I know the second I wake up that I’m alone. The bed is cold. My arms are empty. Only the smell of sex and green apple shampoo linger behind.

There’s no chance I’ll find Cora in the kitchen making French toast in my tee shirt this time.

She’s gone.

* * *

I tumble out into the main area and over to the couches. Jack and Shawn have headed out for lunch, but Dylan is hanging out. His face looks better, thankfully. I owe him a hundred apologies.

“I’m…” I start.

He puts up a hand. Save it.

This isn’t the first time Dylan and I have fought and it won’t be the last. We always recover from it.

He looks at me like he knows everything.

“Where’d she go?” I ask.

“I don’t know.”

“You let her leave in the middle of the night? Alone?”

“She’s an adult,” he replies, “I couldn’t stop her.”

He’s right. “Do you know where she went?”

He shakes his head. I take a seat at the table.

“You hungry?” he asks.

“No.”

“Want a beer?”

I do, but I shake my head no anyway.

“I hate asking this, but if you want to take tonight off and deal with your shit alone, the drummer for My Hero owes me a favor,” he offers.

“Let that idiot near my kit,” I spit out, “Not a fucking chance.” Besides, pounding the shit out of the skins is the only thing that makes sense right now.

Lucky for me, the last four days of the tour are in the New York/New Jersey area and we have shows every night. It’s going to be a wash of sound-checks, press events and concerts, so thankfully, there won’t be much time to do anything else. Like be in my own head.

“Should I call her?” I ask.

Dylan considers the question. “Eventually,” he answers, “She loves you, Ian.”

“Does she?”

He nods. “But she’s got some stuff she needs to prove to herself first. She needs time.”

“How do you know?”

“Been through it with a girl like this before,” he says with a shrug.

Ah, the infamous Jane Doe.

“I just wish… I don't know. I wish I could… fix everything,” I tell him.

He looks at me like he understands.

I climb into my bunk and pull the curtain closed. I’m in no mood to face the world, so I stare into space for awhile, but eventually have to get ready for the show.

Dylan practically pushes me into the shower, then forces me to eat something.

I obey.

But when I tell him I’m going back my bunk for a minute before we leave, he knows I’m going to text Cora. He looks at me with disapproval, but doesn’t try to stop me.

Ian: Are you okay?

A few seconds pass. Then the three little dots appear while she types.

Cora: Yes.

Ian: Where are you?

A minute passes. Then another.

Finally, the three little dots appear again.

Then disappear.

Then reappear.

Fuck, I hate these three little fucking dots.

Cora: Hotel

Ian: Seriously? That’s all the answer I get. Hotel?

Cora: I’m sorry.

Ian: Sorry for what? Sorry for that answer? Sorry for leaving?

Cora: Sorry for everything.

Ian: Can we talk in person? Please.

I wait for a response. None. Not even the three little dots, like she was trying for formulate a reply, but changed her mind.

Ian: Are we over?

She takes forever to respond.

Cora: I can’t ask you to wait for me.

Then nothing.

Dylan pulls back the curtain on my bunk and rips the phone from my hand.

“You can have this back after the show tonight. I’m not going to let you sit around all day and pull this masochistic bullshit,” he says forcefully.

I’m not listening. “She says she’s sorry for everything? What’s everything? Like, she’s sorry she even got on the bus? Or did the video?”

“I don’t know,” he answers.

“Is she sorry she slept with me?”

“Let’s not do this right now,” Dylan says, “Go take a walk or something.”

“No,” I stammer, “I need to figure this out. I’ve wanted this girl since I was in fucking high school. I finally get her. Now I’ve lost her.”

Dylan sighs. “You haven’t lost her,” he starts, “Because you never had her.”

I narrow my eyes at him. What the fuck?

“I’m in the matrix?” I say flatly, “It was all a big fucking dream?”

“No,” he explains, “You never had her, like the version of her that you fantasized about when you were a kid. You had Cora the way she is now, flaws and struggling career and insecurities and all.”

I feel anger boiling inside of me.

“I know that,” I tell him, my fists clenched, “Why does everyone think I’m an idiot? I don’t expect her to be the same girl that she was when she was sixteen. Am I the same guy I was when I was sixteen? Fuck, no.”

Dylan blinks.

“Sure, part of me got all ridiculous and wore rose-colored glasses and got stupid horny when I first saw her again,” I ramble, not caring if I make much sense, “But I got over that pretty quickly after the first time we slept together. She’s insecure and indecisive and at a really difficult place in her life. I see all the faults, Dylan.”

This isn’t the answer Dylan expected and it’s written all over his face.

“And you still want her?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I tell him, “Fuck. I’m in love with her.”

Even more than I was back then.

I sigh. I feel lighter. Like it was good to get that off my chest.

“What do I do?” I ask.

“You need to give her time,” he says.

“How much time?”

“I don’t know,” he answers, running his hand through his blonde hair. “I mean, she’s gonna start missing rolling around with you in bed pretty soon.”

I scoff. True. But not the point.

“She needs to get through this next part on her own. She’s not gonna be okay with you barging in to solve her problem.”

I nod. He’s right.

“Okay,” he says, “Can we drop this for now? No more sounding like a fucking episode of Dawson’s Creek.”

I have a million more things I want to say, but he’s right.

The only thing that can fix this is time. I only hope that it can be fixed.

I look around for my Johnny Cash tee-shirt, I find that it’s missing. And there’s a lot of Cora’s stuff left behind. She probably packed it by mistake.

I picture her going through her things and realizing that she’s taken it.

I picture her wearing it. Sleeping in it.

And it’s the only comfort I’ll have for a while.