oom
Somehow, despite everything -- maybe because of everything -- he slept well last night. Probably his best night's sleep in a while, and that's nothing to do with the fact that he spent the last couple nights sleeping on the floor and in a booth.
When he wakes, it might be morning, or it might be afternoon, or it might be the middle of the night. Time doesn't mean much here. But for him, it's late morning, and his first thought upon opening his eyes is, Inyri's gone down to get breakfast, then.
And then he remembers, and he closes his eyes again tightly, hoping it was all just a dream, a nightmare. Not real. Not real.
When he opens his eyes again, and the other side of the bed stays resolutely empty, Wes feels sick, feels... something.
she's gone gonegonegone maybe not maybe she decided not to maybe she's here just downstairs maybe she's not going to leave i love her she loves me but she knows-- but maybe
He pushes the covers back and gets out of bed, stumbles into the bathroom, runs the tap and splashes water on his face. He's awake, properly awake now, but he doesn't feel any better.
She's gone.
I love her and she's gone.
And then he looks up and sees the note, sees the I love you at the bottom, and he pulls it off the mirror. Running a hand through his hair, he wanders back into the bedroom, reading the note as he sits on the edge of the bed.
i love you you're gone he's better than me i don't deserve him don't deserve you either you're gone love you miss you kriffing milliways
He stares at the note for a few minutes, reading it, re-reading it, just staring. He wants to blow something up. He wants to shoot something. But he can't, the sims here just aren't the same. He can't do anything, and this is the first it's really gotten to him so much.
"Happiness," he murmurs, and closes his eyes again, trying not to think about what she means, trying not to think--
i love him ohkriffohkriff but i love her but she's gone she's gone she was right sam was right lando was right andandand it's all a mess have to do something can't do anything
--at all.
And he opens his eyes again, folds up the note, puts it on the bed covers. He finds his clothes, scattered round the room, grabs a clean shirt from one of the drawers--
they're empty almost all empty her stuff's gone she's gone
--and dresses quickly, flattening his hair a little with his hand. When he's done, he picks the note up again, re-reads it, swallows, and folds it back up, tucking it in his shirt pocket. He glances round the room, the still-yellow room, and all he can think is, this is hers.
He doesn't want to be here now. So, unable to find a bag, Wes takes one of the pillow cases and stuffs his clothes into it, everything in this room that's his, leaving it empty of everything but memories.
When he leaves and closes the door behind him, he doesn't hesitate, just heads down to his own-- Hobbie's-- room, thankfully empty just now, and does the same, takes everything that's his. There's quite a lot of stuff, or maybe it just seems like a lot, but he manages anyway. And slowly, carefully, he heads down to the bar, wondering just what he's going to do.
When he wakes, it might be morning, or it might be afternoon, or it might be the middle of the night. Time doesn't mean much here. But for him, it's late morning, and his first thought upon opening his eyes is, Inyri's gone down to get breakfast, then.
And then he remembers, and he closes his eyes again tightly, hoping it was all just a dream, a nightmare. Not real. Not real.
When he opens his eyes again, and the other side of the bed stays resolutely empty, Wes feels sick, feels... something.
she's gone gonegonegone maybe not maybe she decided not to maybe she's here just downstairs maybe she's not going to leave i love her she loves me but she knows-- but maybe
He pushes the covers back and gets out of bed, stumbles into the bathroom, runs the tap and splashes water on his face. He's awake, properly awake now, but he doesn't feel any better.
She's gone.
I love her and she's gone.
And then he looks up and sees the note, sees the I love you at the bottom, and he pulls it off the mirror. Running a hand through his hair, he wanders back into the bedroom, reading the note as he sits on the edge of the bed.
i love you you're gone he's better than me i don't deserve him don't deserve you either you're gone love you miss you kriffing milliways
He stares at the note for a few minutes, reading it, re-reading it, just staring. He wants to blow something up. He wants to shoot something. But he can't, the sims here just aren't the same. He can't do anything, and this is the first it's really gotten to him so much.
"Happiness," he murmurs, and closes his eyes again, trying not to think about what she means, trying not to think--
i love him ohkriffohkriff but i love her but she's gone she's gone she was right sam was right lando was right andandand it's all a mess have to do something can't do anything
--at all.
And he opens his eyes again, folds up the note, puts it on the bed covers. He finds his clothes, scattered round the room, grabs a clean shirt from one of the drawers--
they're empty almost all empty her stuff's gone she's gone
--and dresses quickly, flattening his hair a little with his hand. When he's done, he picks the note up again, re-reads it, swallows, and folds it back up, tucking it in his shirt pocket. He glances round the room, the still-yellow room, and all he can think is, this is hers.
He doesn't want to be here now. So, unable to find a bag, Wes takes one of the pillow cases and stuffs his clothes into it, everything in this room that's his, leaving it empty of everything but memories.
When he leaves and closes the door behind him, he doesn't hesitate, just heads down to his own-- Hobbie's-- room, thankfully empty just now, and does the same, takes everything that's his. There's quite a lot of stuff, or maybe it just seems like a lot, but he manages anyway. And slowly, carefully, he heads down to the bar, wondering just what he's going to do.