Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Maybe he went home, okay? I’m only not looking for him because he needs to be more independent. And not rely on me for everything. He’s probably fine. Or not.

He must have been in a pretty goddamn agitated rush to just leave the car here on the side of the road. He left the car with the passenger door swung wide open and the heater on. Just great.

I roll my eyes, ticked off, and climb into the drivers seat. I reach over the passenger seat to shut the thrown-open door. I struggle for a bit—it gets caught in the snow— and I just barely manage to get it closed before I fall back onto the seat. I slump and sigh, putting down the camera in the passenger seat, other hand planted on the freezing steering wheel. The heater hums in the silent car, and I turn it down all the way.

 Silence.

After staring blankly into the empty road and dissociating, I whack the broken GPS on and double check to make sure he left the abandoned key into the ignition. As expected, there it sits in the keyhole. I guess he didn’t expect to come back anyways. God fucking damn it. What will Sarah say? It’s not like I killed him. Maybe she’ll know better than to blame me. Ill have to come up with some phony bullshit if she doesn’t.

I angrily press the pedal and the car jerks forward and onto the road.

The GPS speaks in an unfamiliar voice to The House. My old house, actually. Jonah called it ‘headquarters,’ even though he’d only been there once. It’s been abandoned since the incident, so no one really wants to go there anyways. As a former resident, I’ve claimed it as my own. No rent, no cops, no nothing. That’s a risk I’m willing to take. Although it gets kind of dark at night. They cut off the electricity a while ago.

“You will arrive at your destination in 33 minutes.”

He was right. It is kind of useful.

My fingers tremble on the still-cold steering wheel as I huff at the ‘Welcome To: Mandela County’ sign. It speeds out of my vision, and my eyes wander absently back into the road. Some rock song plays quietly on the radio.

Out of pure boredom, I drink from a half-flat Diet Coke can in the cup holder, also Jonah’s. I recall the gas station we stopped at before the three-day gig. He expected us to somehow survive off two discount bags of lays and a dozen pack of Diet Coke. when he proposed the idea, I didn’t really care as much as he did. He seemed happy to just be able to eat junk food for 3 days straight.

It’s going to be different without him. Oh well. Nothing I can do about it.

I drive for a bit longer, and then make it to The House. The front wooden door jams, and I push it open. The dark of the house fades into awareness, and I flick on the heavy-duty flashlight I stole from a Home Depot in August. I set it down on the island—facing up so it illuminates the area somewhat—and set my backpack down. I look at the footage on the camera for about 20 minutes before deeming it acceptable.

Carefully, I look around the room and strange the silence. Usually we’d come back here and eat the same pizza every time after a gig.

Maybe it’s for the better. The guy was kind of a dick anyways.

I pass by The Room and don’t stop until I’m at the end of the hallway. I am not sleeping in the room, nor am I sleeping in the old nursery. The guest bedroom seemed like the obvious option. I open it to find the little articles of clothing I have scattered all throughout the floor. Most of it unwashed, some good pieces still left. I pick a white tee and gray sweatpants and throw them on the bed.

Routine. Nothing changes.

I face away from the mirror and change. I throw the BPS sweatshirt behind my headboard, and it falls under the bed. The black nail polish on my nails chips off and I stretch. I got some good footage. At least, I think. Maybe she’ll finally see what I see.

Chapter Text

I take a few cans of soup and put them in the messenger bag. I have a little bit of everything to keep me sustained for a few weeks. As long as I ration these enough, I won’t die of hunger. After stuffing everything as best I can in the bag, I keep my head down and slide through the aisles and out the door.

 A short old woman walking towards the grocery store gives me a look. I keep a straight face and pull the heavy, definitely suspicious, clanking bag up higher on my shoulder. Without any cameras or any security systems, shoplifting became less fun. Theres really no challenge anymore. Jonah used to be really good at shoplifting. He’d always say that it was because he was Latino, and that it was ‘in his blood’. It was funny the first time.

And now that the police all quit their jobs or just killed themselves, the thrill of getting chased and nearly running people over with the newly stolen car faded away.

I throw the bag in the backseat of the car and the cans clatter and tumble downwards to the floor. I wince in annoyance and slump into the driver's seat. The radio flicks on by itself this time.

I need to hide out for a few weeks. The neighbors or the batshit cat lady who patrols around yelling at squirrels probably filed some noise complaints already. I did yell at Jonah pretty bad. In the end I got what I wanted.

I drive home, pick up the cans and spread them out on the island. I count 25 cans, 25 days. Eventually I get to the desk and turn on the bulky, illegal computer.

The starting screen boots up and I open messages.

‘evelinm90’

Evelin. I don’t know if I miss her or not. She’s asked me if we can “talk this through.” There’s nothing to talk about. She ended things and I’m okay with that.

‘Sarah Heathcliff’

I really don’t want to deal with that right now.

‘jonahmarshall’

I stare at the name. I don’t want to feel bad, and I don’t feel bad.

I don’t feel bad at all.

I remove the contact.

“Can I at least have some closure adam?” Evelin texts. I ignore the message. She asks me to respond while she’s at work. I totally do not plan on doing that. Annoyed, I click open Sarah’s chat.

“Just got home.” I lie. It’s 7 in the morning and the gig ended at 2 last night. “Did u hear voicemail”

She types for a bit.

“No, I’ve been busy. How did the visit go?”

I sigh and type out a half-assed response.

“Do u want good or bad news first?”