Breathless’ jaw snapped shut. He walked into the living room where Sandy and I now stood facing one another. Lazy Bird’s dancing, moving rhythm erupted behind me with quiet ferocity.
Sandy kept steadily staring at my wrinkled forehead. My eyes were lowered to the couch. A steady scarlet ribbon pooled around my converse’s soles. The steadily swaying bass riff began behind me. It was all I could do to keep my fingers from matching the percussion with a dull rapping against my jeans.
Rebecca had cried a little. Her skin was porcelain and Pale and tracked with wetness. Her glossy eyes looked like polished pearls set in snow. Her limp hand dangled open, off the couch.
Rumple Minze’s repeated warnings started to worry me, now; not because I feared that there was truth in what he was saying, but because I could still hear him say it as clearly as I had the night before he killed himself.
My glass was still mostly full, so I turned to grab it. I reached across the table to the CD player and started the CD over. The scotch was as soothing as cool water. I licked it’s stain from my lips as the first song–Blue Train–began to swell with intensity.
Breathless kept pacing around the living room, circling sandy and me. I didn’t acknowledge him at first, but after a few minutes I couldn’t shake him from my thoughts. I remembered the first night he stayed with me: his wooden tour through my house; his bold, commanding silence; his fingers around Newt’s throat; his light speed movement away from my Buckshot’s spread; his jaw, dropping–showing his control over me; the grin he wore when I found him blocking my bedroom door–showing his control over himself.
“Moment’s Notice” began with a soothing saxophone riff, underscored by a staccato piano accompaniment. I took another drink of watered down scotch. I completely forgot about Breathless for a moment. I was distractedly tapping my toes and enjoying the song.
Sandy was, to my utter astonishment, still a statue behind the couch. I shot a lingering glare at him, tracing over the tightly spun wool that covered, without constraining, him. I wanted to retreat to my mental sanctuary; to hear Otis Redding; to calm down a little more.
I wish things had gone differently. That sentence is a waste of time, but it’s true. I wish I had met Rebecca alone, apart from Sandy, Breathless and Rump. I could’ve died, thrilled by the poisonous kiss of a beautiful girl.
“Moment’s Notice” still distracted me from wandering thoughts. I looked down at Rebecca and back at Sandy, expecting a word of condolence or congratulations, but he kept the same statuesque glare and followed my motion with his eyes. I took a final drink and sat the empty glass back in its old, damp ring.
Breathless made himself comfortable on the other couch. He stretched his arms out, up, over the top and yawned. Nothing happened. Sandy smirked.
I turned, again, now facing Luke’s shitty painting. I grinned and reached for my glass, forgetting it was empty. Rebecca’s was still full, so I grabbed it and swirled the drink around in her cup.
Breathless had proven his ability to control his power the first night he stayed with me. He did it again before I killed Rebecca and again, minutes ago. He yawned.
He was in control. He only used his power to drive me mad. I had let it work for too long in the past. Now, it didn’t phase me. I took a sip from Rebecca’s glass. “Locomotion” started and ended. I caught my feet tapping to the beat.
I’m shocked at the bitterness of Rebecca’s drink, but I’m enjoying it.
“I’m old fashioned” starts. My fingers stiffen in obedience. My feet are as still as though the puddle they stood in were concrete, encasing them. I watch the glass; I swirl the scotch; I’m drinking. It’s magnificent. Rebecca possessed me at first. She rooted herself in my soul. Her clothes were a perpetual compliment to her skin and figure. Her hair–the auburn pigtails that draped over her shoulder, and were now draped over the couch–was a glistening, mesmerizing monolith of care, grace and beauty. I felt tired, so I moved Rebecca’s legs, ever so slightly, to clear a seat for myself. “I’m Old Fashioned” begged me to tap my toes, but I couldn’t; not yet. I took a long sip from Rebecca’s drink.
Rump shouted, “YOU’RE THE VILLAIN” in my ear, as though he were leaning against my eardrum.
If things were different, I would play with her hair. I’d run my fingers through the braids and tangles.
Rebecca’s glass seems to go on forever.
If things were different, I would’ve held;fucked her; kissed her.
But, I had. We kissed and she, not I, had died.
If things were different, I would be the murderer of an angel; a father’s daughter; a friend; a brilliant, beautiful person.
But, Breathless helped me see the truth. In his attempts to drive me insane, he showed me that a deadly power can be controlled. That kiss had been Rebecca’s final attempt to drive me insane. I won’t let it. I’ve been fixed. The fear these villains once filled me with is gone. Rebecca’s drink is marvelous and emptying.
“Lazy Bird” is beginning again. I can’t help but tap my feet to the rhythm.
Are you still reading? Good for you. Thanks for getting this far. I appreciate your support. I’ll stop by again soon with word on new projects!