Chloe Frazer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
missthis_ass) wrote2018-09-24 04:39 pm
missthis_ass) wrote2018-09-24 04:39 pm
(no subject)
Nate's gone and, truth be told, she'd kind of seen it coming.
It's not that Chloe had been expecting him to disappear, she hadn't been waiting for the other shoe to drop and she hadn't seen signs from the city that it was going to happen, but leaving is what they do. It's what they both do, so she's honestly a little surprised it hadn't happened sooner.
Were she anywhere else in the entire world, she'd just move on. Collect what few things matter to her, throw them in a duffle bag and catch the next plane out of the country to somewhere new. She'd find a job, she'd get lost in the work, and none of it would matter. But she isn't anywhere else. She's here. Stuck. Until she, too, of course, disappears eventually. Because she will.
It's what they do.
The worst part is cleaning up after him. Well, the worst part she'll admit to. The real worst part is the ache in her chest that reminds her of everything she's just lost, a man she actually loved, the one she thought spending her time committed to would be enjoyable instead of just a lesson in torture, but she's not about to say so to anyone.
Nate's gone. Crying over it won't help.
Still, he has a lot of notes left in his flat and she's sitting on the floor of his bedroom -- his, not theirs, she can't afford to think that way -- when she realizes she's going to have to move most of this back to her place. It's going to take a few trips down to her car and she knows she has to actually tell some people about Nate being gone, so she shoots off a quick text or two.
At Nate's, it reads. Do you have time to give me a hand with something?
To Coop, she doesn't add anything else. She can't tell him via text message that his closest friend is gone. To Therese, she includes Nate's address. Then she continues to sort through the papers and notebooks he's left behind.
It's not that Chloe had been expecting him to disappear, she hadn't been waiting for the other shoe to drop and she hadn't seen signs from the city that it was going to happen, but leaving is what they do. It's what they both do, so she's honestly a little surprised it hadn't happened sooner.
Were she anywhere else in the entire world, she'd just move on. Collect what few things matter to her, throw them in a duffle bag and catch the next plane out of the country to somewhere new. She'd find a job, she'd get lost in the work, and none of it would matter. But she isn't anywhere else. She's here. Stuck. Until she, too, of course, disappears eventually. Because she will.
It's what they do.
The worst part is cleaning up after him. Well, the worst part she'll admit to. The real worst part is the ache in her chest that reminds her of everything she's just lost, a man she actually loved, the one she thought spending her time committed to would be enjoyable instead of just a lesson in torture, but she's not about to say so to anyone.
Nate's gone. Crying over it won't help.
Still, he has a lot of notes left in his flat and she's sitting on the floor of his bedroom -- his, not theirs, she can't afford to think that way -- when she realizes she's going to have to move most of this back to her place. It's going to take a few trips down to her car and she knows she has to actually tell some people about Nate being gone, so she shoots off a quick text or two.
At Nate's, it reads. Do you have time to give me a hand with something?
To Coop, she doesn't add anything else. She can't tell him via text message that his closest friend is gone. To Therese, she includes Nate's address. Then she continues to sort through the papers and notebooks he's left behind.