Wake Up Alone

It’s okay in the day I’m staying busy
Tied up enough so I don’t have to wonder where is he
Got so sick of crying

His face in my dreams seizes my guts
He floods me with dread
Soaked in soul
He swims in my eyes by the bed

Faye leaned against the wall of the porthole and pressed her forehead on the glass, staring out into space. The glass was cold on her skin.

The scenario was so achingly familiar; idiot goes out, either for a bounty or just for a night alone, away from the Jet’s grumbling or her “whining complaints,” as he liked to remind her.

Jet was in the plant room amusing himself with tending his little trees. It was what he always did when Spike went out, because he didn’t want her to see how worried he was.

All men are idiots, she thought, so transparent.

She held no such illusions or pretenses that she was not afraid for him.

She worried because Spike didn’t and Jet said he wouldn’t.

Spike’s face appeared before her, reflected in the glass. For a split second, Faye thought that his ship had crashed, leaving his lifeless body to float through space, heading home to the Bebop.

She squeezed her eyes shut and counted to ten before she opened them again.

His face was gone.

Instead of feeling relief, her nerves splintered into shredded pieces of frayed ribbons, and she turned away from the window, looking around for something, anything to occupy herself with until he came home.

* * *

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