#deeply scary and messy to me back then. I got ink Everywhere

[b4kuch1n]

OOOUGGHAAAAAAA I DID IT I MANAGED TO DO INK WITH A DIP PEN

NEXT COMICS MEDIUM IS FUCKING SETTLED. YUUTO YOU WILL BE FED

[dontlikedarkness]

The Good Side

Courtney hated a lot of things - losing, cowards, overthinking - but there was little she hated more than break-ups. They were messy, and she didn’t do messy. There was the trouble of deciding who got what, which pictures to burn and which to tuck away in a little drawer for when things didn’t hurt so much; how to cut someone loose who had been a part of her life for so long. There was no clean way to go about it. She couldn’t just block him, not when they’d met each other’s parents, not when her favorite tee was still somewhere on his bedroom floor and her closet was littered with his lighters and his knives and probably his jeans. She didn’t want to see him while she was still hurting, but she wanted his stuff gone, and she knew he’d throw a fit should she dump all his paraphernalia on her doorstep for him to pick up.

She’d tried to think about it logically, to alienate herself from the situation and use that lawyer brain of hers to find a solution. She’d made list after list, pros and cons, venn diagrams, even a detailed, step-by-step plan of action so that neither of them would have to come into contact with the other. They were all scattered in crumpled little wads of ink and paper beneath her desk, the waste basket overflowing with them.

A part of her wished he were here. He would call her princess, kiss away her tears, and take the paper into the kitchen to burn over the stove. Out of sight, out of mind, he’d tell her, a shit-eating grin on his face when she tried to tell him off. He’d hold the flaming paper over his head while she jumped to grab it, and she’d get all huffy about the ash in her hair and on her counters and nice hardwood floors. He’d ruffle his hair to make it worse and flash her that wicked smile and say Look babe, you’re distracted. It worked. And she’d scoff all she wanted, but there’d be no hiding the tiny smile that bloomed on her face. Everything would be okay.

Except it wasn’t. He was gone, even if his presence lingered. She moved her hand to brush a stray hair from her face, grimacing at the cigarette burn it had been covering. She’d bought him an ashtray to keep at her place, but he’d insisted the burns would give her desk character. A reminder of his chaos, to comfort her when he couldn’t.

She sighed, moving to her bed in an attempt to escape him. She tucked her arm under the pillow and rolled to face her window, a violent sob wrenching itself free when she realized that her sheets still smelled of him. Musky and sweet, like aftershave with a hint of her own perfume. It followed him everywhere, he used to complain. Like she was haunting him, so he wouldn’t forget his person. And he wouldn’t, he’d assured her.

They’d been sprawled on his roof, her head on his chest while they watched the stars. She pointed out her favorite constellations, and he called her a know-it-all, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing along her hip bone. He’d flipped her over so he could look at her and he’d smiled that secret, shy smile reserved for only his most tender moments. It was rare, and it showed a vulnerable side to him that she cherished deeply, knowing she was the luckiest girl in the world to get to see it. It’s you and me, Courtney, he’d told her, sliding a large, warm hand into her back pocket. It’s us against the world, forever and always. I’ll never let you go.

And she’d let herself believe those words, let herself believe his promise, because it was something she so desperately wanted. He’d known that. He’d used it against her, in the end.

You expect too much from me, he’d snarled, his tone cold and his eyes colder. You want to settle down. You’ve convinced yourself I’m a better person than I am, that I’m somehow worthy of you and your goals. I’m not that kinda person, princess. I don’t do long-term and houses and talks of marriage or kids. I’m not meant to be tied down. And then he’d left, the door slamming behind him with enough force to knock one of her pictures off the walls. He’d left her there, eyes watering, speechless, without another word. There had never been an official end to things - that wasn’t his style. He’d walked out on her, and that was that. He was gone.

She clenched her fists at her side, angry tears threatening to spill over. She sat up and chucked a pillow at the wall, a small glimmer of satisfaction rising in her when it hit a picture frame, dropping it to the floor with enough force that the glass shattered.

***

A month had passed, and she still couldn’t shake him from her mind. Her sheets had been washed more than once, his various possessions shoved into a box in the back of her closet, the cigarette burns and crude carving of their initials on her desk covered with a fresh coat of wood stain and a pencil holder, to hide the carving. Still his presence seemed to haunt her, as though it was imbued into the very foundation of her apartment. Everywhere she looked sparked some unwanted memory. Her stove-top brought about their one year anniversary, when she’d come home early from work to find him cooking for her, and she’d stood on her tippy-toes to wrap her arms around his neck and plant a kiss there. Her couch had a wine stain from New Year’s Eve, when they’d each been too wrapped up in the other to notice her drink slipping. All the pictures of him were gone from the walls, but she could still tell you which ones went where and exactly what they’d been doing when the picture had been taken. Even the door brought about a sense of hurt, like a splinter in a raw wound - an all too painful reminder that he had walked out on her, just like that. Without a second glance.

It didn’t take long for her to wind up on the floor of her closet, sobbing into an old shirt of his, the box of his things opened at her side. She couldn’t go on like this. Not surrounded by him.

She needed to put her energy into something else - so she did the only thing she could think of, and pulled up her lease agreement. She needed out, and chances were, it was a shoddy contract. Her landlord had never been the most competent man, so it wasn’t a stretch to assume that there would be a loophole. It was only a matter of time before she located it.

***

Boxes were scattered all across the apartment, some only partially filled, most with hastily scrawled labels to describe the contents. Usually she was more organized than this, but she had to move fast - the keys to her new place were coming in just a few days, and her landlord would have potential tenants coming in the moment she vacated the property.

There were a couple of boxes situated on her coffee table that she’d hoped to have out of the way by now, but she hadn’t been able to muster the courage to reach out until a few moments ago. She’d waited with bated breath for Duncan’s response, and when it had come, she’d shoved her phone away as though contact with it was toxic. It had taken her a great deal of breathing exercises and careful affirmations for her to finally read it. It’d been quite underwhelming, all in all. A simple “I’ll be there in thirty”. She’d expected some angry “why can’t you just drop it off” or something along those lines - she certainly hadn’t expected him to be willing to work with her.

Regardless, Courtney found herself perched near the doorway, drumming her fingers anxiously against one thigh. She was under no false pretense that they would just kiss and make up, but… it might be nice to see him. Just for some closure. Even if that “closure” resulted in the pair being at each other’s throats, anything would be better than the complete radio silence from his end. Anything. Or so she thought.

When the knock came, her heart caught in her throat. She had to be strong, she reminded herself, willing a steely resolve over her features. She took her time in opening the door, apparently long enough that Duncan had grown impatient and deemed it appropriate to ring the doorbell.

Upon opening the door, she became painfully aware of just how much of a mess she looked. Her hair had been hastily tied up so that she could clean, and her overalls were streaked with dust and white paint, from where she’d had to cover up the holes in the walls from their pictures. Normally she wouldn’t have cared, especially not for Duncan, but the girl standing there beside him was the picture of put-together. Not in an obvious way, but in a very ‘I just threw these on and accidentally looked good’ sort of way. Not like she’d made an effort when she’d tugged on her ripped jeans and her slouchy death metal tee, but like she just naturally fit them. She looked like she belonged next to Duncan, with her blue hair and her dark makeup and her piercings.

How had he moved on so fast? She couldn’t understand it, especially as she was still hurting. They’d spent two long years together, and here he was, hardly a month later with his arm around another woman’s waist. A part of her wondered if he’d been seeing her before they ever split - maybe he’d left because she wasn’t good enough; because he had someone better. It was a scary thought, but there was some merit behind it. How else could he have moved on that quickly? It didn’t make sense.

She shot a withering glare at the girl, and luckily she got the hint, disentangling herself from Duncan’s grasp and going to stand to the side. The girl offered Courtney a sad smile, and her heart broke all over again.

“Couldn’t wait to get away from me, huh princess?” He barked a laugh, taking in the apartment’s state of disarray.

It was all she could do to keep from slamming the door behind Duncan as he moved to grab his things from the coffee table. “Glad to see you’re doing so well,” she hissed, her words laced with venom. “Are you really that full of yourself? You just couldn’t wait to show her off to me. Well I get it, Duncan. Message received. Just grab your shit and go.”

His eyes narrowed to slits, and he dropped the larger of the two boxes back on the coffee table, turning to fix her with a piercing glare. “Don’t flatter yourself, princess. We were already out running errands when you texted, and I’m a gentleman. Didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

Suddenly she was all up in his personal space, one finger stabbing into his chest. The scathing look on her face didn’t go unnoticed. “You do not get to call me that anymore. I am not your anything, and I am certainly not your princess.” She took a deep breath then, her tone growing colder and colder until it seemed only ice and steel glittered back at him from within those ebony eyes of hers. “You fancy yourself a gentleman? Tell that to the next girl you walk out on without a word, only to turn up at her doorstep with another woman. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel, to see you there with someone else, so soon? No, that’s a stupid question. I should know by now that you, of all people, can’t feel so much as a shred of empathy.” Angry tears threatened to spill over, and she took a step back, crossing her arms as she did so. “God, Duncan, for all I know, you cheated on me with that girl.”

She turned and stalked towards the door, leaving him to collect his things before he could even finish processing what she’d said. She pulled the door shut behind her, heaving out a dejected sigh once she heard the tell-tale click that meant it was fully closed.

“Did you hear any of that?” She asked, slumping with relief when the girl shook her head to signify that no, she hadn’t heard anything. She offered her hand, returning that same sad smile she’d been given upon their arrival. “I’m Courtney. Despite what Duncan’s probably told you, I’m not a total psychopath.”

The girl accepted the handshake with a soft chuckle. “Gwen. And he hasn’t said much, honestly. Today’s the first I’ve heard of you.”

“Really?” Courtney cocked an eyebrow. If she hadn’t been certain before, she was now - those two years spent together had meant jack shit to Duncan.

She slumped against the door, waving away Gwen’s concerned glance. “Asshole walked out on me after two years, can you believe that? And he has the nerve to show up here, with you, and still act surprised that I’m moving. As if he doesn’t know why.

“I’m sorry, I’m sure you have better things to do than listen to me moan about your boyfriend.”

Gwen shook her head, moving to seat herself next to Courtney. The two gazed out across the balcony for a while, comfortable in the silence, if a bit sad. “If anything, I’m the one who should be sorry,” Gwen offered, after a few moments. “I know how this has to look to you. If I’d known…” she sighed. “I would’ve made him drop me off at home, y’know? Maybe you guys could’ve talked things over.”

It was Courtney’s turn to laugh at that. “Oh no, we still would’ve had a screaming match. Honestly, it’d probably have been worse than this. Maybe I should thank you for sparing me the trouble.”

The two shared a tentative smile, helping each other to their feet as Duncan emerged carrying a stack of boxes. “Princess -” he called, but she had already turned around and stalked inside. Gwen waved through the window, and she smiled, shutting the yet-to-be-packed curtains before she could make the mistake of watching them leave.

She couldn’t wait to be out of this place.