Her feet hit the pavement. Shoes pound forcefully into the ground with each stride of her legs. The only sound she hears is the pulse of blood rushing through her ears, drowning out the noise of the city as she pushes herself faster, harder, more. Her earphones are long abandoned, swinging loosely around her neck. She found so pleasure, no solace in the music. She doesn't deserve it.

She wanted to feel her body burn, she needed to feel alive. This was something she could do right, something she knew how to do. Sweat drips down her brow, between her breasts, soaking her back but it doesn't matter. It only fuels her on.

Lightning strikes up ahead, the rain is coming. Black clouds swirl in front of her, the lick of moisture is in the air. Normally she likes the rain, finds it refreshing but this is different, darkness is coming. Though she feels as if she's already been living in it; as though the darkness had already consumed her.

She doesn't stop; she doesn't care. Why should she? She doesn't know if she's running to or from something. But It doesn't matter now, none of it matters. Not since he betrayed her. Not since she was a coward and left. So she runs. She just runs.

The scotch burns as it makes its descent down his throat. It's the good kind and it has the desired effect. He hasn't opened the bottle since... actually the last time, it was about her too. He pours another, because, why not? He has nowhere to be, no responsibility, no case to solve, no murderer to catch. Alexis has left for the summer. Her college program just started yesterday. He doesn't care where is mother is right now frankly. It's his house, he'll do whatever the hell he wants to in it.

One more turns into three more and he stops. Enough, it's enough now to dull the pain in his heart, the throbbing of his hand. First time he'd ever punched a wall, and days later it still pulses with pain, but it's his heart that hurts the worst. The ache in his chest that drops down into the empty pit of his stomach. It's been three days.

He checks his phone again, presses his thumb to the sensor to wake it and double check he didn't miss any texts, calls...emails. He's called so many times and she won't answer. There's nothing. He knew there would be nothing. His mother always said he was too quick to forgive, too optimistic, a dreamer. He use to think those were good qualities. He's changed his mind. They only serve to cause him more pain.

It's been so long, but it's only been three days.

She only stops when she can't breathe. She bends over, doubled at her waist trying in vain to suck in the smallest amount of air. She's in good shape, physical therapy has been done for a while now. She can push herself but this is, no, this is different. This is a panic attack. Recognizing it makes it worse at first. No, not again, not again. She hopes no one can see her.

Breathe, breathe she tells herself just like Burke taught her. You're not in danger Kate, you are fine. Breathe, breathe. Over and over until she's calmed down. It hasn't happened in so long. She stops running and starts to walk home, drenched from the storm. Enough now.

He stares out the window of his office, sitting agitated on the leather couch. He's watching his own desperate reflection in the glass, marred by the streaks of rain from the storm. He looks horrible. He checks his phone again.

This time he pulls up her name. Beckett, not Kate. Castle stares at the profile picture he set of her. He took it outside one day when she wasn't looking, but the lighting from the sun had been just right. She is so gorgeous, breathtakingly beautiful. That's only the smallest part of why he loves her.

But he can't anymore. He needs to stop. How does he stop loving the woman he thought he could be with forever?

His thumb hovers there for a moment, deciding. He deletes her contact.