Estranged • h.s.

04

July 23rd, 2024.

24 and 27.

I got less than a week with her while she was twenty-three. Those few days were full of love, actual fucking love poured out in passionate ways that made my head spin and my heart burst. Now, we're each another year older and my life is fucking boring. Dull.

Nothing is fun without her. Getting home every day is pointless without her there.

The clock is barely past midnight, the LED letters being the only source of light in the dark ass room I'm in. Living in Louis' basement hasn't been the most luxurious thing, and certainly not the smartest. If Jackson is brave enough to come find me, our homes are the easiest places to look. But, we have limited options.

Los Angeles is beginning to be dead ends, and soon we'll move on. Check New York, and hopefully that works.

Every day that nothing changes is another day that I want to give up. The disappointment of not seeing her, hugging her, or touching her in any way makes me feel like I'm living in the pits of Hell. I don't know much more I have in me.

Evan was good for a while and gave us more information than anyone else had. But he quickly ran out of value. It took me a few days to decide what to do with him. He finally made me think twice about everything, all of the killing that gave me brief happiness, but the knowledge that he was involved in taking her that day, helping Jackson force her hand, made my decision easy.

I stare at the list of names he provided often, doing as much research as possible. Louis gets the most done, but his process takes time. We can't do anything until we locate the people.

Next on my list is Adam. I want to kill him slowly. I want to watch every last ounce of his life slip away into nothing. He weaved his way into her daily life and probably spied on her for Jackson. Pathetic lowlife has it coming.

I turn on my side, staring at the almost blank wall. The only piece of myself decorating this place is a single photo of her. We have so few of us together that we took, most taken on her phone anyway. All of my photos that prove that she was real are of just her.

You don't realize it immediately, but it's so easy to look over taking photos of you and your person. You're so caught up in the now that when it's time to reminisce, you start to feel regret.

I stare at it in the dark, my eyes dilated just enough to make out the photo of her peaceful sleeping face bathed in natural light. I took the photo the night after we gave in. Before that, I was so scared of how I felt that I wouldn't dare do anything that made me realize I was obsessed with her. I wanted to avoid those feelings. I tried. I really, truly did. But she's my soulmate, and I refuse to let our few short months be it.

My finger moves over the photo, and I fight the urge to break down.

I know what everyone is thinking, I do. They think I'm crazy, that I should be over it. It's been nearly a year since I saw her, since she disappeared. If this were a breakup, it would be expected that I'd move on. Found someone else, forgotten her. But that isn't the case. She was taken from me before I was ready to let her go.

It was all supposed to work out for her. I knew I didn't deserve her, but that doesn't mean this can be it.

If I find her and she's better off without me, then maybe I'll finally give up. Maybe all I need is to make sure she's free from this, and she's able to live her life how she wants to live it. I want the best for her. I need to know she's okay.

That's it. Looking at her photo, on her birthday, I decide that's what all of this is really about. Yes, I love her, but she's more important than what I need.