Brook X GN Reader || I'm The Grim Reaper

Chapter 67

It's never a good idea to have your entire world revolve around one single person who will die one day. I learned that over a hundred years ago, and I haven't forgotten the feeling. The feeling when late-night conversations, gentle touches on rough and burning skin, and heavy breathing in vast rooms of large houses became nothing more than memories.

When I realized that I would never feel the need to be closer to him when every inch of our skin was on one another's, but a different kind of closer to the point that I could at least see the features of his face and clothes. It was like drowning.

Although, I think the second time I felt that was much worse than the first, even if the circumstances were very different. I knew he wasn't dead, but all of those things I had lost all over again. I was cursed to see his face without ever being able to touch each other like we used to, having to watch his eyes glaze over with hatred and disgust every time we had crossed paths.

And, as much as I hated that, I had to respect his wishes.

He was the only person I ever loved, and if this was what he wanted I would let him have it. So, I acted the same. Energetic, annoying. It took me a few days to come to the conclusion that maybe acting as if my world was over would make him feel bad. I didn't want him to forgive me. He felt bad because he had every right to be angry with me. Of course, he did.

I think he always knew, though, because of that one time we ran into one another a few days after I had stopped locking myself in random people's houses, reaping them with no regard and wallowing in self-pity and hatred. It was the first time we had seen each other since we had had our argument. When we had both said some things that we couldn't take back or erase from our memory.

I was so close. So close to keeping my composure, and I could have if I hadn't watched him. Initiated eye contact. The second our eyes locked I knew I had no chance, and when my body was overwhelmed with static like everything had fallen asleep, it was real. It was so, so real.

And I could hear everything around me, of him, screaming my name and civilians screaming as a wreaked havoc around the street. And when I finally brought myself back by reminding myself that he was here. He was still there sticking in the area, that he wasn't worried about the civilians so it must have been me.

When I came back my face was wet. I thought it was blood, but the blood was mingled with tears and everyone was dead beside me and him and he stood watching me with this look on his face that I still couldn't quite place, even if we had been together our entire lives.

He had taken away everything from our old lives beside me. His name, belongings, besides that stupid bandana around his head that made him look like a rabbit. He blinked at me and I blinked the tears away and turned around. I got lucky that I hadn't blown my cover already, or had gone too far to be returned to.

That night, I returned to the place where it had all gone down as quietly as possible. Everything had been cleaned up and the air was grim of tragedy, the gravestones in the backyard clean with fresh flowers littering the ground around them. Even mine had my favorite flower on it, and when I went into the house I found Vanessa sobbing in the main room.

The guilt that went through me was too much to deal with, and I found my room. Everything was how I had left it, and I searched for the box under my bed beneath the floorboard. I had cried too, that night when I opened the box and went through everything in it. The black and white photos and small paintings of me and Alicia and Oliver. The ones with Alex, now Brook, when we weren't separated and were both alive and had no idea of anything. He didn't have a sinners mark.

He was doing this for Natasha because he loved her and wanted a purpose despite what she did to him that night. So I would treat him with the same respect of not bringing it up or trying to fix things. Instead, I put a photograph of us in the small wallet I carried in my back pocket. It helped me a lot over the years whenever I saw him, and I only lost control twice after that before finding better ways to handle it.

I pretended I didn't see him more often than he probably wanted to speak to me, watching me converse with people in the supermarkets and flower shops. Looking around trees and buildings when I walked around the city that we both stayed in.

I tried to travel, but could never find myself able to. He wasn't near me and I could feel it and I needed him close to know that he was okay.

When we met for civil conversations when technology became a thing, we explored it together. I don't know why, but when we ran into each other, I tried to refrain from fighting with a normal and happy mood. Sometimes I got him to smile, if I was lucky I got him to laugh, and I took as many photos as I could in case this was the last time and made sure there were ways he could remember me if Satan decided that he was done with messing with us and returned me to my sentence.

I picked his usernames and over the years invited him out, sometimes actually forcing him. And I knew he was warming up to the idea, that maybe he was over it, and then he did something stupid and we fought and I yelled and we wouldn't talk for a few years.

When he said he had forgiven me it felt like a huge weight had gotten off of my shoulders, and I had to resist the urge to pull him into my arms and - I don't know, just hold him, kiss his hair and tell him how much I missed him.

But, I'm sure he already knew that.

(WORDS: 1097)

In the meantime, Scarlet almost kills Chase. He apologises, they have a romantic moment and Scarlet gets sent back to the Ninth Level because she didn't kill him.