Tribute Ch. 04

At least I had a tomorrow.

Everyone has their own opinions about what happens after death. Only a handful have experienced a glimpse of it through being revived from death. Personally I didn't know what to think. Heaven is supposed to be the best place in the world. And yet so little is mentioned about it.

All my pets up until this point have been small ones; like guinea pigs and rats.

Even if no one else understood it, I tried to believe that life was going to be better for Esquivo now. That heaven was a place that could only be shaped by your most wholesome wants.

Maybe Esquivo could run as far and as long as he wanted—to dig, to play with other dogs, and to never have the urge to kill.

These are the things I think to help keep me from thinking the worst. That Esquivo might have died a painful death. I needed to tell myself the former so I could move on. I was here, and he wasn't.

Did I want it that way? No. I wish this had never happened.

Did I blame anyone? Only myself.

I knew Esquivo was never going to change. I had adapted for him. I had tried to keep him safe, and entertained.

I hated my mistakes.

While I continued digging I tried to push my mind back into the sweeter beliefs. I really didn't want to cry right now. I would save it for later. Bury my feelings in the unhealthy manner until I could let them burst out in privacy.

I barely noticed when Beauregard turned to leave. He must have realized that I wasn't going to get tired of this. His blurred shape walking away was all that I could make out from glancing up from the dark dirt.

Yes, physically I was tired. I was in pain from so many things. But I wouldn't stop until Esquivo's body was completely buried. I was fueled by my frustration.

I was fueled by my regrets.

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I stood a little beyond the doorway. My legs felt shaky. My hands felt raw. My arms felt sore. And worst of all, my heart felt broken.

My eyes watered again while I blinked quickly. Looking up, I see Beauregard standing past his piano. I begin to walk away towards the stairs to avoid him. I don't want a 'sorry'. I don't want anything from anyone right now.

I feel my left hand get caught by one of Beauregard's. I was nearly at the staircase when he pulls me back.

"What?" I ask, full of fatigue. The lights in the house seem too bright as I try to shake free from Beauregard's grasp. He tries to pull me in for a hug, but I keep resisting.

"Let me go. I'm barely holding it together," I say aloud, since he is still holding my arms. I'm staring at his face, so I know he is paying attention to what I'm saying.

I still, and Beauregard just holds me still as we stand face to face. His eyes are soulful. Like William Joseph's music is soulful. Slowly, gently, like one would with a wild creature, Beauregard wraps his arms around me. I feel his head rest over my shoulder.

My arms were between us. But as I relaxed I slid them to be around his back. I turned my head to rest against his upper chest. Beauregard's scent overwhelmed my torn senses. He began rubbing my back soothingly.

While breathing deeply, I am doing my damnedest to keep myself from crying. I was worried if I start, I'd not stop soon. Carefully I pushed away from Beauregard.

"Thank you," I said before giving him a kiss on the cheek. Clearly this situation has melted my brain.

"Stay with me."

I blinked unresponsively as I tried to gather comprehension. "I need to go to bed, alone, because I am going to cry myself to sleep."

"You shouldn't have to be alone tonight. Let me be here for you."

"You don't want this mess. Snot, tears, snorkeling, sobbing, wailing—is not anything you want to see," and internally I knew that keeping distance was best because he was the only man who had ever been this close to me. The last thing I needed was to get too attached. Clearly being attached to anyone was a bad idea.

My rant dwindled as I saw that his thoughts hadn't changed. I know he'd made friends with Esquivo. Maybe he needed comfort too.

I shook my head and started up the stairs to go into my room. I pulled out my night clothes as Beauregard stood outside of my closed bedroom door. When I was finished dressing, I opened the door before getting into bed. Once Beauregard was familiar with the room layout, he turned the lights off.

I lay on my belly, my face tucked against my pillow. My mind is far from sleeping peacefully. I wait for all to still. Beauregard's breathing evens out. I feel the tears slip out as my throat tightens. The suffocating heat behind my eyes only fuels the limitless streams trickling over my face. By now I remember to breathe, which is inadvertently too noticeable to have escaped Beauregard's notice.

I turn on my side away from him before I feel his hand find mine.

"Can I hold you?"

What is this guy trying to do to me? I turn again, to face him. I slide closer until I'm close enough to be in his embrace again. Beauregard tucks the blanket around the both of us as I cry. With a kiss on my cheek, he settles back as he once again rubs my back.

And just as I expected, I can't stop. I know his shirt is soaked with my tears of anger and tears of pain, but he doesn't say anything. Beauregard acts as though this isn't an imposition.

Sometime before I fully fall asleep my tears have eased. I breathe deeply and am so sleepy that I don't even feel guilty for relaxing in the scent that Beauregard has, which is a balm to my nerves.

No matter who that Angela girl is, she must be blessed.

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