today, rough and relentless, and you have to tape all four sides of each poster to keep them from flying off. It becomes a tedious routine; you hold down the edges and stare straight into Cass's eyes, letting them bore into your sockets as Jon rips and tapes, rips and tapes. You can feel her watching you, snarky and sadistically pleased. Even if you're the one alive, she's the one who's winning. She's got the eyes.
     You feel like you're going insane.
     You couldn't be more relieved when the two of you finally stop for a break. It's late in the afternoon, and the sun is hanging low in the sky, giving the cafe a soft orange glow - not the same cafe where the two of you met Cass, thankfully. There's enough decent coffee shops in Boston to avoid that.
     The cup warms your numb fingers as the two of you sit in a corner booth. Corners seem to be your usual preference. It feels like less people are watching as Jon's fingers curl around your free hand, chilly digits running over one another.
     It's funny. Have you always been so afraid of people watching you?
     Maybe you just never noticed.
     "S'getting pretty dark," Jon notes. You turn your head to look up at him. The dimming light casts long, crooked shadows over his face and highlighting the dark bags under his eyes. Your mind recalls one of the nights when he looked just like this, lying in your bed with the laptop's light making him look like a caricature of himself.
     He seemed happier then.
     You reach forward to run your knuckles over his flushed cheeks, dry from the windburn, and feel your heart twists when his eyes close and he tilts his head into your touch. You wish you had the words to comfort him, but words like that mean nothing when they come from the one inflicting all the pain.
     Silently, you fold his hand between both of your own and keep it there, looking down at the reflection of the dying light on the polished tabletop. There are names and initials carved into the wood, past visitors immortalized in the scratched oak. You trace your eyes along a 'J' impressed in the wood. It probably belongs to a different name - Joe, Jordan, Jack, Jessica - but you tell yourself it's your Jon and imagine a perfect 'S' at its side.
     He's the one you have to think about now.
     You did this for him.
     You have to keep going.
     For him.

((note: wowow two chapters in one day??? what is this. i hope im not throwin too much at you guys lolol. this one's kinda short anyway but i wanted to keep it separate from when jon's actually leaving bc that whole thing is gonna be long and sappy and way too emotional so! i hope you enjoyed this brief little addition. sorry this started off with like 4k words per chapter and turned into barely 1k but ill try to post a few more chapters really soon!!! i know its weird but i think the shorter ones really help me go into the minor details that show how this is messing with sock's head. thank you so much for reading ❤️))