(no subject)
She wakes, and she doesn't understand. She doesn't understand why he's gone -- there's not even an indentation of his body in the sheets, no warmth where once another person had slept. She wakes, blearily staring at the space left so empty by her best friend, the boy who promised only the night before that he would never leave her. Jade isn't quite sure what to make of it, so she calls out for him.
"Dave? Are you there?"
She's uncertain (maybe he went to get breakfast, or to the bathroom, or maybe he just got tired of me after all) and flips the covers up, getting out of bed. She forgets her glasses -- the world's easier when it's a blur, it's easier to ignore the details and pretend things are okay -- and makes for the door. It's still closed. No one's been in and out. She leaves her room, marches across the hall directly and--
his stuff is gone.
There are birds now, birds sitting everywhere, and if Jade was in a better mood she would probably attempt to shoo them away because she knows Dave hates them. Or at least he pretends to. How did the crows get in, anyway? Oh -- the window, she assumes. He left the window open. But she has to settle with a guess, since her vision is eerily blurred and threatening to give way to tears.
He's gone.
He left her, and he's gone. And he might not come back. Or if he did, he might not remember. The idea that Dave would return and never remember what had gone on scares her the most. She thinks of all of their sleepovers, the day that she had told him about Bro, about his doomed self -- how he promised he wouldn't leave. But that promise is broken now, and she can't really do anything to mend it.
So she sits down in the middle of his apartment, surrounded by birds, and begins to cry.