Static /// Colby Brock

You do?

3 months later

Colby's POV

I had been out of jail for two months at that point, but it didn't mean a thing. The day I got home, I immediately noticed the absence of one person. Sabrina, of course. Elton told me she went to stay with a friend so she could clear her head the day I got arrested. And she was still apparently clearing her head, three months later. Elton and Sam went to visit her every once in a while to try and convince her to come back. That ended up being pointless every time. Guess, even though we didn't mean all that shit we said three months back, it still hit pretty hard. To be honest, it hit me too. I was just better at not showing it. Isn't that so me? Always hiding what's on the inside. Never completely true. Never really honest. Never really in love. The last one is still debatable. I mean, what are all these feelings if it ain't love. 

I leaned the hard way that love is not a feeling. Love is a cocktail of feelings. But, you should always test your tolerance before consuming it, cause you're not always ready for it. It can have you smiling, dancing and enjoying life. It can leave you feeling wonderful, making you think it's never going to ware off. Then again, if you chug it down before being ready, it can have you throwing up in a parking lot at 2 AM. How am I so specific? Well, I had a lot of the latter experience once I had to face an empty house again.

A house full of people, yet it's empty without you, Sabrina. 

That's another way to define love. An overly crowded place can be empty if the person who owns your heart isn't there. 

A sky full of stars, but it's never been so dark.

A head full of thoughts, but they're all silenced by your name.

We're both just characters on our own. Together, we're a love story. 

One with a happy ending, I hope.

We've certainly earned one. The ups and downs must have a pay off. 

The sad and scary truth: one of us has to let their guard down so all this suffering can bloom into something stronger than the pain. And we both know, we're way too full of pride for that.

* * *

Footsteps echoed down the sidewalk. I recognized non of them. It had been almost three hours since I had arrived and I wasn't thinking about leaving anytime soon.

Erin and Denise tried to chase me away a few times, but gave up when I stood my grounds. Seems like they were tired of seeing their friend in the same condition as that heart-broken guy outside.

They asked me to come inside eventually. I declined. It just didn't feel right. That was her only getaway from me. I'm in the traphouse, too many ghosts of us in Brooklyn, so many pieces of us all over LA. But this one place, that house, that was her sanctuary. Her only space to breathe with full capacity. I had no right to step foot inside. That's why I was sitting on the side of the sidewalk, with my back and the back of my head resting against the fence surrounding her friends' home. Not technically on the property.

Thoughts, voice, possible scenarios, memories, apologies. My mind was overflowing. Suddenly, one memory stood above the rest. As if presenting its importance to me. The day I got out of jail. 

~ 2 and a half months ago ~

- Brock , you have a visitor! - the cop told me

I rolled my eyes and got up lazily. I wasn't willing to see or talk to anyone. The last thing I wanted was interaction with someone from my outside life, or as I labeled it, my life of mistakes.