Page 38 of My Lovely Tragedy
I’m in a trance as I scroll through the rest of the site, greedily clicking on each picture I find of my lovely Brooklyn, wanting to see him in every element of his life.
As I click the final menu option, it takes me to YouTube, where one of their music videos starts playing for a song called “Linear Disaster.”
It starts off slower, with an almost haunting, melodic cadence that melts over my skin, sending pricks of comfort in my blood. And then an intense, shocking drum solo starts, startling my eyes open.
It’s focused on their drummer, Cobain Harris, if I remember his name correctly. His arms move at an incredible speed, drumsticks hammering down in seemingly random spots, but the music that comes from each hit is incredible.
The guitar and bass incorporate themselves seamlessly, each string plucked purposefully and intensely. My finger taps along to the beat, enjoying it for what it is.
But then… the camera pans to Brooklyn, zooming out and focusing on where he emerges off-centered. Head bowed, mic already pressed to his lips. Even with only a view of half his face, he appears younger. Far more youthful with less lines on his perfect, golden skin.
And then, I hear his voice. So different from the one he used to sing “Free Bird.” This version is harsh, a strain on his vocal cords, but completely natural andso lovely.
My lips part in awe as I watch him saunter across the stage, performing with his band mates, his friends.His family.
Jealousy plants its seed and blooms in the pit of my stomach like a weed with a continuous supply of water.
Lyrics of darkness drowning morph into the chorus of bleeding colors and bruised skin.
They captivate me. Wrap their vaporous fingers around my throat and cut off my breath. Constricting my muscles, tendons, and veins.
They’re beautiful. Everything about the song is haunting and raw andreal.
I don’t know everything about Brooklyn, and as much as it pains me to say, I don’t believe I ever will, but maybe—just maybe—through his music, I can learn more than I hoped I ever could. Because these lyrics came from him. I can feel it.
The power of his words. His emotions.
I have experienced them for myself, and they feel like home.
CHAPTERELEVEN
TOBIAS
Three days.
Three days have passed with Brooklyn only leaving the comfort of my bed twice. And watching him force himself through the motions of an automatic biological impulse killed off a rather large piece inside me.
His suffering is palpable, the stench of it infiltrating my nostrils with every selfish breath I take. Yearning, still, for more.
“Brooklyn,” I whisper from beside him on the mattress as I set another steaming cup of chamomile tea on the bedside table. This one will likely remain untouched, as have the last two I have brought up in an attempt to get him to putsomethinginto his body, but I must try, regardless of failure.
I lean down over his body where he is curled up tight with my heavy, gray blanket wrapped around him, forming his own cocoon. His hands are tucked beneath his chin, the material bunched up and blocking most of his face.
He looks so pathetically adorable that I can’t fight the small, amused smile that breaks across my face.
“Darling boy.” I brush a strand away from his cheek where it has caught in his rapidly growing beard. I wrap it around my finger, coiling it tight, but not enough to draw him upward. The pressure against his scalp causes him to peel his heavy, swollen eyelids open.
Swollen from sleep, from endless tears that simply won’t stop flowing.
Pain. Uncontrollable and virulent. Malleable yet indestructible.
He blinks slowly. Eyelashes brush his bruised under-eye. Cerulean hazy on sanguine.
Molars clenched, I reach for the cup and slowly bring it to his lips. “Please drink this.”
The shake of his head is slow but deliberate, eyelids falling closed once more. “Brooklyn, you needsomethingof sustenance.”
“Jus’ tired,” he mumbles, words slurred with the heavy drag of sleep. I tug the thin lock of hair still entwined around my finger, forcing his eyes back open. His jaw tightens, a bulge forming near the fusion of both bones.
