Fighting For What's Missing

8.

A few days later...

There's not enough alcohol in the world to stop this emptiness that continues to linger in me. I couldn't do it, getting my foster license was just too much. After what happened, I went to a bar and drank until Agnes' screams were drowned out.

I don't and will never understand how this could've possibly fucking happened. She was with me for one day, one freaking day, I've had pets for longer than that and I didn't care for them as much.

I still don't know if she's okay or not.

I take another drag of my cigarette when the lock on the front door turns and the door opens. I sit up from laying on the couch as Julia steps inside. "Where the fuck have you been?" I snap, rising to my feet. The day she left because of Agnes was the last day I've seen or heard from her. "You can't just fucking disappear like that!"

"I'm guessing the kid's gone," she gestures to the empty bottles covering the coffee table with her chin. "Does this mean I get my boyfriend back?"

"Depends..." I look her up and down. She looks like she just took a shower and her clothes clearly belong to someone else. She would never wear a flannel shirt. "Who have you been staying with?"

"Izzy," she mutters, closing the door.

"Izzy? Ain't she in a cult?"

"It's not a cult!" She exclaims dramatically. I take another drag as she steps closer. The look in her eye tells me she's been missing me a lot. I let her shove me on the couch, then she straddles my lap. "My Willy's back," she smiles.

"I was never gone."

"Yeah," she scoffs. "I beg to differ."

I reach behind her and put out my cigarette on the astray. When I lean back, I grip her waist. "Are we doing this or what?"

The next morning...

My annoying alarm wakes me. Lucky for me, I woke up before Julia, she always gives me shit about my alarm waking her. I lit a cigarette as I get ready for work. I've been smoking a lot more lately. When I get to work, I immediately start working. Ever since I brought Agnes here, the guys would talk about kids every now and then, Marcus wants one and Stan thinks I looked happier with Agnes.

I feel worse now.

"Hey, Will," Charlie jogs over to me. I pluck what's left of my cigarette on the ground then met Charlie half away. I already know what he wants. "Can I talk to you in my office?"

"Yeah," I mutter. We walk back to the building and to his office. "Before you ask, I'm fine," I say, taking a seat in front of his desk.

"It's not that." He opens the top drawer in his filing cabinet and pulls out a folder. "For the past week, you've been showing up smelling like alcohol-"

"I wasn't drunk." I just forgot to shower and wash my clothes.

"I know...but you've never been like this and I'm worried," he places the folder in front of me, "I think you should consider getting help."

What. The. Hell? "Charlie," I pick at the rips in my jeans, "have I ever missed a day?"

"No-"

"Ever been late?"

"No-"

"Ever been written up?"

"No-"

"Ever shown up drunk like some of the guys here?"

"No-"

"Then why am I the one that needs help?" I'm not throwing the others under the bus. Charlie sent them home and gave them a day to get their shit together. That's what he does, he's a great guy. He believes in second and third chances. But I didn't fuck up, I did nothing wrong. "So, I forgot to wash clothes, shoot me. I don't need help."