Chapter 7 Dead Man’s Party #2
“Please, Rye!” Cosmo threw the back of his hand against his forehead like an expiring Shakespeare character and fell into Rye’s arms. “My only wish is that the two of you fall madly in love and–”
“Okay, okay! Shhh! I get the message.” Rye pushed Cosmo upright, a finger pressed to their lips. “Déjà is going to hear you.”
Déjà appeared beside them so suddenly that Rye squeaked. Her gaze darted between Rye and Cosmo, suspicion etched into her face. She turned to Cosmo. “We’re going to start. Get your spooky ass up front.”
If Cosmo lingered any longer he was either going to get himself in trouble or cramp the romance, so he pulled the veil over his face, then sat in the front-most pew beside Royce and laced his hands together.
Mom sat next to Cosmo, and he couldn’t tell if her claustrophobic proximity was because she was contemplating that this was his funeral – no matter how alive he was – or because she didn’t like Royce.
If it were the latter, Royce didn’t seem to notice, his attention on his phone.
After this, Cosmo would be someone new. He was embracing death, finality, and the unknown, so he could step into the unknown. It was rebirth, a fresh start, a rise from the ashes. It was frightening, but not so bad with friends and family by his side.
The ghost in his studio hadn’t gotten to choose when his end time came, and judging by the scars on his face, it hadn’t been a peaceful way to go. Cosmo almost wished that man was here, so he could move forward too. Being stuck in Cosmo’s old place couldn’t be the ideal afterlife experience.
And if he showed up, Cosmo wasn’t going to scream this time, damn it.
Déjà stepped up front and opened her arms, revealing chiffon batwing sleeves and an ouroboros drawn on each of her palms. “Welcome, cohorts! Death of any kind – of love, of familiar comforts, of the life we saw clearly laid out for us in our dreams – is violent and painful. Change hurts. But we have to move on because there is no other way. The universe won’t let us be static.
“We are gathered here tonight for our beloved Cosmo Koslov, because it’s his time to move on.
The person he was, the person we knew, has come to an end.
Cosmo has touched us all in some way, and we are better for knowing him.
He needs your love and support to start his journey into a new beginning.
If you’re moved to do so, please come up and tell us how Cosmo has affected you, whether it’s his sincerity, his compassion, his art, or simply an amusing story.
Or if you’d rather keep it private, there are strips of paper and an urn so you can write him a message. ”
Déjà pressed a hand to her heart. “What I love most about Cosmo is his authenticity. Both in his interactions with other people and how he presents himself, he is never fake. He is earnest and passionate in everything he does.”
Cosmo smiled. Déjà started to sit down next to Mom, but Cosmo tugged her into a hard hug. “That means so much to me.”
Others came to the front, sharing stories of how they’d met Cosmo, how he’d influenced their art or their lives.
Ava said Cosmo’s use of mixed media had inspired her to try her own hand at it, and one of her new pieces had sold to a collector for enough to pay her rent for several months.
Bodhi confessed that Cosmo’s unabashed self-expression had prompted vir to come out as non-binary and wear things that ve would have been afraid to otherwise.
Mason said Cosmo had said something so profound to him at a party that he’d decided not to go home and take his life like he’d been planning.
Cosmo had no idea what he’d said or even that Mason had been hurting so much.
By the time people were finished speaking, tears streamed down Cosmo’s face unchecked.
He’d daydreamed about this party being affirming and giving him a much-needed boost of support, but this?
This was far beyond the impact he would have expected to have simply by living his daily life, and it meant that there had been plenty of good in his old life.
So many people wrote on the paper strips to fill the urn that Mom had to cut more. Those messages would be perfect reminders that not every one of his past decisions had been a poor one, and he didn’t need to get rid of all aspects of himself in order to start anew.
Stevie hammered at the synthesizer, kicking it into a full gear party, and people took the cue to get up, drink, and sample the hors d’oeuvres.
Cosmo composed himself enough to join them, but Déjà took him by the arm and pulled him from the church.
Starlight bled through the gauze of his veil, and he pulled it back from his face.
Crickets sawed in the weeds, and a soft orange glow tumbled from the broken windows and into the night.
Stevie’s rendition of “You Spin Me Round” floated with Cosmo as he and Déjà walked around the side of the church.
She stopped behind the building, and he blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust. City lights glimmered in the distance, and cows lowed from a nearby field.
A wooden cross jutted from the soil at the head of an open grave. It wasn’t six feet deep, but Cosmo wasn’t planning on crawling into it and pulling the dirt down on top of himself. Not anymore.
“Did you dig this yourself?” he said.
Déjà snorted. “And break my acrylics? Stevie dug it. She likes that kind of thing. I’m not sure what you want to put in it, but I figured you needed one to complete the illusion.”
It was too bad he didn’t still have that stuffed alligator from the theme park.
“You got anything of Zedd’s on you?” she asked. “Not sure why you would, but that would be appropriate to toss inside.”
Cosmo had thrown it all off the balcony and already trashed the gifts Zedd had given him, except the garnet ring on his index finger. He tugged on it.
“Why do you still wear that?” Déjà nodded her head at the grave. “Drop it in.”
“I like it.”
“But doesn’t it remind you of shit times with Zedd?”
“Not really.”
“Well… Do you want to spit in the hole or something instead?”
“Spitting on my own grave doesn’t seem appropriate.”
“But I thought the point of this was to–”
Footsteps crunched through the brush. Cosmo turned, and his heart caught in his throat.
Zedd approached, hands in the pockets of his suit jacket.
Zedd had never worn a suit in his life. Coupled with his slicked hair and completely unnecessary sunglasses, he looked like a high school’s biggest douchebag headed to prom.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Déjà spat.
“I’m here to pay my respects, what else?” Zedd said.
Cosmo walked toward him and balled his fists. There was so much adrenaline pumping through him that he could barely feel his fingers. “You were not invited, and you can’t be here.”
“I can’t come to my own boyfriend’s funeral? I have rights.”
“‘Rights’ my ass.” Déjà shoved him. “Cosmo isn’t yours.”
“Oh no? Then why, after he said he didn’t want anything to do with me, did he invite me into his place last week? Why did he tell me he loved me? Why did we spend the afternoon in his bed?”
Déjà’s mouth fell open. She turned to Cosmo. “He’s lying. Right?”
Cosmo shrank and spun the garnet ring around his finger. Goddamn it, Zedd. “That was a mistake. And we are not–”
“Cosmo!” Déjà’s voice broke. Her nostrils flared, and even in the dark he could see the utter disappointment in her face.
“I’ve watched this asshole break your heart over and over.
And every time, I let you fall apart on me.
I helped you back up and reminded you of your worth.
And still, and still, you go back to him. ”
He backed against the church and put up his hands. “You don’t understand what happened.”
“Oh, I understand plenty! I helped plan this whole thing for you! I wrote you an obituary and bought you an urn and how are all those people inside going to feel when they find out this whole event is a sham because you aren’t moving on?
Your old life isn’t dead at all. It’s undead, in the form of this stinking, rotting tumor of a man standing here.
And I’m a complete fool for thinking things would ever change.
” She wiped her hands down her face, and the ouroboros inked onto her palms smeared onto her cheeks.
“It’s different this time. It’ll never happen again.” Cosmo’s throat constricted, tension coiling in his limbs. He bared his teeth at Zedd. “Get the hell out of here. Now.”
Zedd scoffed. “Do we have to do this every time we have a little spat? When I went to talk to you, I had every intention of leaving you alone afterward. But you invited me inside. You climbed on top of me and said you needed me because I was the only one who was ever meant for you.”
He’d done that, but no one was listening to him when he said it had been a mistake.
And Déjà didn’t know the horrible things Zedd had said afterward that cemented that realization into Cosmo’s mind.
He turned to Déjà. “I took him back too many times. I know that. But I thought about how my mom had thrown my–”
Déjà let out a snarl and jabbed a finger at Cosmo. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t watch you ruin yourself time and again over this unfaithful malignancy. It’s self-harm, and I won’t be a part of it.”
His mouth fell open. “But you’re my dearest–”
“No. Not anymore. I can’t.” Whirling on Zedd, she said, “The next time you play with explosives during a gig, I hope you blow your dick off.”
“You goddamn witch.” Zedd shoved Déjà, and she fell on her backside in the dirt. “Somebody should burn you at the stake.”
Cosmo slammed his fist into Zedd’s jaw so hard the impact vibrated all the way up his arm.
Zedd stumbled back, his sunglasses askew.
He pressed a hand to his face and tried to speak.
Blood bubbled from his lips. Cosmo swung hard and socked him in the eye.
Zedd swept out his leg and kicked Cosmo in the ankle.
Cosmo folded, and his head cracked against the ground.
White stars burst in his vision; the pain in his skull throbbed so hard he was too stunned to react.
Zedd snatched a handful of Cosmo’s veil and yanked.
It tightened around Cosmo’s throat, and he let out a strangled gasp.
Zedd’s knees dug into the dirt on either side of Cosmo, the taffeta wrapped around his fist. His split lip shone glossy in the candlelight. “Why are you doing this? I love you. We’re going to be together forever.”
He jerked the veil – and Cosmo with it – toward him, then planted a kiss on Cosmo’s mouth. Blood ran down Cosmo’s throat, and he gagged. Groping through the dirt, he grasped the wooden cross. Splinters jabbed into his fingers as he ripped it from the ground and smashed it into Zedd’s head.
Zedd groaned and lost his grip. Cosmo shoved him away and backed into someone’s legs. Royce scooped an arm around Cosmo and hauled him up, then strode for Zedd, who was doubled over on the ground. Royce kicked Zedd in the back. Crying out, arms flailing, Zedd fell into Cosmo’s grave.
“Get up, and I’ll kill you.” Royce scraped a pile of dirt into the hole with one shiny loafer. “Get near Cosmo again, and I’ll kill you. If I ever see your face again, I’ll kill you. Do you sense the theme here?”
The skin at Cosmo’s throat was raw, the back of his skull throbbing and broken nails aching. Royce put his arm around him and led him toward the church. He leaned into the protective hold. Thank God.
He scanned the dark field, hoping Déjà was still nearby.
Was she okay? She couldn’t have meant it, that she was cutting him out of her life.
They’d been friends for years. It couldn’t just end like that.
But if she needed time away from him for her own emotional health, he needed to leave her alone.
He wasn’t going to go back to Zedd, but that didn’t repair the gaping cracks inside him. Déjà had tried to hold them together, but they were too great. And maybe she was right, that the best thing to do was for everyone to leave Cosmo in his disrepair until he broke apart entirely.
Royce led him to the church doors, then lightly took Cosmo’s chin and stared into his face. It was hard to keep eye contact with Royce’s intense blue gaze, but it pinned Cosmo in place. “This is your party. You buck up and hold your head high. Understand?”
He nodded and struggled to swallow the lump in his throat.
The doors opened with a groan. Cosmo squared his shoulders and sucked back his tears. Guests gasped as Royce escorted him up the aisle, then they erupted in applause.
Rye lifted Cosmo’s filthy, shredded veil, their eyes dancing with delight. “Assemblage sculptor, my ass. You are a performance artist. Fantastic!” They raised their drink and turned to the crowd. “Cosmo has crawled from his grave, resurrected!”
Someone pushed a glass of wine into Cosmo’s hand. People patted him on the back and squeezed him in hugs. They showered him in congratulations and wished him well in his newborn life.
But Cosmo wasn’t reborn. All he saw was death.