by H. Q. Frost
"What the fuck do you mean? What the fuck is going on? She's not answering her phone. I've sent her twenty texts! What the fuck, Jacks!"
"Her phone's here." He was barely audible.
"Where are you?" Justin screamed.
"Condo."
The twenty-five minute drive to the condo took him fifteen. Justin pounded on the door and Ian pulled it open. He had clearly been crying, he was obviously drunk, and if his face didn't give it away the stench of liquor emanating from him did. And if that didn't give it away the bottle of scotch in his hand did.
"Shit," Ian snapped when the kitten ran past both his and Justin's legs and darted outside.
Justin spun around trying to grab the cat but it was useless. They both dashed to chase it, but the cat was gone.
"Fuck," Justin huffed and followed him in then
paused a minute when he saw the mess.
A tall bamboo plant that was sitting in the corner of
the condo was uprooted and dirt was everywhere. There were
broken dishes. Her laptop was in two pieces, one piece on the dinning table, the other under it. Her clothes where strewn about and a trail of shoes boxes and women's shoes led from her shoe room.
Ian plopped onto the one couch cushion that was left on the sofa. The other cushion was next to the entertainment center with the flat screen laying next to it with a torn screen.
"She's gone." Ian put the bottle to his lips.
Justin walked into their bedroom and it was worse than the rest of the house.
"Gone where?" Justin spoke calmly.
"No idea. She wouldn't tell me. She wouldn't listen. She wouldn't stop breaking things." He looked at the TV.
"She did this?" Justin let out a chuckle but didn't mean to. Ian looked up at him, unable to react. "Call her mom."
"Did."
"Richie? Pumpkin?"
"Who?" Ian looked at him confused.
"The other cousin." Justin snapped his fingers. "What's her name."
"Joanna. I fucking did all this, Borg!" Ian screamed throwing the liquor bottle at the wall. Glass and scotch splashed the room. "Tash, Ashley, every single one of my girls! I called them all. I called my father, my mother, I called my fucking grandmother! Everyone in her family. I called them!" Ian began to pace.
"What fucking happened, Jacks? What went wrong?"
"Rayne Bronson! Fuck!" Ian flipped the dining room table, throwing it into the wall and the paintings came crashing down.
"Calm down, Jacks! Christ!" Justin surprised
himself that he was the calm one. "She has to come back."
"She's not coming back. I have my ring. She leave any of your shit?" Ian looked at him and Justin nodded quickly. "She took most her clothes, shoes, anything that means something to her except anything to do with us." Ian dropped into a dining room chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The fucking cat." It took a second for Justin to realize Ian started to cry. He kept his head down, sobbing silently. "Now her fucking cat ran away." Ian looked at Justin. "You did it. You let the fucking cat run out!" Ian stood.
"You fucking left the door open! I didn't even think about the fucking cat!" Justin swung, hitting Ian in the jaw.
Ian stumbled back but quickly retaliated with swings until they were full out fist fighting. Their brawl went on until Ian's phone started to ring. They stopped fighting like what they were doing was for sport and not hate. Ian pushed Justin away and ran to his phone.
"Hello? Hello?"
"What the fuck are you doing?" Ashley snickered.
"Ashley, where is she?"
"What the fuck did you idiots do?" Her tone was full of disgust and disdain.
"Shit. Please just tell me."
She could hear him panting, the misery and possible tears.
"She's okay right now. If you call me back I'll turn my phone off, Ian. I'll be in contact with you. Don't call me." She hung up.
"We have to find that cat, Jacks," Justin said with hope Lilith would be
back.
They went back outside and searched the surrounding bushes and yards until they were both too cold to stand it anymore. No words were spoken as they both began to clean the mess inside the house. When Justin realized all the clothes strewn about were useless things like scarves and stockings he really began to worry she was never coming back.
Seven in the morning was approaching and neither had slept yet.
"I gotta go to work," Ian told Justin somberly.
"Me too." Justin looked at him. "Shoot me an email telling me what happened if you're not going to tell me to my face."
"I told you Rayne Bronson. She posted a picture of
you two to her media account and Ashley called Lily about it. When Lily went online to see for herself there was live feed of you two walking in together. It didn't dawn on me what was going on before it was too late. The point where it became too late was when you kissed the bitch." Ian looked at him.
"I didn't kiss her."
"There's a picture of you kissing her."
"I didn't fucking kiss her!" Justin pulled his phone out and began to surf the entertainment media sites. The kiss was when Rayne kissed him before he left. "And what'd you do, Ian? You play fucking innocent? Perfect fucking husband—"
"Shut the fuck up, Borg," Ian mumbled. "You think she would have left me too?" Ian sat at the scuffed and dented table. "I told her the truth. You were there because of me and then I became the asshole that's been conspiring to break you two up from the fucking beginning."
"Did you tell her about Aaron Teppert?"
Ian looked at him like he was stupid but it wasn't directed toward him. "At dinner she thanked me for being so supportive through all this then talked for an hour about how proud and relieved she is that we haven't pushed to take action or taken matters in our own hands. She just wants it left alone and buried. The thought makes her sick and if we were to do anything it would only prolong her healing process. She doesn't want to hear either name again and she doesn't even want them to be anywhere in our thoughts." He said it all matter-of-fact because it was almost verbatim to what she said.
"She left us, man." Justin was confused as to how they let it get to this. "Why wouldn't you just tell her the fucking truth?"
Ian gave him the same look. "After the fucking kiss picture I tried to tell her the truth and the second I said his fucking name she attacked me. I started spilling everything. I don't know what she actually heard because there was a lot of screaming and her breaking shit." Ian looked around the still wrecked house even after a full night of clean it up. "Once I brought them up was when she said she was never speaking to either of us again." Ian looked at Justin, slapping his hands onto his legs and standing. "I tried everything short of telling her you were a cheating asshole." Ian walked into the kitchen.
Justin stared at him a minute before saying, "I appreciate
it. She still thinks I am."
"Yep, and she still thinks this has been my master plan since the beginning. I've been plotting your big breakup night and day. She went as far to say I probably encouraged you to be disgusted with her because she was raped."
"Oh Jesus fucking Christ," Justin scoffed. "Why is she hung up on this shit?" he bitched.
"She been doing it to you too?"
"You should see the text she sent me."
"I read it," Ian huffed.
Justin pushed his hand into his hair. "She's not coming back, is she?" he breathed with trepidation.
Ian didn't respond, he couldn't.
"Fuck. She's not coming back," Justin despondently said.
Ian left him at the door because tears sprung.
You could stop here, but the destruction is too good.
The rest is yet to come
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