Page 99 of The Beginning and End of Everything
When I first came out of therapy, I used to hang out with Finn a lot, go to the gym and work the bag. Hell, I even used to spar with him just to feed that desire for a bit of violence, but as the months have gone by, I find myself feeling more and more alone, and instead of reaching out, I recoil.
I pretend to Poppy that everything is fine, but I just don't have the energy to pretend for anyone else. I can't let her know that I hate this because a normal life is what she deserves. She deserves a guy who has a stable job, who doesn't fly into a rage all the time because he's fighting, exasperating the very thing that threatens to consume him. But that job is unfulfilling in every way, and to make matters worse, the pay is awful. I could make more in one fight than I make in a month as a guard, which means Poppy had to take a different job at a private hospital to make up for it. Sure, it’s a promotion for her and her pay is better, but it means she works nights. Because I'm not good enough. Because I can't provide for her.
When I see Poppy, I smile, I kiss her, I want her, but I'm ashamed of the man she’s stuck with. I'm terrified that one day she will look at me and realize I'm not worthy of her love, and I never really was.
That sense of worthlessness is a constant, weighing me down until each and every moment feels utterly inconsequential. Fighting is all I’ve ever been good at, all I was ever good for. Without Brandon “The Breaker” Blaine, I'm just a guy with no prospects, no dreams.
Sometimes, I think about going back to The Pit. Just a few fights here and there couldn’t hurt, right? But Poppy would work every hour God gives and sacrifice everything to keep me out of that ring, and doesn't that make me a selfish bastard for wanting it back?
A little girl runs over, crouching beside the bench to pick a dandelion. She closes her eyes, then huffs a breath like she’s blowing out birthday candles. The seeds catch on the breeze and scatter in all directions before she runs off. Maybe that’s how life is—short with a hundred little wishes, a hundred moments…I remember the time Poppy gave me that dandelion; how special it made me feel, and I think, maybe that was the moment I fell in love with her—maybe that was the beginning of everything between us.
With a sigh, I get up to make my way home.
Poppy is lyingon the couch, wrapped in a blanket with some program blaring from the TV when I walk in and drop my gym bag to the floor. Her face breaks into a smile when she sees me, and she manages to make me feel like the most important person in the world for just a few seconds.
"Hey, poss." I quickly kiss her before heading to the kitchen.
"How was the gym?"
"Good." I grab a plastic tub out of the fridge and peer inside, inspecting the contents. Something with tomato sauce. I shrug and pop it into the microwave. When I turn around, she's leaning against the door frame, her arms folded over her chest.
"How was Hope?" I ask.
“Fine…”
I can tell something is off by Poppy’s tone, and by the way she shifts her weight from side to side. A small line sinks between her brows before she moves forward and wraps her arms around my waist. "I love you."
Something in those three words sounds so desperate, and there’s a hint of sadness in her eyes, but I don't ask why. Maybe I don't want to know. "I love you, too."
"Tonight's my last shift this week, which means I get four nights of sleeping with you." She tightens her hold on me and looks up with a smirk. "Naked. We're sleeping naked."
"Are you trying to corrupt me? I'm a full pajamas guy these days, you know? A steady job, normal life. If you're not careful, I'll start scheduling you in for Friday night missionary."
"Brandon O’Kieffe, you could never be normal."
Isn't that the sad truth? "I'm telling you, stripey pajamas and slippers. Give me a few months, and there will be slippers."
"You start wearing slippers, and we're going to have problems."
The microwave beeps, but I ignore it. These moments of happiness are what I live for with Poppy. "You'd still want me."
"True." She grabs the waist to my tracksuit bottoms and tugs me to the bedroom, undressing me as we go.
"Didn't even need the slippers," I mumble.
* * *
Gunfire echoesaround me like the crackling of fireworks. I don't even know which way the bullets are flying. Shell casings tinker against the hard, desert ground, skittering over the toe of my boot. I aim, fire. Aim, fire. Methodical, precise, robotic. Faces of men appear in the rifle sights, but I pull the trigger before I can lock on, and then I'm onto the next. Refusing to look at them. Refusing to commit them to memory, the second I do, they become more than a target. They become a person with a family, a wife, kids.
I swing my gun to the next target, and Connor's face stares back at me through the sights. I try to move away, take my finger off the trigger, but I can't. My limbs feel like lead. A sad smile crosses his face, and then…I'm pulling the trigger. Bang! He drops to the ground.
In the blink of an eye, the scene changes. I'm on my knees in the back of that truck, my hands pumping over his chest; cold, dead eyes staring at me, mocking me, accusing me. I feel like I can hear his voice in my head:You should have died, and I should have lived. You're living my life. You stole her, and you aren't good enough for her. You'll never be me, Brandon.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I say the words over and over, needing his forgiveness, willing him to wake up even though I know he never will. I need him. She needs him.
I jolt awake,gulping air into my lungs while the dream clings to me. I’ve had these same dreams ever since Connor died, reliving that moment over and over, but this is different. This is more. It's mixed in with the fighting and the shooting, the nameless faces, and the guilt. And for the last few days, I’ve heard him. He's there, in my head, taunting me, his presence in my mind like a soft caress.
I don’t want Poppy to know I’m still having the dreams. I don't want her to know that I'm still messed up in the head. That what she's left with a shitty stand-in for the guy she married.
