The sun rose and fell, rose and fell, and rose and fell in the sky. Carissa sat inside Lucas' home, right by the living room window, and stared out at the houses that littered the street. She didn't focus on anything- she merely opened her eyes to look, not to see; her ears heard, but didn't listen; she felt numb, paralyzed to the core.

In the midst of dragging her books off of his shelf while she was fetching her belongings from Harry's apartment the day after Constable Rogers informed her about Harry's wrongdoings, she caught sight of the horrible paint job they had done in the living room. Ugly splotches of red and blue and taupe were strewn about the walls carelessly, but she remembered what fun they had while doing so. She looked at their two handprints which they used to sign their work of art and wished she hadn't seen it.

While she was packing up her clothes, she noticed the picture of the two of them in the frame sitting on Harry's bedside table. Things were much simpler then, before all of the chaos settled in. Their smiles were wide and genuine; her eyes were crossed and her nose was scruched up, while he flashed his ever-so-famous grin; they were both happy. It was a moment which first struck her as heartwarming, but soon morphed into a wretched piece of her memory. Words couldn't describe how angry she felt.

A sudden urge came over her to take the frame and throw it to the ground and to make the glass shatter into tiny bits, but as soon as she picked it up she began to cry. She clutched it to her chest and bawled, wishing he was there to wipe her tears away. She wanted to kiss him again, and she would do anything just to have him play with the ends fo her hair and tell her that things would be okay. But things weren't going to be okay- she knew that quite well.

Lucas helped her move her belongings back to his home where she requested to reside in his spare bedroom, just down the hall from the master suite. It had been a while since she had set foot in his palatial home, but it certainly hadn't changed. It still made her feel minuscule and unworthy. His fondness of getting her material things while they were still dating made her wonder if she came off as the type that needed to be bought, not loved.

Lucas observed Carissa as he took care of her. She would act like a ghost around the house, never making any noise, and always retreating back to her room when she was done with whatever activity she was doing. She avoided the television, not wanting to see Harry on the screen. His case was all that seemed to plague the news.

Carissa often sat at the edge of her bed from dusk until the morning light, thinking. She wasn't sure if any of her thoughts even made sense. In that time, she would touch her pendant periodically. She swore it was still warm, as if Harry had just given it to her after holding it in his hand.

Lucas didn't know that the steady chanting of her conscience pounded a drum in her temples- "forget him, forget him,"- all while being constantly masked by her chest screaming at her head- "remember!". She was tired of hearing the story of Icarus' freedom; she wanted someone to focus more on his plummet into the ocean, because that was how she felt- it hurt so much, she wished she had wings of wax so she could fly to the sun and tumble to oblivion just as Icarus did.

She still felt his arms around him. She still felt his lips pressed to her neck. She could smell his sweet, musky scent, see his smile, hear his voice, taste his lips- he was everywhere and nowhere all at once, and she couldn't understand it. She suddenly felt Harry reaching for her hand, so close she could practically feel it. She wasn’t scared- she wanted to hold him again. There was a loud creak from the door, which startled her in her sleep.

"Carissa?" Lucas called as he touched her hand. She didn't move from her curled up position on the bed. It wasn’t Harry that she felt, it was only Lucas. He gazed at her. He had never witnessed so much sorrow. "Carissa, you need to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"You haven't eaten since yesterday morning."

"I don't want to eat."

"Look, I know you're upset. We all are. But starving yourself and refusing to talk about anything won't make it any better."

She closed her eyes, wishing he would just go away. Though she knew Lucas didn't deserve to be treated like that- he did volunteer to take care of her after all- it still didn't take away from the fact that she was miserable.

"I'll eat later," she compromised. She turned and looked at him. He didn't seem very happy. "I promise."

He sighed and nodded, leaving her alone once again.

But she wasn't alone- at least she didn't feel like she was. She was accompanied by the thought of him. Carissa clutched her necklace and let tears fall silently onto the pillow under her head.

***

"You deserve to die! Burn in hell!" spat a bystander as Harry was escorted out of the court house. There was a large crowd outside the building, even larger than on his first trial date earlier that week when he had been sentenced to twenty-five years in jail; the crowd outside begged for the death penalty.

Things had moved at an astoundingly quick pace in reality, but his mind had been wandering for millions of years.

"You're under arrest for the possession of evidence of the first degree murders of five women by the names of Daphne Fisher, Morgan Arabel, Roselle Vincent, Vienna Shaw and Willine Petersson, attempting to murder Lucas McCoy and Carissa Lim, and you have been accused for the second degree murder of Tyson Quinn."

"Of course he's guilty! Look at him! That man and those women died for nothing if you don't kill him!"

"We found journals and blueprints in your apartment with details of your murders, a detonating software installed on your phone, which matched the bomb planted under your car. Your DNA was also the one found outside Carissa Lim's home two weeks ago when she reported a figure standing outside her window."

"Now isn't it funny how the bomb was planted under the passenger's seat and not the driver's?"

The words rang in his ears as clear as day.

Carissa was the only person on his mind.

He spent a week under close watch in a jail cell. They stripped him of all his possessions, shoved him around, made him wear the typical orange jumpsuit, called him names, and told him he'd never get out of jail. What scared him most of all was what the guard said to him on his third night while he was sitting on the floor, unable to sleep. Harry couldn't tell if the guard was sided with him or not, but it was nice to have someone to talk to that didn't want him dead.

"They woulda killed ya," he started. He was standing up with his arms crossed, facing away from him. He occasionally turned to give him a glance as he spoke. "They woulda stuck needles in ya or electrocuted the skin off ya bones. Ya think they care that ya pleaded not guilty? No one gives a shit. They woulda killed ya, but they don't got the proof."

"They found all the proof. That's why I'm here."

"They found evidence. They found ya with all them journals and that blueprint. The fact that they didn't find the women saved ya skin. If it were me killin' all them ladies, I woulda kept my mouth shut, and I woulda kept my thoughts where they belong- inside my noggin."

Harry kept quiet as the guard pointed to his skull. He would've been an excellent murderer, or at least he would've been able to think like one.

"Are ya psycho?"

"What?"

"I said, 'Are ya psycho'?"

"No."

"That's a shame. Ya coulda gotten outta this shit hole and gone to a loony bin."

Again, Harry remained silent. He didn't know how to respond. After that, the guard left him alone. He spent the rest of his days wondering if this was how the rest of his life would be like- miserable and locked up in a cage like a rabid animal.

A few restless nights later, they unlocked the bars of his cell and told him he had been bailed out. He was worth $750,000 and someone had bailed him out of prison. Surely it couldn't have been Carissa- she didn't have the money for that, and she was under the impression that he wanted to kill her. It couldn't have been his mother or sister, and he didn't have any close family in America. For all he knew, everybody hated him.

The crowd outside the courthouse booed and tried to throw things at him. They curse at him and protested against his right to live. Security guards gripped his arms and pushed him along to the police car waiting outside.

They gave back his wallet, phone, shoes and clothes- all of which were searched thoroughly before they were in his hands- and glared at him as he made his way out the door, back into the real world. He was escorted by the police to his home. They told him to be wary, for people would be out to kill him- they said he was safer in jail.

He felt as if his heart wasn't beating. Upon his arrival in his apartment, the first thing he saw was the lack of books on his bookshelf. Then he noticed that Carissa's job applications weren't on the coffee table. Her shoes weren't piled neatly by the door. He set his belongings down on the table in the foyer and went straight to his bedroom, where he realized that all of her things were gone.

He noticed the photo of she and him sitting in the exact same spot on his side table. He paced over to it and brought it up so he could see it in the dim light of the sun setting outside. He remembered that day quite well- in fact, he could still hear her voice talking about her first kiss, her favourite foods, and her adventures in Zimbabwe when she visited two years ago. He remembered getting on that bike with her and loving every minute of it. He remembered kissing her on the cheek, even though she was upset with him. He remembered everything- he promptly picked up the frame and hurled it at his wall, smashing it to pieces. He picked up the photograph and folded it, putting it in his jacket pocket. He was upset, but not at her. He didn't know why everything was happening the way it was.

The only way anybody could've guessed that she ever lived with him was the paint on the walls of his living room. Other than that, his home looked the same as it was before she was in his life: barren. She brought colour and life into the drab spaces of his apartment, and she took it all away when she left.

He remembered that he wasn't a lover to her anymore. He was a murderer.

***

"Do you want anything else to eat?" Lucas asked uneasily, filling Carissa's cup with more wine. He was afraid that she was overeating because she was stressed. She wolfed down her second plate of spaghetti and washed it down with the dark red drink. She was going to forget about Harry.

"More wine," she said, holding out her glass. She already had three glasses, and her face was turning red.

"I don't know if you should-"

"I want more wine, Lucas."

He reluctantly served her more. She finished six glasses before Lucas refused to pour her more.

"Carissa, you've had enough. I'm not letting you drink anymore."

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do, Lucas. You always did this! This is why we broke up!"

"We broke up because you wanted more from me and I couldn't deliver-"

"No, we broke up because you were a dick and Harry always treated me like I mattered!"

"You're drunk," he stated before she stormed out of the kitchen. Lucas followed her out to ensure she didn't fall over while she was intoxicated and trying to escape from him. They were crossing through the living room when a knock came from the door. The both of them paused in the middle of their tracks and looked at each other.

Another louder knock. Then a few more.

Lucas sighed and made his way to the door. Carissa, even in her drunkenness, sat down on the couch, wanting to listen in because from where she sat, she couldn't see what was going on. Lucas unlocked it, but it opened before he could turn the handle.

"Where is she?"

"Harry? What the fuck- get out! I'm calling the police if you don't-"

"CUT THE SHIT AND TELL ME WHERE SHE IS!"

Harry burst into Lucas' home, frantic and in a frenzy. He stomped around, looking for her. Upon hearing his voice, Carissa hid behind the couch and covered her mouth with her hands. Listening to the sound of his voice after so long struck something in her which she could not describe- she was panicked and relieved at the same time, but she didn't know what to think. If he wanted to kill Lucas, he would have by now. Why was he out of jail? Who did he have to kill to escape? What if he wanted to kill her in front of Lucas?

"She's not here, Styles. I want you to leave."

"Bullshit. She's not at my place, and the only other person she trusts is you."

"I'm serious, I want you gone. You need help-"

"I don't need any fucking help! I didn't do anything!"

"They found all that stuff at your place! You wanna tell that to Carissa? You had a plan to kill her! You had a plan to kill all of them!"

Carissa let out a muffled sob and Harry's head snapped in her direction. Lucas rushed over to her and shielded her body before Harry could.

"Get away from her," Harry demanded.

"You're scaring her."

"Carissa, please," he turned to her trembling body in Lucas' arms, "I don't want to hurt you."

Harry took off his jacket slowly, then set it on the floor and kicked it away. He turned his pant pockets inside out. He held up his hands in surrender.

"I don't want to hurt you," he repeated. He looked at her, hoping she'd remember. Little did he know that all she wanted to do was forget.

"Harry, you need to leave," she whispered, "I don't want you-"

"You're wearing the necklace," he interrupted, pointing at it, "that must mean something right? I told you I’d never hurt you-"

"Harry don't-" Lucas interjected, but was ignored by the both of them.

"You’re a fucking liar! You wrote things, Harry. Horrible things. It was your handwriting. They found the detonator-"

"Listen to yourself! It's like you don't even know me!"

"I don't! I don't know you all! I don't know what to believe, Harry. Everything you do is just-"

"You don't mean that, Carissa, I know you don't."

"Don't act like you know me! Don't act like you fucking know me!"

"Styles, you'd better leave right now. You're trespassing on my property and-"

"Lucas, shut the fuck up! You've been trying to stop me from being with her since day one and there's a reason why she's still wearing the necklace I gave her-"

"What? This thing?" he roared, grabbing Carissa's necklace. He yanked it off of her neck and she gasped in horror.

"Lucas!" she exclaimed as he dangled it for him to see. Carissa reached out and tried to grab it back from him, but he was quick to react and held it out further. Harry was furious, but he stood in his spot. He didn't want to scare Carissa more than he already had.

"This doesn't mean anything. You wanted to kill us both," Lucas spat, dropping it to the ground and crushing it with his heel. Carissa began to cry again. She could hear the pendant's gemstones cracking under the pressure.

The necklace meant more to her than they would ever know. Harry was right when he said that there was a reason why she hadn't taken it off.

When Lucas removed his foot, the remnants of the pendant were shattered and revealed tiny fragments of an electronic nature.

"What-?" Lucas bent down and stared at it closely, "It...it's a tracker. You've been tracking her."

"That...that's impossible-" Harry stammered. Carissa's eyes showed no remorse. They watered and her lower lip quivered. Harry took a step forward and tried to explain himself, but she immediately hid behind Lucas.

"Get out, Harry! Get out! I hate you! I hate you so much!" she cried. He tried again to talk it out, but Lucas stepped up and held his ground. Harry couldn't do anything now. He knew that he and Carissa were done for good. There was no changing her mind.

"You know what? Fuck you both. I hope you're happy," Harry snarled before storming out the door, slamming it as hard as he could. Lucas didn't let his guard down until he heard Harry's tires screech upon the road outside into the distance.

"Babe, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have let him in. I just-" Lucas began, but was stopped mid-sentence by a kiss from her.

She didn't know what she was doing. She blamed it on the alcohol in her blood. She blamed it on her hatred for Harry. She blamed it on her fear of never again feeling like how Harry made her feel.

Lucas' hands went straight for the small of her back, pulling her in close. It had been far too long. He loved her more than anything.

"Let's just...let's forget about him," she suggested, tugging on his arms and beckoning him to follow her. He kissed her again, and she led him up the stairs, down the hall, and into the master suite.

After taking their clothes off, they got into bed together. Carissa lay on her back as he moved in and out of her. It was torturous, but she lay down and moaned as she normally would, pretending that he brought her half the pleasure that Harry would have. She knew right there and then that Lucas would never amount to Harry. Lucas didn't know where to touch her to make her squirm, or what to say to make her beg for more. Her climaxes were fake; she couldn't enjoy herself; you're just doing this because you want to forget about Harry, but you know you never will, scolded her conscience.

In the middle of the night, long after Lucas had fallen asleep, Carissa got up and cleaned herself up. She felt disgusting. Nothing would make her feel better. Having sex with someone other than Harry only made her feel worse.

She went downstairs in search of a snack to eat and came across the bits of her crushed necklace laying on the floor. No wonder it always felt so warm, she thought, it's because there was a tracker in it. She stepped over it, not wanting anything to do with Harry- or so she made herself believe until her path was blocked by Harry's jacket laying on the ground in the living room.

Carissa sank to her knees and picked it up, bringing it to her face and inhaling his scent. It was sweet, minty and musky, just as she remembered. Tears fell once again as she sat on the floor, her face buried in the smell of him lingering on his clothing. There was nowhere that she'd rather be. She looked through his jacket and found the picture of them on the Fourth of July, folded up and tucked neatly into the pocket by his chest as to keep it close to his heart. She cried even harder- deep down, though she wouldn't admit to it, she knew he still cared.

The most dangerous part wasn't the fact that he was accused of murder, or that he was in the possession of those horrid journals, or that he was out of jail now. The most dangerous part wasn't that she'd never forget him- it was the fact that she knew she loved him, and it scared her to death.

It was not a simple thing for her to reveal, the fact that she loved someone. Even though it wasn't aloud,  confessing to herself that she felt something more was truly devastating because in all her attempts to shut him out, it was a failure each time. Carissa was a scientific person- she couldn't stress how much she loved statistics and facts enough, but this feeling could not be backed up by science or anything that could be taught in a classroom; it just was. She found safety in knowing that her body was split into systems such as circulatory, endocrine, and digestive, but when she was thinking about him, it all transformed into nervous.

If someone were to ask her what she found attractive, all they would hear would be a description of Harry, his hair, his smile, his tattoos- everything; if someone were to ask her about her favourite sound, she would tell them about how Harry said 'Carissa', how his accent nurtured the syllables in such a way that made her melt; if someone were to kiss her, the only thing they would taste would be his name.

When she was with Lucas, she would always shut her mouth more often. She would try to be prettier, less volatile, less human, and more of what he wanted- she would seek validation from someone that hardly knew what she was all about. She learned in that time span that just because someone desired you, it didn't mean that they valued you. But with Harry, she was open and passionate without being called annoying or stupid. She was grateful someone came into her life and made her feel wanted. He was happy with watching TV with her and eating Chinese take-out, or laying in bed for three hours before either of them had to get up, telling silly jokes or talking about how he hated working morning shifts, or sitting on the sofa with her as she read a book while he tried his hand at the sudoku puzzle in the newspaper. Not everyone knew how to love her, but she was certain he understood perfectly. 

Carissa was clever enough to know that it always hurt the most when you had someone in your heart and not your arms, and that she was at fault too; all this time, she knew she loved him, but she didn't have enough courage in her to tell him. Love was not about quantitative properties- time, or distance, or measurement- but, rather, they were about qualitative properties- strength, and passion, and sincerity. She didn't have a reason to love him- she knew that if she did, she didn't really love him at all.

It was inevitable that they would fall apart eventually, but that didn't mean it was any less meaningful, or any less important. She wanted to scold herself for missing him, but she felt lucky instead; it meant she had someone in her life worth missing. 

She kept remembering- her heart held no pity for her. She knew that even though everything had changed, nothing really did at all. She laughed quietly at the fond memories of him, and love snapped her bones one by one; nothing would ever change.