Page 130 of My Lovely Tragedy
I hope he makes his way easily enough. But more than that, I hope he does not turn around. That he stays on the right path—the path that takes him back to his family. The ones who love and miss him.
The ones who deserve him.
He cannot come back… because if he does, I do not think I have the strength to watch him leave me again. And that is more fucking selfish than I can stand to be.
I am merely a vessel as my feet carry me to my piano, and I take residence on the sleek, black bench before it. My eyes wander the length, then close as I conjure up the memory of my beloved boy last sitting here. The light on his face as he finishedmy songfor me. The song I wrote wholly for him. Every note was formed with the deepest reverence and devotion.
The introduction is a mirror of the moment I laid my eyes on him. His obsidian wings fluttering in the snow-blinded night. The verse is after he stumbled into me, when I felt the sharp traces of his pain bleeding into the air around us—into me.
The chorus is every tantalizing moment spent together. His body against mine, wrapped around me, searching for a home within me. One I gave him, despite knowing I would take it away in the end. It’s the blood I shed—his and mine. Our bodies, covered in his essence. Screams of agony and anger. Reliance and desperation.
Love and tragedy.
The bridge was the moment I felt the last granule of sand settle at the bottom. When acceptance and regret spilled.
But the coda… that is what my lovelycorvusplayed for me. He knew before I did how we would end. Tragically and beautifully and abruptly. A final striking chord.
And as I play it—I do so with him at the forefront of my mind. His fingers ghosting over mine, guiding me over the keys just as I did for him. Golden hair tangled and silky down his back. Shoulders broad and grazing mine. Forearms etched with wounds and faded scars. An alluring fusion of sanguine and silver.
It’s not until light bleeds into the shadows that I still the movement of my fingers. Without the constant pressure, they ache and throb incessantly, and I nearly give in to the irresistible urge to keep going—to never stop until my fingers stain each bright, ivory key with crimson.
But arrangements must be made… and I have a story to bring to a close.
With an inhale I don’t feel the relief of, I force myself away from my piano, knowing I will never touch it again.
The ascension of the ladder causes the deep twinge in my kneecaps to flare back up, radiating outward. It marries perfectly with the tingle of numbness already spreading through my arms. I make it to the top just in time for my limbs to give out on me.
The floor meets me as I drop down onto it, panting as light flares in my peripheral. I crawl forward, and clutching my duvet, I drag myself up with the last of my strength. Collapsing back onto the bed, I gratefully sink into the pit of pain and darkness.
* * *
BrooklynBrooklynBrooklyn.
I wake screaming, his scent lodged in my nostrils and burning through my veins. The room spins as I whip my head around, searching for him, only to turn up as empty as I have left myself.
It all crashes back into me like a seismic wave. A loss of life with mass injuries. All internally and every bit as suffocating and confusing. Overwhelming anddire.
I blink against the onslaught of tears burning across the surface of my eyes, but they slip back inside of me where they merge and fester, growing larger and choking with each passing second.
The pressure in my skull doubles as I push myself up and lean against the wall at my back, dislodging the flow of everything, but I take it all with bated breath, shoulders lax and belly empty.Consumed with it.
I bury myself in the regret I deserve, knowing it could be worse—that itwill be.And that is a comfort I hold on to.
It takes far too long for the feeling to come back to my hands enough for me to reach for my laptop, but once I crack open the lid and the location of my phone stares back at me, a strike of something much deadlier takes aim.
Remorse.
Worse than guilt or regret as it surges with the desire to beforgiven.And a man like me does not deserve such an atrocity. But I click on the small phone icon all the same, watching it ping and then zoom in on the location.
It’s unmoving on the same spot in the city, which means he’s made it safely. It allows me to zoom in on the street names, but there are no defined buildings other than a few gas stations and parks. A couple hotels and hospitals. None of which he is at.
Eyebrows drawing together, I Google the street names and zoom in on the map of the area. My eyes are bleary, so I dig the pads of my fingers into them until I see spots. And even, then, it’s not as clear as I would like it to be, but perhaps I deserve this, too.
Not knowing.
But… I have to. I need to be sure he is safe. That he is with his family.
As I move the mouse around again, switching to the street on the opposite side of the block, I skim over a marked building. I retract and zoom in.A studio.
