Hmm. Well, I started writing this over the summer, and with school and everything, it got shoved to the back of my fridge. Good thing it didn't spoil.

Uhmm...as for what kind of fic this is, it's a definite angst-fic. I know Gavin gets sad and depressed when he's drunk, but I honestly don't think he'd keep himself from hurting somebody if he thought he might get what he wanted.

Oh-and if you want sweet and carefree, this isn't the fic for you.

Title: Gone for Good

Summary: Gavin went too far this time, and somebody got hurt.

Oh-one last thing.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters on Good Morning Miami, any of the actors-well, it should be obvious that I don't own Mark Fuerstein, 'cuase if I did, wackiness would ensue and people wouldn't know what to do with themselves...hee. I have a strange sense of humor, I know. Okay...I don't own Nirvana, Sum 41, Blink 182, JIVEjones, Three Days Grace, Pink, Trapt, or Simple Plan-though I do have some of their CDs and whatnot, but that's besides the point.

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I grabbed the bulging duffle bag I'd packed before leaving him. For good. No more FUCKING coming back for him. And no more taking him back for me. GOD. DAMN HIM. WHO. THE. *FUCK*. DOES. HE. THINK. HE. *IS*. ANYWAY?!? To think he thought he could just get nice and drunk and almost do that- No. NO. I'm not gonna think about that tonight. I can't. If I do, I'll cry. And I can't let him think he won. Not like that. Not after what he did.

I finally got to the right key as I reach the door. DAMN IT!!! My hands are shaking so bad I can barely get the key in the lock. The key finally goes in, turning in my hand, and I push the door open, fumbling for the switch in the dark. Afraid of what creepy crawlies might be hiding in the dark corners and shadows. My hand hits the switch, it clicks on, and the shadows retreat to the farthest corners of the room. Nothing bigger than a medium- sized cockroach could hide in those shadows. This was something I could take comfort in. After what had happened earlier, roaches-cock or otherwise- weren't bothering me so much, anymore.

I walk through the other rooms, wondering if this was a good idea, staying here, with him. With Jake. I thought about him as I slowed in the master bedroom where he'd been sleeping while he looked for another place to stay. I could still faintly smell the perfume I was wearing before he moved in, apricot~peach. Now though, it smelled strongly of Jake's cologne. Not an entirely unpleasant smell-now that I thought about it. 'Stop it,' I told myself. 'Your not gonna be interested in men 'that way' for quite a while after what happened-and you know it. Just call Jake and tell him you're here already. Get that over with.'

I sigh, knowing that little voice at the back of my head was right. It always is-annoyingly so.

I wandered out of his bedroom, and into the bathroom across the hall, flicking the light on as I walked in the door, hoping to appease the flutter of panic at the thought of going into another dark room.

I look around, stalling for time before looking at my reflection over the sink. I knew I would eventually. I guess I just wanted to put off the painful realization that Gavin wasn't the man I'd fallen in love with barely 3 years ago.

He hadn't changed a thing. Jake Silver had not changed a single thing about the decidedly feminine bathroom. Not even the clear plastic shower curtain with the pink seahorses swimming across it. Ugh. God. Why is it I always have to find the really good guys *after* getting hurt? I swear-I'm never gonna figure it out. Never. I finally turned to the mirror, taking in my ripped shirt. Bloody lip. Black-and blue, green, and a little bit of yellow-eye. There's a cut on my forehead, just above my left eyebrow, the blood didn't run into my eyes on the drive over here, thankfully.

Small blessing, I know.

I still can't believe Gavin'd done all this. Yeah-he'd gotten drunk before, slurring his words, stumbling all over the place. Making glazed over puppy dog eyes at me, begging for sex before passing out on the couch. That part I'm used to. It's the violent, *forcing* himself on me bit I'm not used to.

Hon-I've got a question for ya. Why, when you first saw Jake, did you decide to pull out your shears, snip the cord to the headset for his cell, and tell him you traveled the Gulf region performing random circumcisions? That little voice at the back of my mind comes up with the weirdest memories at the most inopportune times.

Oh shit.

I couldn't help the mirthless little snicker that darted out of my mouth. There's only one answer to the question posed by my subconscious-and I think my heart knew it all along. It just decided not to tell my head until I was standing in the bathroom of the apartment he was renting from me, dripping blood into the bathroom sink.

It made my stomach flip, thinking about this newfound knowledge.

Made me want to admit myself to an insane asylum for the Crazy in Love. That or run screaming for the hills.

And yet, I reached over to the light switch, flicking it off whilst still staring at my bruised and battered reflection.

Don't get me wrong-this revelation hasn't in some way endowed me with boundless reaches of courage. Quite the opposite, actually. I'm still afraid of Gavin, the thought of being alone here-or anywhere, come to that- makes me want to throw up. Whilst running for the hills as fast as my sprained and swollen ankle would let me. I walk out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, puzzling over my penchant for 'bad boys'. I was pulling a couple paper towels off the roll when I heard a car door slam outside, making me jump, gasping. Reverted to the same terrified woman who's hands had been shaking so hard she could barely get the key in the lock.

Voices. A woman's and a little boy.

Okay-deep breath. It's just some lady with her kid, I thought to myself, dabbing at the cut over my eye.

I went over to my bag and pulled out my CD's. I didn't bring my CD's because I was afraid I'd go back to The Apartment when he wasn't gonna be there and find my CD's all scuffed up and snapped and broken into a million pieces. I brought them because I knew if I didn't, he'd take them along with everything else of mine I'd left, pack it all up and leave it in a storage facility under the name of some wanted Lady Felon, give the desk clerk at the place some Cock 'n' Bull story about his sister and her three kids-all under age five, by the way-being held hostage by the aforementioned Lady Felon. And if I went and tried to get my stuff, the desk clerk would have two choices. One, the poor kid could do as I asked, help me get my stuff, risking death by heart attack, and if he doesn't die, getting his goose cooked, baked and broiled by-not only the federal justice system for aiding and abetting a hardened criminal-but also his parents. Or two, they could try and slink out slowly, pointing out the key to the storage locker I wanted as they slunk out the door on their way to the hardware store the storage space office shared a wall with next door in order to use their phone to call the police and rat out my Lady Felon *ss. It's not easy being a Lady Felon, lemme tell ya.

And if you want to get through something-especially something this SHITTY- you need music.

I should know-there was an article in the Miami Gazette last month about it.

So I haul out my CD's and flip through them 'til I find the one I'm looking for: a mix of different songs by Nirvana, Sum 41, Blink 182, JIVEjones, Three Days Grace, Pink, Simple Plan, and (last but DEFINITELY not least) Trapt. This is a side of me that Jake hasn't seen before. The side of me that relaxes by blaring music that sounds more like something Penny would be seen dancing to at some club...but oh well. It's the only thing I know of that can make me feel better after a fight with Gavin...the worse the fight, the higher the volume.

And tonight you can guess it's gonna be turned up all the way.

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So, what do y'all think? Is it Good, Bad or UGLY? Review and lemme know, will ya?