His Nepenthe | complete

43. Finding

F I N D I N G M E A N I N G

*

Needless to say, I wasn't at school for a while. After being admitted to hospital the night of my attempt, I had told the doctors it was an 'unfortune accident' to keep my guilt inside. Marco had gone along with my story, noting the fear in my eyes at a stranger asking for my emotional state. From then, I had begged Marco with everything I had to keep all hospitals, all other people, out of this.

He agreed, much to his distaste. His exception to my plea, however, was Romany.

She had wanted to become a nurse for a long part of her childhood, and even went to school for it a year or two, but ultimately found that she didn't have the heart to watch so much suffering.

Rome fixed up my wrist daily as well as she could, being sure to tighten the muscles together so they wouldn't tear. I was staying at her home, to be sure I wouldn't see Clarisse any time soon.

Living with Romany, I understood what Marco loved about her so much. She was unselfishly loving. To me, to Marco, to her fat cat called Blanc.

Blanc, on many days, would sit with me for hours. Half awake, half asleep. I watched hours of miscellaneous tv shows and movies that I wasn't paying attention to. Blanc often nuzzled against my bandage, purring against my new forming scar. The feeling was almost cathartic, feeling as if the fluffy fat cat was forgiving me for covering my broken skin. He forgave me for wanting the pain.

My phone felt heavy in my pocket. Every time I reminded myself of its existence I felt my heart pound loudly against my tired ribs.

I wanted to text Brandy. Tell her I was okay. Apologise.

I had held my phone in my hands many times, words bright on the screen;

'I know you said that we're not talking, but I miss you.

I'm sorry.′

But that would only make it worse. I lied to her. I broke her trust. I hurt her. The least I could do now is leave her alone like I said that I would.

Even if the feeling of her lips was one I would never be able to forget.

I thought of the time I saw those eyes blinking at me for the first time. What would my funeral have been like had I taken that step? Would Brandy come? Would she cry for someone she didn't know?

What of my latest attempt, had I been successful. Would she have followed my casket out to my grave, even though I told her I didn't love her? Did she know I was lying?

My stomach churned at the image of her solemn face looking down at a casket in a black dress. Tears streaming down her pink cheeks. Throwing roses dripping in her own blood.

"You okay, man?" Marco's voice forced me out of my dangerous reverie as he made himself present in my reality.

"Why did you forgive me?" I asked quietly as he fell onto the couch next to me on the opposite side of Blanc.

Blanc wasn't impressed by the movement, opening just one eye to glare at Marco before snuggling back into my thigh. Marco, being the child he is, glared back at the cat that didn't like him because he took the best place next to Rome at every chance possible.

"Are you sure I have?" He teased. At my unmoving expression, he rubbed a hand over his face, resting further back into the couch, "How couldn't I? I'm just glad you let me help you."

I nodded in understanding. There was more to it, I believed. Having known me for so many years, having tried to protect me as long as he had, how could he give up on all that work?

His voice was quiet as he spoke again, "I can't hold a grudge just because you're not happy."

I wrung my hands together, eyes focused on my permanently bruised knuckles.

"How did it feel?"

Marco tilted his head curiously at my vague question, "How did what feel?"

"Seeing me. Dying."

The blue eyed boy blew out a breath, taking in my question to decide how to answer, "Pretty shit, I'll be real with you. Man, for the first time in so long, I was scared. Carrying you to the car, waiting for you to wake up after surgery. Then you opened your eyes and I was so fucking angry that you would make me think that I lost you. But," a ghost of a quirk reached his lips, "your dumbass, high as shit off the painkillers, dared to smile at me, and i remembered the first time you ever smiled at me." Marco brushed his eyes free of the tears that were forming at his memory, chaos between my best and worst moments of living, "You know, I just wish I had known earlier, what Brandy meant when she asked me to take care of you."

The name immediately piqued my interest, "When did she say that?"

"I don't remember the day, whenever you two were arguing in your room. She ran down the stairs crying, I tried to talk to her to see what happened, but she was completely hysterical. I held her for a second before she pushed me away, breathing a little bit calmer. I wanted to talk, so I tried to stop her from leaving but she moved around me. Then she stopped at the door, and said 'take care of him. he's not okay'."

I groaned at the story, allowing my head to fall into my hands as I rubbed my eyes with my palms, "Why did I have to be so fucked up?"

He pat my back soothingly, making me turn my head back to him, "I should have been helping you better. I just thought it was a teenage phase kind of thing. I never knew Lucas's death was a mystery to you. I should have. It was a mystery to me, too, until I found his autopsy."

I shook my head, sitting up straighter, "It's not your fault. I should have spoken with someone instead of waiting until I was at the edge of death."

"I'm supposed to have taken care of you because mum didn't."

"You're the reason I'm still alive."

"The physical reason."

It was my turn to look at him incredulously, "What do you mean?"

"Brandy is the reason you wanted to be alive. You wanna know why I feel so guilty? I've known you my whole life, and the person you asked for when you were breaking down, on the verge of passing out, was someone you haven't even known for a year. I don't know. I guess I'm jealous she figured out how to get through to you," A smile tilted his lips, "I wish I knew how she did it. What a breath of air."

I wrung my hands together, still trying to figure it out myself, "She's... Indescribable. Any words I could conjure for how she makes me feel would cower at the sight of who she really is. And god, is she beautiful. When she dances... It's like a breath of fresh air in a world that's trying to manipulate your claustrophobia. With walls closing down on you, she makes a door and pulls you into this world of her own, one that she's created - one that's so much better than anyone could fathom."

"Sounds like you're whipped, man."

"Yeah," I groaned at my admittance, "For a girl who's heart I ripped from her ribs and tore to pieces in front of her. Fucking brilliant."

"You kept the pieces though, right?"

"What?"

"Nothing a little glue can't fix."

"There would still be cracks."

"Weren't there some already there?"

I sighed, moving from the metaphor into realism, "I hurt her."

"You hurt everyone. The difference with this girl is that you'll apologise."

"I... I don't know how to. I just-" I sighed, clenching my jaw as I dropped my head back, "I told her I was going to kill myself, Marco. Even though I told her how much she meant to me. My words are all void to her."

Even at my pessimism, his lips tilted in positivity, speaking softly, "Find new words."