When his eyes open again, Bartholomew’s head is pounding. Sleeping most of the previous day away didn’t make him any less exhausted. He sits up, looking around Wicker’s empty room.
Empty? Maybe he’d gotten up earlier.
Bartholomew stands himself up and stretches out his arms. When he moves on to his legs, his foot taps an open drawer beside him. He shrugs it off, easily sliding the empty drawer closed.
He walks himself to the bathroom, where he dampens his face with cold water. Bartholomew stares lazily into his darkened eyes in the mirror. He breaks his own eye contact and moves on to the living room.
“Wicker?” he calls out, glancing around for his boyfriend.
The silence in the house causes him to call out louder, “Wicker? Hello?”
Bartholomew stands awkwardly in the seemingly empty house. He rubs the sleepiness out of his eyes, deciding to look outside.
Though the sun is still low on the horizon, the light burns into his face. He blinks as his vision settles, revealing a normal Aedelbark. No Wicker in sight.
“Maybe he’s just working,” Bartholomew mumbles to himself, “I guess Cyren would know about that.”
Hoping it wasn’t too early in the morning, Bartholomew trots through the neighborhood. It doesn’t take long to get to the satyr’s nearby house, but he pauses outside when he sees something rustle in the window.
He narrows his eyes when the movement stops, trying to figure out what it was. Then, as if it was an answer, Cyren swings open the front door.
“You’re not with him?” she huffs.
“What, Wicker?” Bartholomew jumps in defense, “I came here trying to figure out where he went!”
Cyren stomps over, holding a crinkled paper tight in her hand, “Son of a bitch just left us for the desert.”
“What?”
“I’m just as surprised as you!” Cyren rants, “I thought he’d at least take his kitty cat with him. No warning at all, just this damn note. So much for a business partner.”
Bartholomew rubs his paws together nervously, “He’s… actually gone? He told me I could stay at his house.”
The Satyr shakes her head, tossing the paper to the ground, “Yeah. And I’m gonna kill him.”
Bartholomew stands in shock, not knowing whether she was joking or serious. He racks his brain trying to understand or accept the situation.
“Hey, kitty,” Cyren puts a hand to her forehead, calming herself down, “You better just get out of here. Even if he does come back, you shouldn’t have to deal with him. He’s been a freak before this. I thought he'd be better to you. I’m sorry.”
“Oh,” Bartholomew looks to the ground.
“Go do something productive. Sticking around here being pouty isn’t gonna help you.”
“I guess so.”
“I’ll get you a big bag of drugs if you get away. Use it or sell it, I don’t care.”
Bartholomew takes a step back at the offer, “I think I’ll be okay, uh, thank you though.”
Cyren fishes through her pockets anyway, tossing a pouch to Bartholomew. He manages to catch it awkwardly. When he opens his mouth to speak, Cyren turns away and goes back inside. His mouth shuts as he looks around, wondering what to do next.
Bartholomew goes back to Wicker’s now abandoned house. He searches around for a second, retrieving the torn messenger bag from the day before.
He checks the inside, finding a convenient spool of thread. Bartholomew settles himself on the ground to neatly close the hole in his bag. While sewing, he runs through his current options aloud.
“I guess I can’t stay here since Cyren said not to. I don’t really need to listen to someone I’ve only met once… but I don’t think the chance if seeing Wicker again is a great idea.”
Bartholomew ties off the thread. He sets the spool and pouch from Cyren in his bag, then pulls out a change of clothes.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to go back home. If Wicker does come back, he knows where to find me there. Mom and Horowitz deserve some space too. I’ll see them again someday.”
Bartholomew leaves his old, worn clothes on the ground. He stands in his new clothes, a tan button-down with nice, brown pants. He wraps a black bandana around his neck.
“I’ll just start walking and see where I end up.”
Bartholomew marches out of the house. Not with confidence, but adrenaline. He thinks of the past days as more of a dream than reality, despite knowing everything really happened. He doesn’t exactly know how, or why, but it happened. His only motive is to get away.
While he walks, Bartholomew opens his bag to check the pouch Cyren gave him. The bag is full of gold pieces. Bartholomew is disappointed, but realizes it’s a lot more helpful than the alternative.
He closes the bag, then looks around the unfamiliar buildings around him. The realization of the unknown amount of time his journey will take dawns on him. He shakes his head, determined to keep going anyway. Only one thing comes to mind to make his new journey easier.
“I really need to get some drugs.”
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