The Idle Ramblings of She-Devil Jones

He’d been too quick on the trigger…

Too quick, too harsh with his words…

Too weak to not give in to the pretty white powder…

He left the TV on in the living room, ignoring the white noise as tried to bury himself further into his bed. The sound of the rain outside was irritating and soothing all at the same time, the dying light of the sun casting the room in a dim glow. The street lights and city lights were slowly coming to life outside, headlights from passing cars flashing across the walls. 

He lets one eye open to glance blurrily around but shuts it quickly when his gaze falls on just one of several photographs of you and him together. 

Smiling. 

Happy.

In love.

Sober.

He buries his face in the pillow as he feels his heart break for the thousandth time. He reaches one hand blindly over the edge of the bed, grasping for the bottle he knows is sitting on the floor. When his hand finds it, he grabs it like a lifeline and sits up just enough to swallow several gulps, ignoring the burning as it settles in his gut.

He didn’t want to be sober right now.

He wanted to let go of his self-control…what was left of it, that is.

Another swig before he tries to set the bottle back down on the floor, the crunching of paper making him lean over the side in puzzlement. 

He wishes he hadn’t.

Memories flood back and his throat tightens as his eyes focus on the words swimming in front of him. Old letters from when he was deployed are scattered across the floor. Letters between friends that gradually became love letters as the years went on.

They say it hurts the worst before it gets better…

Except it’s been almost two years since you left…

It wasn’t getting better.

It hurts just as much as it did when you walked out his front door that day…when Tom’s blood splattered against the rocks in the Andes…

He always thought that being strong meant never showing his emotions, his feelings. Keeping tight self-control, like the military had taught him.

Frankie rips his gaze from the letters and flips himself so he’s facing the opposite wall, his breathing coming fast and harsh. He grasps the other pillow on the bed so tightly his knuckles turn white and his muscles cramp.

Night blankets the city fully now…

The rain starts falling more heavily against the window…

Frankie doesn’t try to stop the tears this time.

‘To hell with my pride.’

Sleep finds him, tears still staining his face and soaking the pillow beneath…

A moment of peace and solace, finally.

Banging coming from his front door shatters it before the nightmares can even start.

Frankie startles out of bed, nearly falling face first onto the floor when his comforter gets caught around his legs. Knocking over an empty bottle after freeing himself, he staggers to the front door, the pounding on the other side of it echoing in his already pounding skull.

“Fucking hold your horses!” he calls out hoarsely.

“Fish, open this goddamned door, pendejo!”

Santi.

Of course it would be him to show up on the night Frankie lets emotions go and cries himself to sleep, silently begging God for peace. Or whatever being or deity may be there to witness his breakdown…

He leans heavily on the door frame as he fumbles with the lock and then opens the door a crack, too drunk, too out of it to even glare at his best friend.

“What you want, Pope?”

Santiago’s jaw tightens at the state his best friend is in and knows what he had to say was not going to make anything better. He just hopes Frankie is sober enough to comprehend it.

He doesn’t hesitate to push the door open and Frankie gives little resistance or protest except verbally.

“Hey, man! What the fuck?!”

Frankie shuts the door before trying to hurry after Santiago as the man walks into his kitchen. His best friend says nothing about the numerous empty bottles of various types of liquor and beer and just grips the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

“Fish, how sober are you?”

Frankie flops heavily into the kitchen chair on the opposite side of the table from his best friend. He buries his face in his hands to try to alleviate his headache.

“Apparently too sober since I answered the door…”

Santiago sighs heavily. “Frankie…there’s no easy way to say this so I’m just going to say it. There was a bad accident in town tonight, a single fatality.”

Frankie doesn’t look up. “So? Auto accidents happen all the damn ti–”

“Frankie…it-it was Conejita.”

The pet name he and the boys had for you slices through him like a shot, ice cold and freezing him as it settles in the pit of his stomach.

He raises his head from his hands, comprehending and yet not comprehending this bombshell.

“What?” 

The exclamation was soft, full of disbelief and fear but Santi just looked at him somberly, swallowing thickly.

Frankie suddenly couldn’t breathe.

Taglist: @something-tofightfor​ @gaiuswrites​ @queenofthefaceless-main​ @maxwell--lord​ @oonajaeadira​ @tiredbuthappy​ @littlemisspascal​ @kirsteng42​ @hrk-fic-recs​ @vaguely-here-wish-i-was-not @pjkimrn​ @luz-introvertida​ @persephonehemingway​ @thirddeadlysin​ @tanzthompson​ @shadesofnerdlygrace​ @supernaturalgirl20​ @mando-amando​ @janebby​ @oftincturedwords​ @dinsangelx​ @beskarangel

(if your name is struck through, I could not tag you)

To be added to the taglist click here.