I Want Your Heaven and Your Oceans Too

Love in the Dark

Warning: Dark themes and a brief instance/mention of self-harm.

Bradley maneuvers his SUV into the driveway, waving at security as the gate opens and immediately, his heart sinks. From an outside glance, the house is dark, and the image sends his pulse racing as he parks and hastily jumps out, barely remembering to shut the door behind him.

Sprinting up the stairs to the front door, his phone chimes loudly in his back pocket and he grabs for it. "Yeah?" He balances the object between his neck and shoulder while he punches in the code for entrance, internally cursing when his fingers fumble; the keypad emits an ear-splitting beep in response to his error. "Hey, Bob, sorry. Yeah, I just got in. No, she hasn't. Look, man, I'm sorry I bothered you-No, I know, I appreciate it."

The dogs greet him at the door, eager for attention. "Where's your Mom?" Giving them all a quick, affectionate pat, he continues walking.

Staying on the line, he navigates the first floor, switching on lights on as he travels from room to room.

"Stef?"

He calls her as though she'll answer when he knows that the possibility that she's hunkering down somewhere in the dark when she hates it, hates the house to feel like a mausoleum, as she called it, is slim to none. Whenever she was around, everywhere she dwelled was illuminated by candles or a lamp. Her very presence required light; it demanded it.

This feels empty.

"I don't think she's here," he says, more to himself than into the phone as he makes his way into the kitchen and freezes, digesting the sight before him. The marble countertop was littered with empty bottles, a half-consumed tumbler of whiskey. He recognizes her lipstick staining the side of the glass. Beneath his boot, glass crunches, and the sound instantly sets him nauseous.

"Yeah, I'm still here, Bobby," Bradley manages, pinching a forehead fold between his thumb and forefinger, inhaling. "No...no, I didn't wanna worry her-she would've called me if she came there."

Second floor, his instincts tell him, and he books it, taking the stairs two at a time. The entire hallway was pitch black and carefully, he sweeps his hand along the wall until he locates the light switch.

The pounding of his own heart fills his ears as he reaches the master bedroom, knocking once and then twice when there was no answer.

"Stefani?"

Nudging the door open an inch, he angles his long body inside, his eyes sweeping the large room for any sign of her.

His stomach drops.

In a far corner, he sees her, knees drawn up to her chest, her face resting in the cradle of her hands.

"I found her...she's safe. No, I can't tell you anything else. Listen, I've gotta go. I'll call you later."

Hanging up, he jams the phone back into his jeans pocket and slowly, as if not to startle her, makes his way over, his arms out by his sides, steadying himself.

"Stef-"

At the sound of her name, she seems to come out of the fog, lifting her head to peer at him through blood-shot eyes. Her hair is tangled as if it hadn't been brushed in days and she wears nothing but an old, ratty t-shirt that hangs past her knees.

Daring to come closer, the distinctive smell of alcohol and sickness hits his nostrils. "Hey," he says, deliberately gentle. The last thing he wants to do is frighten her. "I was looking for you. You weren't answering the phone."