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The realization strikes him when he realizes how bent his coffee table has become, as if one more molecule will be enough to collapse it. Even if it were to give out the ruins of it would blend in perfectly with the state of the floor - utter and complete chaos.
Thankfully, the potential for a disaster is avoided when Jeff is finally prompted to grab a trash bag and dive head first into the abhorrent nightmare that his apartment has become.
Irrelevant files, flyers, cans, bottles, snack wrappers, other wrappers, you name it.
He's already established the mindless motion of picking up and tossing just about everything in front of him into that garbage bag when his routine is interrupted. His arm comes to a halt when he sees what's in the palm of his hand - a purple pen. An all too familiar purple pen.
It's such a seemingly insignificant object to evoke such a shift in his already stale mood but anyone who knows Jeff knows why it's cut so deep. Why he's setting down the bag and pausing his cleaning mission in order to find a box to house the pen for the time being. He doesn't have any of what it takes to chuck it among the rest of the trash.
Situating the small box on his kitchen island, he places the pen inside almost tenderly. He spares it one more drawn our glance before returning to his task, hoping it'll overshadow the thoughts that are slowly starting to creep in. Or rather creep back.
And as his luck would have it...he finds another one of those signature pens.
And another one.
Just as he's about to curse his predicament, his luck takes a turn - not in any particular direction, it's just decided to have some fun with him. It comes in the form of strewn about flower paper clips.
"Fuck my life..." despite his choice of words, he shows the paper clips the same care he showed the pens - scooping them up and pouring them in the box.
Up next is a stack of papers he needs to sift through to make sure he doesn't throw away anything important. Truth be told, even if it were important it probably isn't anymore considering the obvious coat of dust atop the stack he has to blow off before getting started.
The amount of junk he's been keeping around is enough to warrant an episode of Hoarders but can you blame the guy? He's been busy and it takes two hands to get this done. Up until now he's had none. His life has turned into an endless run-around with only brief pit-stops to his apartment to sleep. Sometimes he doesn't even turn the lights on when he comes home, just makes a beeline straight for his bed.
It's how he's used to operating. It's how he's always operated. It's his system and it's never failed him. For all his emotional flaws he has his mechanical routines to lean on and that's how he makes it through life, now much more joylessly than before though.
Among the sea of black and white flashing before his eyes there is a sudden burst of color that makes him physically lean back into the back rest of the couch.
It's notebook paper adorned with neat handwriting with different colored pen ink and even further colorized by highlights going over the most important points.
They're notes. Biology notes Annie practically shoved down his throat so he wouldn't fail the class roughly four years ago.
It's all so fresh in his memory he can still see the determination in her eyes as she was convincing him to take them and pull his head out of his ass. He can still smell her sweet perfume and hear her scolding.
He needs a drink.
All the papers that were weighing his poor coffee table down have now been relocated to the trash bag. All except the notes which have joined the pens and paper clips in the box on the island where Jeff harshly slams down his glass after downing the whiskey inside it.
Seeing as how cleaning the living room has turned into a treasure hunt he didn't consent to, he puts a pin in it and broadens his horizons to the bathroom.
All is well - empty cosmetic bottles left and right which he easily disposes of before grabbing a wipe to scrub the mirror above the sink. His wish to also scrub away his reflection goes unfulfilled, drawing out am exasperated sigh from between his chapped lips, forcing him to bow his head.
Upon doing so, his face comes within a few inches of the colorful little pebbles surrounding the basin of the sink, forming a random pattern. An odd decor choice from Jeff Winger, probably because it wasn't his. It is, however, perfectly in character for Annie Edison who did indeed come up with the idea.
The memory comes crashing on him in a wave of chills much like the ones that actually covered his skin on that beautiful fall day when him and Annie took a quick road trip to the nearest beach. It was one of their first dates, official ones that is.
There is that scent again; those eyes; the wind blowing her hair; the feel of her in his arms; her laughter and genuine joy as she picked out these very pebbles. It's all coming back to him, forming a sense of nausea in the pit of his stomach, slowly crawling up his throat.
Turning the tap sharply, he splashes cold water on his face a couple times before picking the pebbles up one by one, taking them to the box that he wishes he could somehow recreate within his mind.
Bathroom having been deemed clean enough, Jeff ventures to his bedroom that at this point requires medical attention. He's looking at loads of laundry waiting to be done and others waiting to be folded since forever.
The most Jeff thing to do right now would be to back out of the room and slam the door shut in his wake. But, for once, he musters up what little consideration he has for his future self and digs in.
He's about halfway done with dividing his clothes into piles each based on a different category when he picks up one of his dress shirts, the pocket of which has been harboring something he promptly removes.
It takes all there is in him not to put it right back where he found it and shove the shirt deep deep into his closet.
A gold ring.
Annie had forgotten this ring after spending the night. He found it right after she left but the selfish idea of keeping it prevented him from trying to catch up to her to return it. He promised himself he would eventually.
But it never came up. Neither of then brought it up. Annie probably hadn't even noticed its absence and it's not like Jeff bent over backwards with it. In fact he was secretly praying it would get swept under the rug.
All so he could keep it.
Truth is, he had it on him at any given point, safely tucked into his shirt pocket just in case Annie asked for it.
Now would he have given it to her is a different discussion.
He'd also never admit it out loud but the reason he still to this day keeps it on his person is a purely sentimental one. Oddly romantic even. He keeps it right above his heart. Right above where he keeps her.
As if he couldn't get any more pathetic
And...his cheeks are suddenly damp. His chest is heaving and tight, heart racing. His throat is scratchy with tears waiting their turn to be shed and it's the first time since the break up that he gets to break character. He gets to break down the facade and express what he really feels.
Anguish, dread. Pure fucking agonizing sadness.
It's so solid he could choke on it, die from it even. But he doesn't. Instead, he remains very much alive, feeling every bit of the pain, every shard of his broken heart cutting deep into his soul. He feels if all and at full volume. No more hiding behind a mask or dulling anything out. Everything is caving in around him and all he can do is sob into the hands that are still clutching at the ring as if onto life itself.
Although he organized the memory of her from being all over his apartment to being neatly tucked away in a box, he hasn't managed to do the same within himself. None of her has been compartmentalized, she's still all over her. Her scent all over his clothes, her laughter ringing in his ears, her flavor on his tongue. She lives in his heart and periodically visits his mind like an unforseen natural disaster.
She remains all over him, all over this apartment, all over his life. She remains in every perfect memory he can't suppress into a box.
And he remains feeling like a terrible person for feeling this way. He knows it was the right thing for her to do. He would've never forgive himself or her if she had stayed. But Lord knows he'd pay to have this pain taken away from him.
And to have his Annie come back to him.