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Yearning for Our Unicity	By : LuluDreams Category: S through Z > YOU Views: 64 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: all characters belong just and only to the marvelous Caroline Kepnes, Netflix etc, I just own my sick ideas, lol

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Summary:
Pissed off!Joe is pissed off.
Notes:
Prompt: Cursed
Setting: extended scene of the ending of 5x6.
Here, Bronte is only mentioned

Empty

Joe’s POV

I take a deep breath, in order to release all the tension, I insert the key into the lock, double unlock it, pull the handle down and pull the door open.
I step inside and close the door without even looking back.
Because when people go through what I’ve just gone through, they should never look back.

Before my eyes there’s exactly what I expected.
Which is one of the saddest things ever.

An empty house.
Not empty in the true sense of the word, I mean, every piece of furniture is still here.
But it’s another kind of empty.

Empty to the sight.
This house used to be so full of colours, everywhere starting from the green, flowery sheets of the bed, our bed that now lies all bare and lonely.
The colour of your cardigans on the chaise longue.
The colour of your midnight ocean eyes, when you stared at me oh so intensely, before a kiss, before making love.

Empty to the nose.
This house smelled of food, whether I cooked or we took some delivery to eat on the bed, as we read our mutual writings.
I lost count of the times I smelled your skin, freshly showered, with that cooling note of peppermint.
Frisky, as you are.
And I smelled your hair, with a different aroma every day, you had a thing for shampoo with fruits.
And I loved every one of them.

Empty to the hearing.
This house was so full of music, whether it was some vinyl record I let play or some spotify list from your phone that I’m probably too old to appreciate.
This house resounded with tapping noises, mine with the typewriter, yours with the laptop, when our inspiration flew.
And there were also the softer noises of skimming paper pages, whenever we both read books, back against back; or with you mistaking my lap for your footrest or me, reading with my head on your lap.
Sometimes you stopped reading for a little while, just to caress my hair.
I miss that so much.

I miss everything.
Not the material things, I don’t give a damn to that fucking huge Kate’s villa, but I care to who’s inside it.
I miss my son.

It’s almost ironic that this house is so full of light, coming from the open windows, while there’s so much gloom within my heart.

With slow, tired steps, I place my bag on the trunk next to the bed.

I'll burn this town to the ground before I let Kate take my son.

That stupid mother-only-on-paper thinks she can fool me!

Fucking women who fucked my life up!

Wait a minute.
How can it be that in this total quiet, in this utter loneliness, I feel somehow.. observed?

And as for you…

Please, Bronte, tell me you didn’t do it, before leaving…

I begin searching around the mobile low bookcase until I find in a book in the middle just what I dread.
A hidden camera.

Liar. Catfisher. Spy.

I take the camera in my hands, because I plan something.

We’re not done with each other yet.

I look directly into the camera and greet you, cause I’m sure you’re watching.

“Hi, Bronte’.

I hope I used my most threatening tone, because you must fear me, you, cheating bitch!

I smash the fucking camera aginst the wall, and I inhale and exhale deeply.

I need to calm down.
I lay down on the naked bed, which is so wrong.
Beds usually have sheets and naked people roll entangled, all over them.
We used to be those naked people in love.

Now that I think about it better, why the hell was I so surprised when I opened the door?
This fucking house was already empty, when I found the note typed in my office at Mooney’s.
When you left me and I set out to find you.
No, correction: when you made me think you had left me.
But now you’re gone for real.
What was I expecting?
To find the bed covered with a new set of sheets, the dinner ordered from a delivery and you here, all bright and smiling, who apologized to me, who begged for my forgiveness, who offered me comforting sex?
Hell yeah, you had to keep far away from me, feeling safe with your fucking Scooby Gang.
Wise move not to let me find you here.
Because probably I wouldn’t accept any apology.
I would just kill you.
I’m too mad at you right now.
So I’m glad that I have not found you here… and if I’m glad, it just means that I still care about you, Bronte Louise, despite everything.
Despite this fucking situation.
Despite what you did to me.
Despite you lies.
Despite your fake love, that yet felt so true.
You got it wrong, Bronte: you weren’t born to be a playwright, you were born to be a fucking flawless actress.
A cheater.
A heartbreaker.

Just about thirty-six hours ago we were so happy, together, in the Sandbox.
We had our squabble then we made up, which led us to the best sex I’ve ever had.
With you giving me total control, because you finally fully trusted me.
I truly believed that.
I was sure it was pure perfection.
I still had to find out it was all a charade.

Then that Clayton asshole arrived, fought with you, hurt you, and I saw red.
And when the police were about to arrive and I urged you to come with me, you didn’t take my hand and…
It hurts, even just recalling that.

And the arrest, the never ending interrogation, until, thanks to the intervention of Kate’s extremely well paid lawyers, the police let me go.
Only to find out the very nice surprise my soon-to-be ex wife had in store for me.

Everything happened so fast that now I really feel dizzy.
Why does love always end up hurting me?
Why do all the women I loved or love the most turn into my sworn enemies?
It must be some kind of curse.

Everything started when I took that gun, in order to defend my mother.
My mother, yeah, right, the woman I was sure was supposed to love me the most.
She put me in a family house with the promise she would be back.
A promise she never kept.
I’ll never forget the day I saw her for the very last time, telling me that she didn’t need me in the perfect life she had chosen to live, along with my un-cursed step-brother.

After all, I can't blame her.
Who would ever want a cursed child in her life?
And, nope, I’m not talking about that stupid Harry Potter fan-service shit, I’m talking about me!

Years later, when I met Candace, I thought the curse was over.
She was so beautiful, full of life, lovely, talented.
We lived so many precious moments together, before finding out she actually never loved me.

The curse had struck again.

As it did with Beck, the one I supposed to be a sort of Goddess of Light, but the truth is that it was just to disguise how dark and dirty her heart was.

Not to mention Love, that fucking psycho-killer turned my life into a living hell.
The only thing I’m grateful to her for is not even a thing, it’s a special someone: Henry.

But thanks to my curse, now he’s in that hypocrite fucking witch’s clutches!
Kate.
As long as I killed for her when it was convenient to her everything was fine, but now the fucking Lady Macbeth has her crisis of conscience and decided to act like a stupid lawful good heroine.

Probably I was cursed to meet people on my way who are even more cursed than me.

About Delilah and Marienne, probably we couldn’t have had a bright future together, but at least I wish I could have saved them.
R.I.P., both of you.

I guess it must still be part of my curse.

But with you, Bronte, my oh my, probably my fucking curse reached its peak.
And now it’s clear: I will never find true love, I might as well stop looking for that.
Some Mr Know-It-All would say I need therapy.
I don’t need any motherfucking therapy, I just need things to go the way I want them to.
Starting with getting my son back.
And if I lost him, it’s just your fault, Bronte.

That’s why you’re going to pay for that.
When I finally find you - and, trust me, I will- I have in store the proper punishment.

Since you seem to be so obsessed with Beck, I’ll let you enjoy her very same experience:. in the same cage, but when it serves its most satisfying usage.

You'll really see me beast out.

First I’ll have to kill your two stupid friends you have left, and, trust me, that’s gonna be a huge delight.
Then, when you have no one else looking for you, no one caring, no one wondering, then you’ll be just mine.
I’ll lock you in the cage and you’ll cry desperately, telling me you love me, that you always have.
But I won’t believe you.
I know you will just say it just for convenience.
Just like Beck did.
But I won’t fall for it this time, I won’t open the fucking cage, I won’t open my fucking cursed heart.
Not anymore.
Because you, Bronte, taught me an important life lesson: love is a scam.
And I’m so grateful to you for the lesson.
That’s why I’ll spare your life, in the cage.
Maybe.

--

THE END
Notes:
Geez, sometimes it’s scary to try to enter in Joe’s mind ^^’
I hope I did a decent job… Please, let me know what you think.
Well, I know no one ever answers, but I'll never stop asking anyway ^^'
About his coherence, well you know what happened after the end of 5x7, LOL
I know, I know, very few fluff in this one shot, only in Joe’s memories… but that’s what the prompt made me think of #sorrynotsorry
Thanks for reading, it means a lot to me.
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Yearning for Our Unicity

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