Roy heard the front door slam shut. MacKenzie had slowly backed out of the room, her head cocked in a sort of I told you so, fucker.

I don't wanna go forever, I don't want to leave forever.

"Hey," Roy called in frustration, a futile attempt at getting MacKenzie back in the bedroom. But if she wasn't on the porch, she had probably left. He felt like he was mumbling to himself.

Roy knew MacKenzie was not acting like herself. Granted, she was spitfire, but Roy knew she emphasized the power struggle whenever she was losing control of the events around her.

No, MacKenzie was nowhere near a control freak. Her aunt left this world far too soon, her family life could have been considered unstable, and now the one thing she wanted, a child, was ripped away from her. Without a job, without an actual home, without a husband. She was no older than 23, Roy was nearing 30, and the only thing they had that actually meant something was each other.

"I know you need me," Roy said to himself quietly. "I know I need you."

He lay back on the floor, face to the ceiling. Reminiscent of the time he smashed his nose on the table leg and was semi-conscious on the bedroom floor for a few days. That was the lowest he had ever been in his entire life. He could almost see MacKenzie getting to that point; he wouldn't wish it on anyone.

Roy closed his eyes. The room still smelled like her. He pulled himself up, resting his back on the side of the dresser. This was still one of the trickiest things with his injury. He didn't understand why it was so hard. He wanted to stand longer without getting so dizzy. He wanted to sit up on the side of the bed without the worry of falling over. His worries never ceased.

But she doesn't care. MacKenzie smiles. 'Do you need help?' 'No.' And then she grins, her eyes beaming in the sun. She holds my hand. She pulls me down the street, insisting 'you need to see this antique shop!' She yells if someone runs into me. She dances in the sun. Her favorite song is Blue Velvet. There will never be enough vanilla ice cream for this woman. She sports swimwear with her midriff showing. I need her.

"I need you."

Then why the fuck am I pulling the 'dick move', as she calls it, and insist we take an uncalled for break?

"Rough night?"

GOD, why do you do these things to me????

Helena peered down at Roy, and his face flushed as usual when situations like these occurred. It was never ending. This self-loathing selfish fresh hell was constantly a mission.

"Rough night," she commented again.

Helena sat on the side of the bed and ran her fingers through Roy's hair. He removed her hand.

"You get the job, then?" Roy said, his voice raspy.

"Of course. I wouldn't come in this room otherwise, but I thought it time to straighten up." She crossed her legs. "I wouldn't have come in if I knew you were here."

Roy felt like a child being intimidated by an older adult.

"You got something to say or are y' gonna keep starin'."

"Seeing you like this makes me want to cry."

We made out once.

"Can you- do me a favor?" Roy cocked his head to the door.

"Oh? Right. Yeah. For some reason I thought...never mind. Thank god I came in to straighten up."

Helena rolled Roy's wheelchair next to the bed.

"Thanks," Roy said quietly.

"It's an awful feeling, feeling helpless, isn't it?" Helena responded. "It's a wretched feeling, feeling so vulnerable."

Roy awkwardly positioned his legs to pull himself up into his wheelchair. Awful feeling. Helena's tar-black eyes studied him.

"Do you need help?"

Roy shook his head slowly.

Helena bent down, wrapped her arms around his torso, and lifted him upright.

Roy was gaping, dumbfounded. "What did you.."

"It breaks my heart to look at you like this."

"Didn't I just say-"

"I'm sorry, I just keep thinking about my ex."

"You just...

His face was more red than the blood of Christ.

"You just don't...do that. Oh my god."

Helena sat back up on the bed, an expression on her face accurately showing she still had no idea what she did wrong.

"What's wrong with you?"

"My poor impulse control and violent nature," Roy sighed, wheeling past her.

MacKenzie was nowhere on the porch. The car was still parked.

"Kenzie, come on," Roy groaned, hoping, if she was anywhere near him, she'd come out and talk.

He headed back inside, checking the darkened kitchen, and back in the living room where Timothy was passed out from another night of drinking. Debating on seeing if Sparrow was home, Roy glanced at the staircase in the foyer.

Really? Is my dick move I'm pulling that bad?

There was a piece of paper folded on the fourth step.

He opened it quickly.

"If you're reading this, you made it out of the bedroom. Much congratulations. But don't look for me, because I'm not talking to you. Leftovers in the fridge. Aunties are due back tomorrow. Good luck."

Roy took a deep breath and almost forgot to exhale. He wanted to go back to bed, but a cat maid was waiting for him to need her, and he was worth much more than that.