NUT DA NUTTAH - Boreo (OLD)

Chapter 120~ collar

((Warning. Sexual references and mentions))

"Lizzie Borden took an axe.
Gave her mother forty whacks.
When she saw what she had done
Gave her father forty-one."- (unknown)

Goodbye.

A word I had never been used too.
Even if it's a goodbye for a few days, weeks, months...forever... Theo had never been that used to the thought of it. That's why her death was a major shock and a wave of emotional stress and mental illness. Having to say goodbye to her. Seeing her face in the casket, standing over it with flowers in a shaky hand, the other making sure my husband and didn't leave my side. I had to be put in the car towards the end of it. I just curled up in the backseat and cried, making the fabric of my clothing a darker shade. The puddle of tears getting bigger until I heard the creak of the car door, and Boris's red face. He didn't hesitate to sit next to me. I just fell on him. Wanting to be held like he always held me and shushed like some sort of child. He kissed my face a couple of times. "It's my fault!" I screamed at him. His eyes widened. "Shh, Shh. No it's not Potter." He replied in a whisper. I couldn't reply, I was way to sad. Words only came out as murmurs and screams only sounded in my head.
The whole situation reminded me of my mother, the bombing, the therapy, and the suffering and I was stressed out. I had begun to hyperventilate until Boris calmed me down by turning on some music.
I could see the bags under his eyes, an obvious symptom of his new medicine. "I'm going to get some food. You should eat." Boris said, somehow his hand had sneaked up my shirt. He felt how my ribs were obviously showing. He laid me back down and got into the drivers seat. He wiped his tears with his shirt and started to drive. Looking around and trying to find any fast food places to help cheer me up.

~time-skip (next day)~

I sat in my room, crying. Boris had run to the store to get stuff for sunburn. Since I've had them literally everywhere since I'd been here.
I didn't know he was back until I felt a sudden presence filled of love and a tap on the shoulder. "What's wrong?" He whispered, I wiped my eyes with the back of my hands and looking him straight in the eyes. His perfectly combed raven curls. Reflected the orange setting sun.

God. He's a peach scone.

"Just a little rusty from the funeral." I said, tilting my head to the side. He had been wearing short-shorts and these bright navy blue socks all day I had noticed, the soles of the socks had been stained with dirt and dust, since he constantly wore them, he never got rid of them though. I noticed a weird bruise on his hips that o asked him about on the day where the air conditioning had been unbearably uncontrollable. We felt as if we were surrounded by fire, and we had to sleep with the least amount of fabric on our bodies. "Oh yeah! I hit my hip on that table corner." He said laughing. "That goddamn table." I replied, running my hand over the bruise, since he had beautiful well-controlled pale skin. Cuts and bruises were very easily caught by the naked eye.
Beside those features. He always had a soft side to him, where he'd be reading a poem book in the middle of the day. Or how he'd take the time to put a blanket over me or carry me to put bedroom when I had accidentally fallen asleep on the couch. Some days he'd slowly and carefully carry me. Other days he'd throw me over his shoulder and not give a crap about my sensitive ass. But I still loved that douchebag anyways, even on the days he was pure drunk and all the could talk about were sex jokes he had picked up on his journey of so-called 'life'
He's basically claimed dominance on our bed. Taking up most of the bed unless I was willing to cuddle. If not. I'd end up on the floor. "Bae?" He'd say to me. Bring me out of my wonderland of thoughts and back into the room where I'd been crying and waiting for that medicine to come my way. I twirled the bottom of my shirt between my fingers. "Blanked out. Sorry." I stated without a glance his way. Day rattled through the light blocking curtains that hung from the wall, but shifted my focus back onto his worried expression. I still didn't understand how he danced quietly throughout yesterday like nothing.
I could handle grief back then, whole pools of it actually. I was used to it. But the death of My beloved daughter reminded me of the lick of the flame from the rose-scented candles from my mothers funeral. Oh, how the substance played with the air. Making its way up, and becoming sensitive to any wind gusts around it. Boris pulled me into his warm embrace. My eyes drooped. Feeling like heavy weights. I only could hear Boris's shushing, exactly like a mother trying to get a weeping child to sleep which calmed me down. Somehow, we had made our way shoulder-length under the covers. He had his hand on my shoulder.

God I felt tipsy.

This is Theo Decker, signing off