Graveyard Blues [Brallon]

Strange Love

[i hate having like 1 actual chapter published so here's uno más]

The animal I buried in the backyard was killed unintentionally, unlike the other ones. Brendon was driving home after the movie premiere, and he ran over a rabbit down the street from the house. He cried for over an hour, and I had to drive the last hundred meters into the driveway. I scooped it up with a dust pan as soon as he went inside to watch from the window, took it out to the yard porch, and decided to bury it in the early morning when he wouldn't see.

I don't feel sad or remorseful in any sense of the word. Not when I had to wash the stained blood off my hands for half an hour, not when I went upstairs to find him still devastated. He'd told me he was upset its babies would have to grow up with it, and I tried to tell him it was a male rabbit and the mother was still likely to be alive. He didn't like that. He didn't want them to lose a parent all together.

I dug a hole for it through the thin layer of snow underneath large tree closest to the porch, right beside a garden snake from last week and a bird from a month ago. It was a small collection, but growing quickly since we moved in a handful of months ago. Before, I lived alone near a pet cemetery, so I could get away with things more often. Then we both stayed in an apartment complex for a year just outside of the town we were filming in and I was not allowed near any animals. Since then, it has been a nice balance.

The snow crunches behind me and I freeze with a pile of cold soggy dirt in my hands. We have a gardener, who I frequently forget exists. He may not be a fan of what I'm doing.

"Did you name him?" Brendon mumbles. I turn around to see him wrapped in a large plaid blanket, wearing raccoon slippers and old Halloween socks. He's still tired and on the verge of passing out while standing.

"No. It's a wild animal, and now it's dead. Giving it a name would be stupid. Even if you named it when it was still alive, it doesn't understand English and a name would therefore be pointless."

He doesn't respond for a moment. "I wish I could see inside your mind for just a minute."

"You do. I narrate my thoughts so you know exactly what I'm thinking and to comfort you into knowing I don't consider murdering you or my various coworkers in disturbing ways."

"Good to know. But I think," he sits down next to me and reaches to put the blanket over both our shoulders, "we should give him a name. I still feel bad."

He's too sensitive and emotional. From what I am told, I mimic concern whenever he's around to care about everyone and everything. It's like he's running for mayor of nothing all the time.

"Waffles the rabbit. That is what I was planning on eating for breakfast. It's a perfect name, yes?"

"I... It's cute, but you really can't think of anything more personal or human-like than that?"

"Not really. I don't see the point of giving it a name in the first place. I think you should go inside, and I can just bury it. Out of sight, out of mind."

Reluctantly, he gets up and takes his half of the blanket to tuck around my body. "Well, just come inside as soon as you're finished. Hayley is going to be here in a bit to take the clothes from last night to the dry cleaners."

"Why can't she do it tomorrow?"

"She has finals at the end of this week. It's twice as bad in university than it is in high school, and she has to start studying as soon as possible. You wouldn't know."

I was more than capable of breezing through college, but Brendon said it wasn't a smart idea considering I was still experiencing strong urges to break laws and do other undoubtedly illegal things. A little while later, I had a big break in a small but successful film while he was struggling for an English degree, and the career I was forced into had taken off.

"Go back to bed. I'll be there in a few minutes."

It's silent again once the snow stops rustling under his slippers and the sliding glass door swishes shut.

He was so sad. It was just a rabbit, and it was an accident. He felt remorse and earlier, he was angry that he hadn't been watching the road as carefully as he should have. It's a complex structure.

I didn't understand. The concept of mourning was never something I fully grasped or had even been able to mimic properly. I never played those scenes on screen.

I would say my thoughts aloud for him so he could try to understand what I was thinking, as per his request. It helped over the years, especially as I tried to adjust to endless gossip websites using my name in their headlines as they inspect my every move. It was easy to act, but twice as difficult to hold a facade in front of a couple dozen cameras broadcasting live to every television in the country. I'd done such a good job, fans would defend me against those who had their suspicions.

I wish I cared. I do care, in a sense, but not in the way everybody else does. I still can't comprehend why so many people take a liking to me, including Brendon. I don't reciprocate any of the feelings he has for me. The only thing I do is financially support him and provide substantial advice for the issues in his immediate family. He says love is strange but always right, and I keep quiet.

The snow covering Waffles is uneven and packed in too tightly. It doesn't blend with its surroundings. I take the blanket and leave the pile there, because I know its insignificant and easy to explain what happened. It's not like I killed it intentionally, but I generally don't normally do that to animals in winter. It's too easy to spot a grave when there's snow on the ground.

Up in bed, he's already asleep, snoring and hugging a pillow in the process of losing its casing. The curtains are drawn and the room is bathed in dark red, crimson sheets pulled up to his chin with an arm resting on my side of the mattress. His iron levels are severely low all the time, and in turn, he is always tired and drained.

He tried to explain what it meant to care for somebody once. It took just about a week, six PowerPoint presentations, and a couple videos so I could get the gist of it. He's genuinely the one thing I care about, and in a way I still don't care about him. He knows, of course, and I think he believes I have emotions specifically for him. I don't.

I roll into bed and move his arm to his side so I don't crush it. He scoots over a little bit and tosses his arm back over me, and I don't push it off again. He likes the intimacy, but I don't, and I ignore it for his sake.

The front door unlocks and I hear Hayley singing to herself as she tidies up the slight mess we've made in the kitchen. Her voice is stunning, and she's in the process of writing her own songs for a garage band. I told her I would try to pitch her music into the film industry, but I still don't know if she'd dig a space for herself in such a tight spot. She was thankful either way.

Booming vocals turn to quiet hums as she slowly inches the door to the bedroom open to grab the pile of clothes we need to be dry cleaned. It's not very much, but she still struggles lifting it all off the carpet at once, but she gets it eventually.

The wad of cash we left for her on top crinkles in her jeans pocket and she tiptoes out back downstairs and out the front. Her little Volkswagen bug starts and she drives away with the bass thumping the wires from her speakers.

"Did you wish her luck for finals?" Brendon mutters into his pillow just loud enough for me to make out the words.

"No."

"People like to hear that. It's a nice thing to say."

"I don't see why. I don't have any real powers to change her luck, and I can't inspire her to study. It's a meaningless phrase."

He sits up and squints at me, like he's trying to analyze what makes me tick, and I think for a moment he really is until he smiles a bit and rolls his eyes. "How have people not figured you out yet?"

I shrug and pull him back down to bed. "I'm just a fantastic actor, I guess."