Forget Me Not

Paradise lost

It never feels right when tragedy strikes on a perfect day. Hearts should only be broken and loved ones should only ever leave on rainy, grey days. It's a beautiful morning, though, and Crowley watches the love of his life leave him. He's besides himself. He can't believe that Aziraphale would choose Heaven over him but that's what just happened.

Crowley gets in his Bentley and just drives. He drives slowly, which is very uncharacteristic of him. It feels like a sandbag has been placed on his chest. Breathing is difficult and his lungs ache. The demon's eyes sting but he swears to himself that he won't cry.

Drowning his sorrows is the only viable solution. He's got to get properly pissed. Finding a pub at 11am on a weekday isn't as hard as you'd think.

The whole situation was beginning to feel like déjà vu. Crowley had sat alone in a pub crying over losing his best friend before. Best friend? Even I know that's a lie. He lays his head on the wooden table and watches the amber liquid swirl in his glass.

There's a distinctive difference between that time and this one. When Crowley thought that Aziraphale had been killed all he wanted was for his angel to know everything. Now Crowley just wished he'd kept his mouth shut. The only thing worse than being left, is being left after begging someone to stay. 

When Crowley tries to order a 7th double the bar tender tell him he's had enough. The demon struggles to stand but once he manages, he takes his leave, yelling over his shoulder that there are other pubs.

He only has to stumble a few blocks before finding one. Here Crowley decides not to waste his time with glasses and orders 3 bottles of whiskey.

"Sorry, love, policy only allows us to sell 2 at a time." The bartender places 2 bottles and several glasses on a tray, "also payment is required up front for bottles. It's going to come up to £317." Crowley miraculously pulls several £100 notes out of his pocket. He riffles through the wad and throws 4 bills on the counter. The barmaid is impressed by the shear amount of cash and say as she makes change, "you can always purchase that third once your friends get here."

Crowley snatches the bottles and a glass. He leaves the change, tray and remaining glasses. He scoffs as he retreats to a corner, "what friends?"

Midday turns to afternoon before Crowley emerges from the pub. His sorrows have been properly drowned and he smells and looks it. The demon squints behind his shades when he walks into the daylight. He isn't sure where he parked but he's confident he'll figure it out. He stumbles promptly in the wrong direction.

Crowley teeters back and forth as he walks down the sidewalk. The London streets have begun to fill with shoppers. Crowley mumbles various things to himself and curses at pedestrians when he bumps into them.

A shop catches Crowley's attention. It's windows are filled with books. Posters obscure his view, one of which advertising "the best of Neil Gaiman." Crowley presses his hands against the window and sways as he thinks. His brain does drunk acrobatics that land him on the conclusion, if he were better read maybe Aziraphale would love him back.

He tries vigorously to pull the push door and only gets it when a customer inside exits. The bright LED lights blind Crowley, even behind his glasses. He knows very little about books but has heard Aziraphale mention classics before so that's the section he terrorizes. The inebriated demon stumbles into the shelves as he makes his way. He picks up several books and inspects them. He must find the perfect one.

"Priiide and Pred-id-just. Jaane Austen." He holds the novel at arms length to inspect it. "Jane- I mean- sstill can't 'leave it." He sets it back on a random shelf and picks another. "All- All Quiet on Th' Western Front?" Crowley scoffs and blows a raspberry, "uh- um yea- could tell ya first hand, thas a loada rubbish!" He tosses the book over his shoulder.

Crowley picks up a hardback book with a charcoal spine and red text. He lifts his glasses to better see the black and white cover. A shrill voice sounds behind him but he's too immersed to notice. Crowley reads the title to himself, "Paradise L-lost." The cover depicts an armored angel swooning against a cliff face.

A hand reaches out and touches Crowley's shoulder. "Hey! Did you hear me? You need to leave."

The demon jerks away "don'youse touch meh!" He turns and scowls at a tall, thin, dark-haired woman. She repeats that he needs to leave. Crowley couldn't care less about what the shop-owner has to say and is back to starring at the book. He thrusts the book out to show her. "S'my angel," Crowley says very matter-of-factly. He rocks backwards, threatening to fall over.

The woman stares at the demon, lips pursed, "I see." She didn't know what the drunk was on about but really wasn't in the mood to deal with it. "It's time to go. Before I call the police."

Crowley still ignores her. He brings the book close to his chest and speaks downward, "yeah- s'was mine." He closes his eyes and sighs heavily.

"Come on," the lady says in a softer tone. She interrupts his moment, placing a hand on his shoulder to coax him out of the shop.

Crowley shoves her away, "said no touching!" He didn't mean to shove her so hard and he immediately feels bad. "Oh! S- I'm sorry! Uh- I didn't-" he steps towards her.

The woman regains her footing and huffs, "that's it. I'm phoning the police." She travels to the front counter.

Crowley follows to the storefront. "Go 'head! Police the phone," he says confidently. "I'm leavin' anywaysss." And with that the demon heads for the door, the John Milton novel still in hand. The shop-owner yells that he can't take that book. A £20 note appears in his hand and he tosses it on the ground, "notta thief!"

He runs out the door and the woman follows him but decides it isn't worth it. Crowley jogs down the street tumbling and bumping into pedestrians. He's laughing the whole time. Unlikely as it is, he happens to stumble right onto his car, to which he lets out an excited, little squeal.

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