Forget Me Not

Forgotten at sea

The hotel room has an old money aesthetic, not unlike the rest of the hotel. The headboard is a rich brown wood, probably walnut. So is the desk. There's a leather bench at the end of the bed and a matching leather chair. It's a nice large room. Crowley's dingy cardboard box is out of place on the fine desk.

He flops backwards on the duvet and lets the room spin around him. It's been a long time since Crowley had lain in a proper bed. He use to take cat naps on the sofa in the bookshop but never stayed the night other than when Aziraphale went to Edinburgh. He didn't want to let on that he needed a place. Crowley felt embarrassed about his living situation but sleep wasn't that big of a deal. Being a supernatural being, Crowley didn't need to sleep. It was more of a guilty pleasure.

Laying all alone, in a quiet room, the demon couldn't help but replay the morning's events in his head. He pinched his eyes tightly and thought aloud. "How could I be so stupid? Every single time I've reached out, it's gone terribly." He snatches a pillow and pulls it to his chest. "So fucking stupid."

Above the bed there's a painting in an ornate frame. It depicts a small sailboat  in a storm. The water is dark and choppy. The moon is visible but muted by clouds. Crowley fixates on the painting. It invokes a familiar feeling.

"He's not going to come back this time," his voice threatens to break. His abdomen contracts and releases over and over as he suppresses sobs. Crowley sucks in a deep breath. I can't do this on my own. I really can't. With that, tears spill from the demon's eyes. He groans, "fuuuck!" He doesn't make an effort to wipe the tears away or fight what's coming. He rolls onto his side and let's it all out, still thinking aloud. "How could he do this to me! How could he just leave me," Crowley wails, "I thought he loved me!"

Crowley presses his face into the pillow and lets the dam break. He cries until his body is convulsing and his lungs won't exhale. Finally the worse is of it is over. Crowley turns back over onto his back as the tears continue to trickle out. He gazes up at the painting on the wall. He thinks of how alone and lost the boat seems.

How many times does he have to reject me for me to finally get it? Crowley quotes his angel, "'there is no us, Crowley.' 'You go to fast for me, Crowley.' 'I forgive-'" He has to stop himself before the waterworks start again. Crowley's lip quivers. "I really thought he loved me back," he sniffles.

Crowley lays in silence for a minute before jumping to his feet. "I need to get my shit together," he tells himself. The demon paces around the hotel room. He breaths heavily to ward off tears. "I've got to get it together. He's gone. He choose Heaven. Aziraphale is gone and he isn't coming back." Crowley slumps in the leather chair and buries his face into his hands. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't you dare cry.

It's only about 8pm but Crowley decides he should just try to sleep. Being unconscious sounds really nice. He closes the curtains tight and crawls into bed but he can't keep the thoughts from trickling in.

Truth is, Crowley hasn't been in a good way for a while. He thought cutting ties with Hell would fix his mental state but since it's gotten worse. Maybe it has to do with living out of his car and no one knowing or maybe it's just how he's destined to feel. That crushing loneliness won't let up and everything feels utterly meaningless. Crowley was never a fan of Heaven or Hell or their agendas but being a demon gave his life a purpose. The only relief Crowley ever got was when he was near his angel. Aziraphale was like this ray of light peeking through the clouds. But now he's gone.

Everything would be so much easier if I never fell for him. Keep my distance. Crowley stares at the ceiling, I wish I could just forget about him and move on. He sighs, if only.

The demon chews his lip, lost in thought. He fidgets with his watch, that he had taken off before laying down. Crowley sits up and buckles the band around his wrist, having made a decision. He slips on his shoes and heads down to the lobby.

The lobby is fuller than before. Lots of well-dressed people chatting and the revolving door is spinning almost non-stop with guests coming and going. Crowley walks up to the front desk and asks for some stationery supplies. He gets a pad of paper, a pen, and a some tape. He also asks for a dictionary. Before returning to his room, Crowley gets a glass of whiskey from the bar.

Crowley sets himself at the desk and thinks of what he wants to write. He sips his drink and taps the pen on the wooden desk. He has to find the right balance of laying it all out and not making a fool of himself. He thinks of the desperate idiot he was that morning. I won't do that again. But I do have to spell it out.

It takes the demon almost an hour to write a simple half-page letter. Trying to find the right words to express himself and double checking vocabulary/spelling in the dictionary slowed him down. He proof reads the letter one more time and hopes it never has to be read.

Crowley rummages through his belongings and removes 2 items, both objects look inconspicuous. He folds his letter into thirds, and writes on the front, "to Aziraphale only" then tears another sheet of paper from the pad. He rips a small piece from it and jots down, "do not open and do not toss!"

Crowley takes the tin of Black Bullet Mints and empties its contents in the bin. He tapes the scrap of paper to the lid throughly. The demon's heart is beating fast and he is having some doubts about his plan. This is the only way, he tells himself, this is the best option.

He takes his index and middle finger to his temple. Come on, Crowley takes slow deep breaths, take just enough. He moves his hand away from his head, as if pulling a sting from his skin. Crowley winces and strains as he pulls memories from his brain. He figured if Gabriel could do it at all, then he could do it better.

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Hi guys, I hope you're enjoying and I'll have the next chapter up really soon :)