girl moves out.

witch

Devon's eyes were not quite dry when she walked away from Rafael, but she wasn't crying. She was flinching away from him, his anger, his knuckle-popping tightening of his hands. So when she leaves she's shrunk slightly, hunched, her shoulders pulled in. Carries her bundle of clothing across his bedroom and manages, at least, to make it to his door and the hallway before any of the tears coming back to her eyes slip down her cheeks.

Presses her lips hard together to cry quietly, at least until she's gone into the other bedroom again. Closes it behind her, and locks it. Sniffs, and drops her clothes, and moves on autopilot. Walks into the bathroom and takes her first shower in a few days. It doesn't last very long. She washes her hair and scrubs her face and cleans what's left of Rafael off of her skin. When she leaves the shower she brings her shampoo and soap and the rest with her: sets them on the counter to start drying off. Brushes her teeth and puts the toothbrush in its little travel case, sitting in a drawer. She's been here for several months now.

She's been lots of places for several months, and had no trouble leaving them. She has long since discovered that it is really not that difficult to prepare one's life for transition.

--

By that time she's not crying anymore. She's blank again. The edge-softening, emotion-flattening blue-grey haze wraps around her carefully, gingerly, dulling everything on the outside. She gets her phone and puts in her headphones and turns on music so that she won't try listening for him moving around in the house. She combs her hair and she puts on makeup. Dark shadow and liner, mascara. Red lips. Dries her hair, straightens it out. Gets dressed in something clean: this pair of vertically striped leggings, this oversized black top. She puts on long gleaming necklaces of fake gems and fake pearls. She puts in hoop earrings. When she turns off her music and calls Naomi, she cleans the chipped polish off her nails and applies a coat of concrete-colored enamel instead.

The ritual of it helps. So when she's off the phone with Naomi, she does her toes, too.

After that it's a matter of packing. Starts with the bathroom, sweeping bottles and cases and so on into some spare bags. Leaves towels, bath mat, toilet paper. Takes what's hers. No more. Then her potions, her brews: those she packs carefully. She thinks briefly of leaving him some of that analgesic spray, but doesn't leave anything atop the dresser in the end. She rolls things up in clothes and makes sure they're stoppered carefully. She drags those big suitcases she brought back from Boston out from under the bed and out of the closet and turns her music up again. Dumps all that fresh laundry into them. Shoves everything in there.

Devon is really hungry. And she is really, extraordinarily tired. And while she was showering, she realized she didn't want to wait to tomorrow. She doesn't need to.

--

Doesn't come out of her -- the second -- bedroom until everything in there is packed. Mostly clothes. She doesn't have a computer of her own. She doesn't have her own bedding, pillows, furniture. She's taking the hot plate. She closes the empty closet, leaves the empty hangers. Doesn't bother making the bed. Double-checks behind the nightstand.

When suitcases are set next to the door, and she's put on socks and ankle boots, Devon carefully unlocks and opens the bedroom door, checks the hall, and then goes downstairs to pick up her laundry basket, get the rest of her stuff from the dryer, and... she guesses she'll grab a trash bag and put the stuff from the washing machine in there. Better than waiting. Grab a snack or something, she has a couple things in the fridge but she's not taking any of her food or whatever. Call for the car. This close to downtown it won't take more than a few minutes for one to get to her.

Devon goes quietly down the hall. Down the stairs. Down to the laundry room.

wolfman

It'd be easier if he'd just slink back to his room. Close the door, put on headphones of his own. Stay there until the morning; come out to find her room emptied out, her closet gutted, the last vestiges of her presence wiped away. She wouldn't even leave a scent.

Wolf knows that's what he should do. Just let it be, leave it be, forget it. Another short chapter in the short, brutish book of his life. Let it be over and done with. Wolf goes downstairs, though. So she sees him there, coming down the steps: there in the living room, sitting in that recliner. TV's on, sound muted. He frowns at the screen, doesn't register the images.

Frowns at her when he hears her footsteps. Watches her descend. Looks away. Stares at the TV for another few seconds. Looks back.

"Wish you wouldn't go," he says. So quietly she might miss it.

witch

It's a long time since they fucked on his bathroom floor. Or since the last time he told her and she told him I missed you, I missed you so much. A few hours. She looks different. Her hair styled, her makeup done, her outfit so sleek, her fucking nails freshly painted. Long gone are any traces that she ever cried over this fucker.

She's coming down the stairs wearing her headphones still, but senses a presence. Has to take a few more steps to convince herself, to confirm she's not just being paranoid. He's right down there, watching television in silence. Devon freezes, and she's trying to decide if she can sneak past him to grab her laundry and go back upstairs, or decide if she thinks he's going to say anything. Then he looks at her, frowning. She stares at him.

He looks away. And Devon's face changes, a hard mask. She finishes coming down the stairs, doesn't bother trying to be sneaky or quiet. She's halfway across on her way to the laundry room when he looks at her again, possibly seeing and just as possibly missing the headphone cords snaking down, mingled with her necklaces, plugged into the phone in her pocket. Truth be told, he's not blind if he misses it; probably doesn't even notice the headphones when what he says garners no reaction, or even a glance back.

Probably thinks she's just ignoring him.

Devon opens and closes doors in the laundry room. Gets out her dry clothes, putting them in a basket. Gets out her wet clothes, dumping them in a plastic garbage bag. Cinches that up, sets it atop the dry clothes in the basket, and proceeds with carrying them back to the stairs, and up again.

wolfman

[DUZ HE NOTESS]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 5, 10, 10) ( success x 2 )

wolfman

She ignores him.

Wait. No. She has headphones on. Flash of anger abates; becomes something more like exasperation. She's gone by then. Went to the laundry room. He hears her in there, opening this, emptying out that.

Comes back out after a while. That plastic bag is full. He looks at it in disbelief. Doesn't she have a suitcase? Girl's heading up the stairs then, and he watches her go.

--

Knock on her door after a while. Doorframe, anyway.

witch

Devon doesn't look at him again. If all he's going to do is look at her, frown at her, and then go back to watching television -- she has no idea it was on mute -- then fuck him. She all but stomps up the stairs, but it's hard to do much stomping when she's trying to carry the laundry up there.

Door closes to the second bedroom again. Devon dumps the clean clothes from the dryer, no longer warm after hours of sitting in there, into the last open suitcase. Shoves the bag of wet clothes in there, too. She'll dry them at Naomi's. She starts shaking as she zips up the suitcase.

Swallows hard, when she takes out her phone to summon a car to come get her. Texts Naomi:

all packed. be there soonish.

And thinks she hears something, but it's probably just Rafael storming around. She sniffs, and turns her thoughts away from him. Or that she never really had a Last Kiss with him or that his last words to her were laced with vicious mockery or any of that stuff that will set her crying again.

She takes out her headphones after that, turning off her music and putting her phone away into her star-covered backpack. Slings that over her shoulder and goes to the door, opening it up to start moving suitcases into the hall so she can at least get them downstairs. The driver will help her carry stuff out, she thinks. She's pretty sure. Or sit there idling while she does it.

Rafael is standing there.

Devon stands there. Looks surprised to see him. And then just scowls at him.

wolfman

Wolf's standing there.

Has a duffle bag in his hand. Beat up thing; obviously been around the block a few hundred times. Certainly not the sort of thing he must've inherited with the rest of his mother's things. Samsonite, American Tourister, Victorinox, Nautica, whatever stylish matched set she might have had stashed away. No, this one's his. Black and orange, faded, dirt smudge on the side.

He holds it out to her. Mute for a moment. Then feels compelled to explain: "Saw you using a garbage bag for your clothes."

witch

Devon waves a hand at her suitcases: the big grey one, the large purple rolling one, her own duffel. The stuff she came here with first. The stuff she brought back from Boston.

"I'm good," she says. Arm lowers. "Thanks."

wolfman

Wolf's eyes skim past her. Note the suitcases. Duffle. Empty room, unmade bag. Hand lowers to his side slowly along with the bag.

"Okay."

Couple more beats go by. Then a stitch between his eyebrows.

"Wish you wouldn't go. Tried to tell you earlier when you were coming down the stairs, but you had headphones in."

witch

She doesn't say anything at first. He doesn't get out of her way. Or offer to help her carry her stuff -- which, truth be told, would just make her angry. Devon waits a moment, trying to figure out why he's standing there, other than to give her help in getting out of here. Doesn't even ask her why she's going tonight, doesn't try to convince her to wait til tomorrow, any of that. Seeing him right now makes her feel exhausted, where all the packing and makeup and everything made her feel vaguely energized again.

He wishes she wouldn't go. Devon sighs. Her shoulders slump a bit. Glances away from him, looks at the doorframe a moment, then back up at him.

"I'm leaving for my sake."

wolfman

Wolf frowns again. Towers over her when they're both standing like this. Could make her feel threatened, endangered, the way he's standing in her way. Looming on her doorstep.

And maybe he does. Look at the way she flinched when he popped his knuckles.

Wolf slings the duffle over his shoulder. Folds his arms over his chest; steps aside and leans against the railing. Open hallway looks over the living room, the tall ceilings. Accent wall with its windows. Wolf has his back to all that; faces the girl, unhappy and troubled.

"You ever coming back?"

witch

Those little boots of hers only have a heel of about an inch. Stacked, heavy -- they're boots, after all. It's not enough to offset how big he is. She stands straight though, except for those rounded shoulders. She doesn't seem like she's afraid of him right now.

Asks her if she's coming back. She frowns. "Maybe give me a day at least between breaking up and deciding if I want to stay friends," she says.

Doesn't say it with a harsh tone, or evident mockery, but it could still be taken that way. It's a little on the sharp side.

wolfman

A little on the sharp side.

A lot on the sharp side, raw as he is. Wolf straightens. "Don't know why I try," he snaps. Turns and walks down the hall, gets halfway down the stairs when he stops.

"You love me," he says. Spits the words out. "You know I love you. And you're 'breaking up' with me. Doesn't make any sense at all, Devon."

witch

He snaps. And goes. Makes her feel like a stupid little girl again with what he says. She turns inward, and she starts moving suitcases slowly out into the hall, but she's barely grasped the handle of one when he stops and says what he does. Devon looks up and over at him, hair falling across her cheek. Throws what she told him in her face, to start, and that hurts, but not as much as what comes next.

Like a knife in her gut, when he says it. Like that. That this is the first time he's said it. And that's how it comes out. That's how, and when, she gets to hear the words, marginalized after you know and coming out of his mouth in an attack.

All she can do is stare at him. Her eyes look stricken but she's -- as yet -- too stunned to burst into tears. And too hurt to defend herself to him.

After a moment, her parted lips close. She looks away again, and pulls her suitcase out of the bedroom. Steels herself, inside at least, to start heading down the same stairs he's on. Doesn't stop her from looking as miserable as she is, but at least she doesn't fall over.

wolfman

Wolf doesn't get out of her way. Stands there, taking up room, blocking the tight spiral down.

"You gonna explain it to me?" he challenges. "Or you just gonna walk out?"

witch

He stands in her way.

So she has to stop, again, at the top of the stairs, with just her backpack and duffel and one of the big suitcases -- she has a few -- loaded down on her. Devon exhales, looking at him.

For a second it seems like she really might stop and explain to him. Not much choice he's leaving her. Or like she might beg him to let her go. Break down crying again, and again.

Then she just gestures between them, as though to say look. look at what you are doing. And with that pointed out, as best she can, she wants to ask him:

"Seriously?"

wolfman

Wolf sees it. Where he's standing. What he's doing. Angers him to see it, and perhaps shames him too. It's the anger that burns hotter and closer.

Doesn't say anything. Stands there a moment longer. Hands grip the rails on either side. Eyes burn under that glowering scowl. Then he turns. Stomps down the stairs, quick, hard. Hits the ground floor and walks back to his recliner, throws himself into it, grabs the remote.

Turns the volume up loud this time. Doesn't look at her again.

witch

Devon waits til he's down the stairs and then starts carrying. Takes her three trips. Her stuff piles up by the door but she's upstairs grabbing the last thing, her much smaller duffel, when the car rolls up outside. Her phone chimes with the message from the driver so she hustles, trotting quickly to the door. Hasn't even grabbed a coat.

Rafael angrily watches loud television. Devon takes a breath when she opens the door, icy air swirling in. Driver sees what she's got with her and, lucky Devon, gets out of the car to come help her load things up. He never comes further than the porch, though. She's reaching in to pull the door closed when she hesitates.

Like she should do something, or say something.

She does look at him. Her forehead is wrinkled. But in the end she doesn't say anything, or do anything. She pulls the door closed, and she walks out with her last luggage to the car at the curb. A minute or so later it drives away from Rafael's house, and she texts Naomi that she's finally on her way. And this time Rafael doesn't run out into the snow to stop the car, shove the window down. But she isn't really expecting him to.