Fallout: Part III of The Journal Series

Chapter Six: Bad News

February, 1997.

I drew a deep breath and stretched, unhindered, across the comfortable king-size bed. I didn't know what time it was nor did I care. All my joints cracked as I threw my limbs across the mattress, rolling to my stomach and burying my face in a pillow that wasn't mine.

I smiled at the familiar scent, shifting slightly to my side to hug it to my face.

Damn, it was so good to be home.

I knew Duff was gone. He had kissed me good morning and goodbye like he always did before going on his grotesquely early run, chuckling at how heinous my morning breath was and halfheartedly trying to escape my arms around his neck as I tried to drag him back to the warmth of our bed.

"Just a few more minutes?" I lethargically mumbled into his hair, the scent of coffee and strawberry pastries deliciously radiating from him. "Just a few more cuddles? Pleeeeease?"

He had indulged me that day, laughing gently and allowing me to tug him back down beside me.

His fingers had brushed lightly through my curls, pulling gently sleepy, happy sounds from me. His arms surrounded me. His heat soothed me. His heartbeat was a steady, encompassing cadence, and after a long, blissful sigh I was out again.

That was hours ago, though, wasn't it?

I cracked my left eye open, squinting minutely at the streaks of golden sun rays brightening the room. Then my right decided to pry itself open upon looking at the clock.

10:30, huh? Might as well.

I threw my legs over the side of the bed, groaning as I sat up and pulled out and lit my first cigarette of the day in one smooth motion. My feet slugged to the bathroom, shuffling sleepily on the carpet, gliding me to my colossal morning piss before I threw on some sweat pants and tromped down the stairs with heavy footsteps, the scent of coffee a welcome bombardment to my nostrils upon opening the bedroom door.

"Oh, fucking score," I grinned softly at the sight of a small box of fresh doughnuts perched upon the kitchen counter, right beside the coffee maker loaded with half a pot, still miraculously hot. "Oh, man, he did buy 'em. I wasn't dreaming, then."

I smiled to myself, box of doughnuts and mug of black coffee in tow, all the way to the table. The paper was neatly folded in half as it always was, alongside a thick glass ashtray with three butts crushed within it. Not to mention the good morning letter reminding me he'd be home a little later than usual due to a doctor's appointment, but I never minded a bit of alone time.

Now it was my turn to lazily sip coffee and peruse the paper, stuffing nearly half a dozen fruit-filled doughnuts into my belly, Max curled up between my feet and the dogs in the backyard barking their throats out, forming a dense fog between their jaws in the cold February air.

It had been a great few months despite what had happened. Things had been tense and awkward at first, but one day it was like the switch flipped back over, and everything was back to the way it always was. Maybe it was all of the intense talks. Perhaps even all the little things we did for each other. But I like to think it was because we were both contrite. We both truly felt like utter shit for what we'd done and were willing to put in the work to salvage our relationship before it bit the dust.