Page 3 of The Voice of Wild Places
After slowly undressing, Watt dragged himself into the bathroom and turned on the light.His face was an ugly mess of blood, and his nasal bones were wrenched out of place.Luckily, it appeared to be an easy fix.Watt reset the rebellious bones, not for the first time, and groaned in response to the nauseating pain that exploded through his face, nearly worse than the break itself.He gripped the edges of the sink, steadying himself against waves of agony and nausea.After a few moments, he shakily washed his face the best that he could.Blood lingered in the stubble along his jaw, and stubborn bits dried in the hair at his temples.
He closed his eyes.
Recognition.Fear.Anger, oh, was there anger.
Watt shut off the bathroom light and crawled into bed beside his companion, naked as the day he was born.Maggie laid atop the blankets, which Watt pulled up around his neck.He rested his hand between her ears, gently stroking her fur.He stared into the dark and finally allowed himself to examine, and accept, several hard truths.
He found Annie, who most certainly did not want to be found, least of all by him.
The prospect of dying in the jungle without speaking his piece was a hard truth to swallow, but he had no choice.
And perhaps this was the world’s way of telling him he never deserved to be forgiven in the first place.
It was not the first time Cornelius’ roommate nursed him back to health, but it was the first time he’d done so in such silence.Giovanni was disappointed in him, which cut deeper than his anger would have.He flushed blood and grime out of the scrapes over his knuckles, and proceeded to wrap his hands.After withdrawing from his fight with Watt, Cornelius had sought out others.He'd been winning until Giovanni found him, and the distraction had landed him with a black eye.
Cornelius summoned all his willpower in order to do the only helpful thing he could.Stay still, and not throw up on Giovanni’s shoes.It was a difficult feat, and it had nothing to do with the drink.If Cornelius had one positive trait, it was that he could handle himself after even the most ambitious of nights.But his pain was beyond belief, both in his leg and heart.
Cornelius stared down at his own loafers, scuffed brown toes inches away from the polished black leather of Giovanni’s.Irritation coursed through him with vicious intent, preventing the night’s events from passing in a pleasant blur like they typically did.He couldn’t help but twist himself into knots over the whole ordeal, and closed his eyes in an attempt to shut it all out.Like that ever helped.
Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that Watt Johnson would waltz back into his life, interjecting himself into the one corner of the world Cornelius had carved out for himself and deemed safe.His, and his alone.Cornelius’ family knew where he lived, but they hardly intruded upon his life in person.
Cornelius couldn’t fathom why he was there, or how Watt had recognized him.It wouldn’t surprise Cornelius if his ever meddlesome Mama told Watt where he was, but why?Watt had closed the door between them years ago, and Mama and Papa had practically locked it shut behind him.It’d been fifteen years, and the idea that parts of who Cornelius used to be lingered in the person he was now was unsettling, to say the least.The sound of his old name on Watt’s lips danced on the fringes of his brain over and over again, and his skin crawled with every rendition of it.He'd imagined their reunion, long ago of course, and despite his clear disgust over Cornelius' new identity, he never imagined Watt using his old name.
He hadn’t heard it in years, and forgotten how much it made him want to scream.
“There,” Giovanni said, tapping Cornelius’ forearm once before leaning back.His chair creaked, and Giovanni sighed with great effort.
Cornelius opened his eyes, clearing rawness from his throat.“Thank you.”
Giovanni lit a cigarette and took a few drags before offering it to Cornelius, patiently waiting for an explanation.It wasn’t uncommon for Cornelius to get into fights, in fact he was rather good at it, but tonight was different and they both knew it.Giovanni hardly said anything while dragging Cornelius home from the bar, which spoke volumes on its own.Normally he’d give him shit, rib on his lack of a solid win.
It shouldn’t be so hard to say,‘I loved him.I loved him, and he abandoned me.He left me, and I didn't ever want to see him again.’
Giovanni would understand, so why couldn’t Corneliussayit?
Cornelius took the cigarette and puffed while searching the room for something to say, for an excuse or honest truth he couldn’t decide.Their apartment was warm, softly lit by the candles resting on the sturdy table between them and throughout the kitchen.Giovanni preferred to use as little electricity as possible, something Cornelius doesn't mind in the least.The phonograph, of course, was an exception.It was always on if Giovanni was home, and the habit rubbed off on Cornelius long ago.Ma Rainey filled the apartment, her voice a strong rasp that made the wind blow all the while.The audacity.The courage.Would she have done what Cornelius did?
‘Last night, had a big bad fight, everything seemed to go wrong,’she admitted.
Cornelius offered a lame smile and gave the cigarette back, then pushed away from the table.“I’ve class in the morning.”
Giovanni frowned.“In a few hours, you mean.”
“Ah, yes.Thank you for reminding me.”Cornelius winced, relying on his cane far more tonight than he had in a long time.He leaned down, kissing the top of Giovanni’s head.He inhaled that clean, reliable fragrance that clung to Giovanni like a warm blanket, unbothered by the soft hair which tickled his nose.“Sleep well,” Cornelius whispered, and walked away.
Giovanni hummed, watching him go.In true, dramatic Giovanni fashion, he waited until Cornelius opened his bedroom door before making his thoughts finally known.Cautiously, he said, “You can talk to me, Neil.We’re still friends, aren’t we?”
“Yes, of course.”Cornelius ran a hand through his mussed hair and lifted a shoulder.“I’m fine.Honestly.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
Giovanni allowed a moment of disbelieving silence to pass, then bowed his head and said, “Good night, love.”
“Good night, Giovanni.”
Cornelius stepped into the modest room shrouded by night, quietly shutting the door behind him.He exhaled, mentally preparing for the ritual ahead.Guided by moonlight, he extricated the needed supplies from a small box on his dresser, then methodically rolled up some reefer.Tobacco was fine and all, but tonight called for more desperate measures.The routine and mundane were usually sure fire ways to eliminate all thought, but a dusty old box stored in the farthest reaches of his mind groaned from the growing pressure of the explosive contents within, threatening to blow apart rotten wood and sharp, rusted hinges.
