Why is Love so Hard? |BENDY X HENRY| (OLD)

3 A.M.

3 MONTHS LATER...

He's gone.

Henry is gone.

I've checked the whole house. His bedroom, the backyard, the front, and even the garage. He's nowhere to be found.

But you know what is? His phone.

It rumbles quietly in my hand as I stare blankly at it.

Linda, the faintly glowing screen reads. 40:12.. 40:13.. 40:14..

The call time continues to rack up on the small rectangle, but silence comes from the other end. No one is on the phone.

Little white numbers continue to rise, and my guts churn inside of me. My spikes are dead-on-end, my tail hanging limp.

I smile.

No, I grin.

I'm ecstatic!

Ecstatically frozen in place. Henry left. He left me.

Again.

My chest hurts. It feels tight. Tight and dead inside of me.

Then I laugh. I laugh. And laugh. And laugh. And laugh.

I laugh. Why am I laughing? I collapse to my knees. But I can't stop. I can't stop laughing.

I try to force it down, but the laughter fights up my throat and into the empty room. "He left."

I grin, "Holy shit, he left."

Another cough of laughter chokes my throat, "He left me for her."

Numb, my head screams at me. I laugh. I can't stop. I can't stop it. If I don't laugh, I'm going to sob like a pathetic child.

I sit on his bed, hiking my knees up to my chest and hugging them. "He left."

I say it again, and again, unable to stop my mouth from forming the words. Those awful, horrible, gut-wrenching words.

"He left." I'm practically paralyzed.

He's not coming back. I know it. He's not. He left me.

For her.

My vision drowns in red. He lied.

Liar.

"Liar." I laugh, biting the inside of my cheek so hard inky blood branches in my mouth. "So what if he's not coming back? I've been alone before." I chuckle into the empty house.

My words are met with silence. I hate it. I hate this.

A frown flickers onto my face, but I quickly drown it in cheery disposition as I leave the room for the kitchen.

Dull white light splashes onto my face as I pull open the fridge and dig through the bottles, looking in vain for more of Joey's happy juice, though I know he doesn't keep things like that in his fridge. The best he's got is grape juice, and that's not going to cut it.

My hands clench into shaking fists at my sides.

'I can't. I can't do this again.' I think, 'shit.'

Chest heaving, I slam my fist into the wall. "HE LEFT."

My hand swings back to my side, unclenching, and then re-clenching constantly. I don't know what to do. I should've known he would leave.