Distance Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Chapter 3

“I think I'm rubbing off on you too much.” Skylar comments, sitting on the edge of the claw foot tub, gesturing to the now half empty bottle. I lazily look at her. “Where did it all go wrong?”

“That, my friend, I can not say. Also, you broke the frame I got you.”

“Sorry, I wasn't paying attention.” She shrugs, reaching out and touching my knee.

“Do you plan on sleeping in this tub?”

“If I pass out here, yes.”

“You know all of his stuff is still here. He's gonna have to come back and get it.”

“Can't I just throw it all out?” She shakes her head at me while I take another long drink from the bottle and sigh. She reaches for it and I pull it closer to my chest like she's trying to take away my child.

“Okay, okay. I'll go sweep up your living room.” A muttered thanks is all I give her, curling up and drinking until I feel like I'm going to be sick. Half a sandwich and nearly empty bottle of rum don't bode well with my stomach. “I put the pictures in a shoe box on the table, if you want to burn them though, you do that when you're sober.” Taking a seat near the tub.

“I'm plenty fine.” I try to climb out of the tub, but end up just slumping over the side, my arms dangling and touching the cold tiles. “My life is a mess.” The observation really doesn't surprise her.

“Just right now, and where are you trying to worm off too?” Now laying on the floor, I put my head in her lap. I feel dizzy, warm, sick and giddy all at the same time.

“Just here. Will you pleasssse stahy the night?” My words are starting to get slurred, and I look up and see her face grinning back down at me. “Of course, you drunk. I have to make sure you don't choke on your own vomit.”

“Yer the besht friend.” Nuzzling into her denim pants, I think I manage to make a few more drunken slurs before I fall asleep.

When I wake up, the signs of a headache are already appearing. The bathroom door is open, and the light in the bedroom is on. Getting up as slowly as I can, I carefully take the steps to move and shield my eyes. Looking that clock, it's 12:36 AM. I can't remember when I fell asleep, but I feel dizzy as hell. “Sky?” I call out, though I regret it, my head pulsing with the haha, this is what you get for trying to drink away your feelings hangover. She responds and I make my way to the kitchen, seeing her over the sink with a cup of water. “You passed out a while ago, and I stayed in there with you, don't think I ditched.” Drinking from the cup and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “So, what are you going to do about this whole situation?” She obviously cares, and that's really all I can ask for.

“I don't know. Talk to him about, I guess. See if we can work anything out.” Though, I'm not sure if I want to. Seven months went by and he hadn't told me, and he never once acted like he was guilty, and I feel the pangs of hurt again. That meant for two months we shared the same bed, and she had been in it while I was out at work. Hanging out with Sky, or the guys. I feel sick and bend over the sink, hurling up what is primarily rum. “At least you missed my shoes. And you have got to sto that.”

“Can we burn the sheets?” Taking the cup from her and swishing the water in my mouth, rinsing the sink and pouring Dawn in after it. I look back up to see her grinning, pulling the lighter from her pocket. “I thought you would never ask.”

So we burnt them in the sink.

It was pretty uneventful. I had to take the fan out of the closet and blow the smoke away, and washed the remains down the sink to where they belonged. I still felt pretty sick, so I curled back up on the couch; Skylar as my pillow. “What time is it?”

“1:30AM.”

“Okay, wake me up in the morning.”

“Can do.” And with that, I fall asleep again while she watched the muted version of Winnie the Pooh.

The next few days pass by in a drag, but Skylar is at least there to help me. Whenever I slump around or lay down in a chair and groan like a dying whale, she threatens to jab me with a cattle prod or a hot poker. After about four days of lazing around and binge eating on junk food, I finally build up the strength to start packing his stuff. Clothes, hair products (which are more than mine, if I may say so.) and shove the pictures that came from the broken frames into the box, hoping that they rip. Carrying it to the front with intent to leave it out, I notice there's something hanging on the back of the couch. Walking over to it, it's his mickey mouse jacket. Out of sheer force of habit, I put it on.

Which was a horrible fucking idea because I start crying.

The first I wore this thing was about three years ago. I was freezing and forgot my jacket, and Jack just peeled it off and handed it to me, saying that I needed it more and he wouldn't take no for an answer. My fingers move to the collar, pulling on the draw strings and picking it up. It still smells like him. And despite fucking everything, I miss him. I miss his laugh, I miss his voice, I miss the way his skin felt against mine when we were in bed. I shut my eyes and just let it sink in, standing there with this hoodie to my nose and just wishing things would go back to normal.

Finally, I wipe my eyes and pull it off, shoving it into the box as well and opening the door before throwing it out to the side. I go back inside and get a Sharpie, scrawling his name on the box and slamming the door shut again. I just wish I had more rum.

Skylar gets home after three hours of grocery shopping, because, yes, she is that indecisive. “I'm going back to my place tonight, my brother is coming into town and I don't want him trashing the place.”

“He can stay here. I have a couch.”

“Sweetie, I can't move back in.”

“You could.” She pats my shoulder and reaches into a plastic bag, pulling out break-n-bake cookies and a microwave pizza. “I think you'll be fine tonight.”

“You sure know how make sure I eat healthy.”

“Only the finest store brand for my lady.” With that, she spins on her heels and tells me goodbye.

I end up eating half the break-n-bakes, and then fall asleep on the couch at what's probably seven. I've just been so tired these last few days. I wake up early in the morning because someone keeps pounding on the door. “One MINUTE!” Rubbing my eyes and stumbling to the door, I open it and see Jack standing there.

It feels like I'm looking at a stranger. It's so weird not seeing him every day now, and I've got the mix of wanting to jump his bones right here or breaking one of them. “We need to talk.” And I step outside, shutting the door and crossing my arms.

“So start talking.”