(If) I Knew (One Day) You'd Come--Rolex Standalone

Oh I, I was a city boy riding to dangers
Where I'd always run A boy who had his fun
But I wouldn't've done
All the things that I have done
If I knew one day you'd come

It had been a month since she disappeared. Twenty-eight days, fourteen hours, six minutes and eighteen nineteen twenty seconds since she had gone from his life, from her life. From life. He didn't know whether she was dead or alive, or whether she had run away or been taken. He only knew she was gone. And he had the horrible feeling she was never coming back. In his gut something told him that he would never see her again, never gaze into her eyes or kiss her lips or touch her skin again. Darkness had come over his eyes and she was gone, and now darkness had come over his life. It was amazing, really, that anyone could have this affect by simply not being.

He had searched for her, days on end with little sleep and dwindling hope, wanting to only know why. Why was she gone, why couldn't he find her, why did he feel so lost without her. He had known her little over half a year, loved her for almost as long, and liked her instantly, and now she was gone and he was nothing more than heartbroken. He gazed down at his feet as he sat at the edge of his chair, contemplating if there was a meaning to life anymore. It didn't feel like it, but surely there was. There couldn't just not be. Could there?

Losing her was like losing his entire world, and now he was left dumbstruck in a place that didn't belong to him anymore. Thoughts and questions buzzed around his head like mosquitoes, biting at his neck and face to drink blood that flowed through veins that didn't feel real. Nothing was real anymore, not until he got her back. He had to find her, to bring her back to him and tell her how much he loved him. Maybe she was lost, maybe she was scared. He pushed away the ifs that said maybe she doesn't love you anymore. He stood up, determined to start his search again, desperate to find her and just about willing to try anything. His chair skittered backwards, thudding slightly as the legs bounced like his floor was a canvas. If the floor was canvas, no wonder he kept falling through it.

He clattered down the stairs, giving no pause for his parents to say where he was going, or even that he was going. They didn't care about him anyway. The door slammed behind him as he fled into the street, wondering if there was anywhere he hadn't checked yet. There was nowhere. He had gone around the whole of District one in the first week, and again and again in the weeks since. There had been times he had had to find a place to crash before he was able to get home, or be faced with the possibility of being caught up in something he wasn't involved in. He was caught up in enough things.

Frantic, he took off down the street, doing his best to not run into people but not caring if he did. Faces flashed past, just another nuisance to distract him from the one face he wanted to see so desperately. Stores blurred into one another, the gym had no register on his panicking mind. It may have been almost a month, but the fear still hadn't left him. To the contrary, it grew stronger, larger, more deadly every day. There wasn't just the mere threat of it overtaking him anymore, there was the threat of it completely consuming him and leaving nothing but dust in its wake. He had never been so close to the edge, and the abyss he was at the edge of was the darkest, deepest pit he had ever seen.

Then he passed the bookstore. It was a shabby little building, narrow in front but a bit larger near the back, reaching up to two stories. In the window sat perfect-looking novels about war and glory and the Games. No doubt it was only talking about how wonderful they all were, and that was the reason they sat so pristine and prestigious on their little stands to mock those who walked past. This was the bookstore that she had been in, before she had met him. She had had a history book in her bag, a stolen volume from the very store he stood in front of now. And they had collided, she trying to run from the store and he trying to get his parents errands over quickly.

She had fallen, his mass being greater than hers, into a puddle and the book had fallen from her bag to slide toward him and reveal her intentions. It had been pouring, and they had just stood there for a while, soaking and dripping, as they talked for a while. Book and Errands forgotten as they talked. They had then gone to the gym and he had shown off, and then he had kissed her. The kiss that shouldn't have happened, the kiss that made everything happen. The kiss that made him take another month to actually ask her out. It had been months since then, by the time they had really been able to see each other again, alone. At the gym they only managed moments together, a quick hug or kiss, a word or a breath, but it was then that they had had a moment alone, and he had fallen for her all over again.

He had come to her door, a small gift in his pocket and a million wrong ways to say what he wanted to. She was standing to one side of the room, one hand clutched to her chest, a dent in the wall. He had consoled her, sat her on the bed and talked to her. He asked about fears, kissed her and given her the gift. He choked as he breathed in, the memory blocking his throat. And then there was the last time he had seen her. The time that he had so angered her, even when all he had wanted to do was protect her. And she had shouted in her frustration, a release of stress that came with life and he had just sat there, letting her scream at him. He only regretted that he had let her walk out, and that he didn't go after her even if he knew it would be fruitless. He still should have tried.

Then she disappeared. His eyes, normally a vibrant green colour, had been taken over by a dull gray tone. They were so flat, with little sign of life in them, and none of the normal humorous spark they used to hold. Maybe the bookstore might hold an answer. Books held answers, maybe they would hold his. Walking forward with lifeless enthusiasm he pulled open the door, signalling a bell to tinkle somewhere. Silent as death, he walked down the aisles, searching for the one section that would remind him of her.

The history books were near the back of the store, in a little corner that looked like, aside from the rarest of occasions, it was abandoned. On a whim, he scanned the shelves, searching for the book that he had so long ago picked up from the sidewalk, trying to shake some of the water off of it. The puddle it had landed in had smeared so much of the ink that the book had become worthless. His finger stopped on the spine of a volume, the painted letters there glittering in gold piping read This Dark Day. Swallowing, and ignoring the smaller letters underneath that said A Tale Of The Rebellion. He pulled the book off of the shelf and flipped open to a random page, reading it with his heart racing.

I had lost her in the smoke, the bomb that had exploded sending up a cloud that overtook everything and made it impossible to see. When it cleared she was gone, vanished, and I had no idea where she went.

Startled, he dropped the book, watching as it bounced but stayed open to the page he had just read from. The couple of sentences he had read had captured exactly how he felt, and it scared him. Was this the book that Emery had been reading? It didn't seem like it. But what was the chance that he had just stopped on a random book. What had sparked him to do that? Some of the life had returned to his eyes, as though the book had just sent a shock through his inner heart so it once more beat, if only weakly. That heart beat a bit faster, sending life through him. Bringing rage with it.

He had always had a temper, it wasn't something he was proud of but it was always there. He supposed it had come from one of his parents, or both of them. His parents were never the nicest of people. Now the rage that he felt, at himself, at her at the separation between them, it was all coming out. And it was explosive. The book that had startled him so much was his first target. A kick sent it flying into a bookshelf, knocking a few books over and ripping a few pages. It wasn't enough, the damage was nowhere near the destruction his heart and mind had suffered. He grabbed another book from the shelf, throwing it in no particular direction.

More books off of more shelves came tumbling down as he began to turn from a broken boy into a deadly tornado. The place became a mess within minutes, and then it turned into a disaster. He knocked down shelves, chucked books, smashed walls and ripped pages. He was surprised that no Peacekeepers had been called, that he wasn't being hucked into a cell in the Detention Center at this very moment. Surprised that there was nothing happening. Panting, he came to a rest standing in the middle of what looked very much like a warzone. And it had been, a war between himself and his memories. The books were collateral damage, the casualties of the innocent that never seemed to not happen.

A book teetered on top of a bookshelf, paused a moment as though reconsidering, and then fell. A piece of a page fell from between its own pages, fluttering toward him to settle at his feet, its words staring up at him like an accusation.

Her body was hardly recognizable as hers, the only thing tying her to me was the golden ring I had given her but days before.

Choking, he spluttered his astonishment and fear at the words. It looked like it was part of that same book. That same damned book that had set him off in the first place. It had been right before, was it right now? If it was, then she was gone forever. If it was, he needed to find her all the more. If it was, she would need to be buried. And avenged. For Emery Moreno hadn't died of natural causes. There was no way, she was healthy and strong and had more fighting spirit than he ever could. She wouldn't fall prey to sickness or just give up on life. Not without telling him first. No, he was sure that she had been murdered. And he had to find out, by who.

Exiting the bookstore without a second glance at the ruin he had left, he stepped out onto the street and considered what to do. First, he supposed, he needed to find her body. He couldn't trust the Peacekeepers with this, not after he had just destroyed that much property, and not after he had seen how poor of a job they did with murders in the past. He would have to take it into his own hands. He would have to investigate by himself, and then be judge, jury and executioner to the person who had done this. Well, the executioner part was come what may. He loved Emery dearly, and he didn't want to tarnish her memory by getting blood on his hands. Even if it was for her. But he would make sure that person would never forget what they did to her, to him. Ever.

Now, baby, now, baby, now, baby
Oh, baby, please
Let's leave the past behind us, behind us
So that we can go where love will find us
Yeah, will find us