Bits and Pieces

Worth It (Perfect)

***MASSIVE FLASHING DISCLAIMER*** One of the great things about music is how it is up for individual interpretation. For those of you who know me well, the fact that I interpreted this song in this way will come as no surprise. For those of you who don't know me as well (that's a shame! Call me, let's talk!), this might throw you a little, but I hope you'll go with it and accept it as a plausible explanation. Also...this is fiction. No matter how annoyingly accurate some of the stories in this fandom are, we're all just guessing. And this is my guess. Now go read and I'll be back later...

*****

"So, that's it then?" he says and his voice is like a razor. It's hard to find any comfort in the fact that I'm not the only one being cut, but I try. It's bad enough that pushing him away hurts me, but at least I know I've left an impression.

From his seat at the foot of the bed, he raises his eyes to mine and they are warm and familiar but not like this, hardened by pain. "I just don't see any other way. Do you?" I ask, honestly pleading for a solution that I have missed.

"No," he admits, and his head falls into his hands. It's impossible for me to keep my distance. I run a hand over the top of his head but he jumps back from me like I've shocked him. "Please don't touch me," he begs. "Not now."

"Okay," I choke out, holding my hands up in surrender. Standing as we are now, on equal footing, he's just as tall as me, just as broken. But he can't bear to look at me now. It's done. He grabs the nearest bag and piles a few shirts into it, a few pairs of jeans, some underwear. I'm paralyzed but to watch him. To help him would be cruel; to leave him to pack alone would be worse. I see him lingering over a pair of socks, unsure if they are his or mine. In the end he takes them and then his eyes sweep the room. He wants a dramatic exit, I know. He wants the last word. But instead of speaking, he grabs a ceramic blue monkey from the shelf. He cradles it to his chest like it's more precious than the creepy little trinket that it is. And then he's sweeping out the door.

"Where will you go?" I ask, unwilling to let him vanish entirely, not yet.

"Jake's," he mumbles as he darts across the landing and down the stairs. When he's out of sight I look up to see Mitch loitering in the hallway. These eyes are even warmer and more familiar, and they are shiny with their own layer of unshed tears. I'm not the only one to lose something today. And my loss is Mitch's loss as well, because he's a part of me.

He takes a few steps toward me, but I'm not ready. I need a few moments in my room that is now just mine. It feels like a foreign place when I come back across the threshold, like the atmosphere has doubled in weight, forcing my shoulders to slump and my spine to bend. Emptiness shouldn't be this heavy. I hate it. I even miss the damn monkey; the shelf looks empty and unbalanced now.

I try to get a handle on my emotions, try to remember that this has been a long time coming. It wasn't a surprise to either of us really, but that doesn't make it hurt any less. It's the end of an era, and even if something better is lined up for the future, it's still an ending, and a time of mourning should be allowed.

I find myself stretching out on the bed, on his side. It smells like him and I can't decide whether to burrow into that scent or to rip the sheets off and start over fresh. It's a call I simply can't make. My body hurts too much.

*****

"Ouch!" I look down to see a little pink mark on the back of my hand, fading quickly, and Mitch's hand pulling back. He's just pinched me to bring me up out of the quicksand that is my brain. When I look at him, one of his eyebrows is noticeably higher than the other, evidence of his sassy disapproval of my inattention. "Sorry," I mumble and look around the room.