literature

Ink and Blackberry Juice

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Literature Text

Daniel was a liar after all.

"He'll be fine," he'd said, with that deceitful hand on her shoulder. And tears streamed down her face, and she replayed, in shock, over and over, the last seconds, seeing the night swallow the glittering aftertaste of Leo's emerald eyes.

Fine?

No.

Being tossed from a fifth-story window, it turned out, had killed him anyway.

Indeed, demigod blood or no, superintelligence be damned, Leo was dead.

In his place... what? Arawn? He ought to take a different name. He was a liar, too – changed man. He was Leo. But he was not her Leo.

His eyes, though, the cold light green, his gleaming, unruly black hair, clean and messy at the same time – had he ever brushed it once in his life? And his smile. Full of ego, promise, power... love. Full of so many things. He was the same.

And yet his essence itself had gone away that night, maybe bled out on the pavement in the place of veins that did not spill their contents, bones that would not snap, organs that stubbornly refused to mash.

The man she loved had fallen to his death from the window of a cozy little apartment building, surrounded by friends and, apparently, family.

Detestable word.

She had been his family. She had been his loyal servant, his tool, his lover, his partner, his everything. If a job needed a worker, if a place needed a face, if a void within him needed filled, she had made certain she was there to be that worker, that face, that healing touch. She had lain in bed late nights, early mornings, waiting for him to join her. She had partaken in the disgusting, uncouth ritual he called consecration of love.

And she had been sickened. And she cried, to herself only, in the bathroom, on the floor, curled up on the fluffy carpet in front of the sink, feeling dirty and wrong and hideous in the belly of the clean white walls and her own revulsion.

But it was all for him. And that made it worth it.

Every day that she did what was needed, every day she did as he bade was another day to look upon his fox-face smile, his slanted, confident eyes, the proud line of his brow and jaw, excellently sculpted by some artisan who must've known great things were in store for him.

Great, beautiful, insane things he would no longer enjoy because he was dead.



"Back so soon?" Nikolai greeted as the door had clicked open. He looked up, craning his head over the back of the sofa. In the background, she heard singing. Music.

Wish I could be... part of your world.

Disney movies? Nikolai? Interesting.

"Just me."

"Leo and Daniel...?"

"They're at Adelaide's by now." She tried not to sound too spiteful. She'd watched them go on without her for a while, could not decode their body language. But all seemed well. They kept walking. She had grown bored and left.

"I see. Change your mind?"

"I remembered that Alice had invited me to go shopping with her today. She had the afternoon off." It surprised her how well-versed in the art of lying she'd grown. She could do many things well, when she wanted to.

"Would you like to come, too, Nikolai?" he asked, mocking her higher pitched, feminine voice. "Oh, no, thank you, Libby. How kind of you to ask. I'm a bit occupied with talking sea creatures, however."

"Sorry," she muttered. Damn. He'd almost dragged a smile to her lips. Almost.

She wanted to ask if watching all those fishies was making him hungry. She didn't.

Instead, she went to the guest room that had already begun to feel like another home. She stared at what Leo had taken for his side of the room. So messy. Clothes strewn everywhere. Her Leo had been messy. Her Leo had had a complete disregard for manners and decency, except when the occasion suited him.

The new Leo liked balance, beauty. He was sensitive and affectionate. Too affectionate. And far too sensitive. Her Leo would've never confided anything to anyone, unless he'd been with them – her – for a few years. He was slow to trust, slow to operate... patient, diligent, a strategist.

The new Leo would turn a toaster into an accent if the notion so much as crossed his mind. Now he seemed flighty, always distracted by that creature that whispered to his soul. He wouldn't focus. No, every so often, "Arawn, should I...?", "Arawn, I don't know how to...?"

It made her sick. Even when they had been alone, when he had explained everything to her, she could not understand. She could not bear the thought of this Arawn listening into their conversation. And it didn't bother Leo at all. But when they had talked, where once his eyes would stay immutably focused on her face to the point where it was intimidating, now they darted about, searching the room as if trapped in a cage. Distracted. Because she hadn't been the only one talking to him, and would not be anymore.

The guest bedroom. Why was she here? ...Gathering belongings. Yes. What was there to gather? She could take her hoverboard from his rental car out on the street. But what good would that do? No, he'd simply use it to track her. What else did she value? She had clothes.

She could buy more. They were unimportant – she would shed her old garments as he had shed his old life. As he had shed her.

She settled for money. Hers, only. She left his wallet where it was, and gathered up the mess of bills on the nightstand. These were hers. She slid them haphazardly into a shoulder bag, and contemplated.

What else was there to do?

A message of some sort. Yes, that seemed appropriate. What was there to say?

Goodbye.

But, if she came back...?

How could you do this to me?

Too generic.

I hate you.

Melodramatic and untrue.

Good luck.

Egotistical much?

With an exasperated sigh, she accepted that nothing she could say would succinctly and meaningfully express her thoughts. Possibly because she didn't know what those thoughts could be, and how could she hope for indecisive drivel to resound in his head for however long she'd be gone? Bag in tow, she left the guest room.

"See you later," said Nikolai said without looking up from his movie.

Hand on the doorknob, she paused. She'd forgotten he was there. She hesitated. Then, "Yeah. See you later. I might be a while, so don't wait up."

"Will do. Have fun."

"I will," she lied, and thought grimly, Funny thing to say after a funeral.
...Look the same in large quantities.

I can't seem to sleep.
© 2011 - 2024 Pink-Ego
Comments7
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Cloudeme's avatar
The poetry is lovely. I especially enjoy the bit about the window-tossing being when he died. It's a bold image.