I barely have enough sense in my head to put myself away before my mind starts whirling. It was you on me. I know it was. I would never allow some rando fuckboy in my house, let alone on my dick. But…you’re…not…fucking…here!

Dammit, Robin, why aren’t you here?! 

“Robin…” I say through a tight throat. “Why…” I inhale sharply, feeling the tears finally start to rise in my chest. “Why did you let this happen?” I slide my hand into my hair, the first tears sliding down into my ears as I stare up at the ceiling. “Why did you…” I gasp, fighting for air. 

I’m inundated with rage, grief, anger, everything. I’m supposed to be trying to move on from you. Goddammit, Robin, you’re gone! You’re gone, but you’re still here! 

“Why did you leave me?” I whisper pathetically. “Why did you have to die and leave me alone?” I grit my teeth, my chin no longer under my control as I press the heels of my hands into my eyes. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” I eke out. “I don’t want to hurt anymore…”

I sit up, my breath coming in spurts and starts as the hot tears burn my hands. How fucking dare you…how could you…how could you hurt me like this? How could you leave me this way?

“Why won’t you let me hate you?!” I scream. I launch myself from the couch, grab one of the glasses, I don’t know which one, nor do I care, and fling it at the wall. It shatters, booze running down in a toxic stream. I watch it for a minute, the rage boiling within me as I grip my shirt. Sobs, painful, searing and wrenching, explode from me.

“Fuck you, Robert Scheffield! Fuck you!” I grab my TV and rip it from the wall, throwing it across the room with a yell. It shatters, cracking with an electronic buzz. I don’t care. I don’t give two shits. You did this. You made me miserable and now I have no choice but to destroy all you gave me. 

I’m sure I black out at some point, but it doesn’t matter. I scream, yell, cry, rage, throw, punch over and over into the wall and I have no idea what else. 

“WHY? WHY? WHY?” 

Those are the words screaming in my head. That and other curses aimed directly at you. 

“Why won’t you let me hate you? Why can’t you leave me alone? Let me move on?!” I’m screaming, sobbing, throwing and breaking every last goddamn thing I can get my hands on. I think I grabbed a knife at one point. In fact, I know I did. I tore into the photo of the dogs. I stabbed into the painting of the wildflowers, I tore the sofa to ribbons, I yanked the carpet from the floor, I threw bottles and bottles of liquor all over the place.

“I want to hate you!” I shout into the ether. 

You’re there. Standing in the hallway. Staring at me. Your eyes are sad, your expression drawn. 

“Are you happy?” I scream. “Are you proud of what you’ve done to me? Look what you’ve done!” I grab something else and fling it into the wall. I run down the hall, past your ghost, into our bedroom, and tear into it. I break everything. Everything. All the furniture, all the photos, the lamps, even the headboard that you bit into. I punched it over and over until I saw blood. I grab it, wrenching it from the wall but it doesn’t break.

I scream so loud my throat hurts. I punch the wall. I kick the bed. I fling the dresser to the floor. I take your clothes out of the closet and throw them all over the place.

I storm back down the hallway and punch the walls as I gp, leaving huge, gaping holes. Like I give a shit. You hurt me. You left me. What’s a few goddamn holes for the one you tore into me.

I grab a bottle of rum from the floor, one that isn’t broken, and drain it. I throw it at the window, breaking both of them with a yell. The curtain tears. The curtains you were so fucking proud of.

“Fuck you!” I shout at the top of my lungs. “Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” I back into the wall and slide to the floor. I scream over and over and over. “How could you?!”

I scramble to my feet and dash into the kitchen. I tear out every dish and throw them everywhere, the crash and break adding to my pain. I think I’m bleeding but I don’t care. When all the plates and shit are gone from the cabinet, I start yanking on it, ripping it from the wall. It comes loose but not all the way off.

Fine. 

There’s a hammer on the table for some stupid-ass reason. I grab it and start slamming it into everything. The table. The stove. The counters. The sink. The fridge. Eventually I just chuck the fucking thing down the hall. It smashes into something but I have no idea or care as to what it is. I’m gone. I’m fucking done. 

“You’re killing me, Robin, do you not get that?!” I scream.

I pause.

If you’re killing me…maybe that means you want me to be with you. Fine. If that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get. I gave you everything else, didn’t I? I promised you my life, so now you’ll get it. I reach for one of the bottles and start smashing it against the counter. It won’t fucking break.

“Fucking break, you piece of shit!” I demand through clenched teeth. My vision is blurred from the tears. Giving up, I throw the bottle across the kitchen. I search around, find another bottle that still has something in it and drain it.

“Do you want me with you, is that it?” I ask with a humorless laugh. “Fine!” I stagger slightly, my rage dissipating to despair. “Fine…” I say softer. “Then let me be with you…” 

I start throwing shit off the counters, ripping drawers out when I can’t find what I’m looking for, breaking even more furniture in an effort to find what I need in order to get to you.

“Let me be with you,” I begin muttering, almost as a mantra. “Baby, please, just let me be with you! I need you! I love you! I can’t live like this, goddammit!”

“Hey.”

I whirl around at the sudden voice and come to a dead stop. 

Windy. 

Windy is standing in the doorway, staring at me, her hands in the pockets of her light sweater. 

I swallow past the glass in my throat. “What…why…”

“You texted me,” she says calmly.

There’s an unknown sound that leaks from my throat. I can’t even begin to describe it. “What?”

She shows me the screen.

Two words.

Save me!!

My entire body begins to shake and the tears run free down my face. I start looking around me, at the mess I’ve created, searching for what I need to get to you. “I need…I need to get to him…” I say. “Robin…he…I need to be with him…”

“Lee.”

“I need to be with him! I can’t…I can’t do this!”

“Lee.”

“No!” I scream, shoving something heavy across the room. A display rack, I think. I glare at her but there’s no hate. There’s no disgust. I just feel…hurt. For the first time in two years, I’m fucking hurt. “He left me, Windy,” I say weakly.

She shakes her head slowly, approaching me. “No, honey, he didn’t.”

“He did!” I shout. “He left me alone to suffer! I need to be with him, I need to die and go to him!”

“He was stolen from you,” she says gently. “He didn’t leave you.”

“Then…Then I…” I look around me, at the chaos and destruction. “I need to…I need…” My legs give way and she rushes to me, grabbing me as I fall. 

“No,” she says. “You need to stay with me, Lee. He gave me to you, remember? You told me that once.”

I cling to her, tearing at her sweater. I did tell her that. I was drunk as fuck, but I still remember. 

“I think the best thing Robin ever did for me was give me you. You’re my life now.”

My body shakes, my face contorts, my sobs tear through me and I just cry. I scream, I grab at Windy, and I scream and cry like I haven’t done in years. I fall to the floor and she holds me. I don’t know when it happens, but eventually the last image I have before I pass out is you standing by the counter, staring down at us, tears running down your face.

“Lee,” you say, heartbreak echoing in your voice. “Don’t do this. Not for me. Stay alive, baby. Stay alive for her.”

Her hands cradle my head as I grab at her sweater, and it all goes black.

*