Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
FOREST
Silence is defined by the absence of sound, but the dictionary is wrong. Silence screams louder than the quietest quiet, tension threatening to tear through the fabric of reality. Silence is loneliness, shards of glass ripping open the heart.
I stand atop the stage at the back of the temple, one hand gripping the edge of the wooden casket.
It’s been so long since I’ve been here. It’s one of the many things I’d forgotten all about.
In about an hour, the front doors will part open for a sea of a hundred to pay their respects before we lock my father in a tomb beneath the manor.
His forehead is cold to the touch, but hell, he’s always been a cold person. Distant, impossible to reach beyond the surface. He’s pale, a ghost no longer with us. A few decades from now, he’ll be nothing more than another painted face on the wall in the dining room.
Despite the circumstances that surrounded me from a young age, I’ve never been good when it comes to death. I’ve never been good at knowing what to say or what to do. I’m told a funeral is my last chance to say goodbye, but who the fuck am I saying goodbye to?
It’s just a fucking body. No soul, no ability to feel, to think, to love, to hate. And yet, with his worn eyelids closed forever, I feel more love from him than I ever did in life because he can’t tell me how disappointed he is in me.
I stand here wondering how close he and Tucker became after I left.
They must have been pretty fucking close to get married, no matter how much Tucker insists it was a sham to block my cousins from the throne.
My father knew I wasn’t like the other boys from a young age.
It was one of the very few things he didn’t hate me for.
My weakness had nothing to do with my pining for cock.
It was about everything else. I was never a good fit for the torch to be passed to.
The dissociation that comes from a lack of sleep is a blessing and a curse. The energy expenditure required to grieve could power entire civilizations, and yet, most of us choose to do nothing good with it. We opt to wallow in things that cannot be undone.
Grieving. Is that the word?
I’ve never loved anyone or anything, nor have I ever been touched by love.
Lust. Desire. Envy. But never love.
The feeling of a cock coming inside me is the closest I’ll ever get to heaven.
Behind me, the double doors part open, scraping over the uneven cement.
The last remnants of daylight flood around the shadowy silhouette of a man.
I don’t even need to turn around to know it’s Tucker.
He carries a certain scent, woodsy and dangerous.
More than that, we’re like magnets separated only by the limits of what we’re willing to do.
With every step he takes towards me, his shadow increasingly falling over the casket, the tension intensifies.
Pulling.
Prodding.
I remember now why it took me so fucking long to run away the first time.
A sudden gust of wind whips against the doors, pulling them to a close as a howl of wind whistles through the cracks in the wood.
I can’t bear to look at him as he approaches. “You told me he was on a retreat.”
The sound of him scratching the back of his head feels like knives on my own skin. He chuckles quietly. “A retreat in the spare bedroom.”
“You said he was up north.”
“He was up, upstairs, which was technically north from where we were standing when I said that. And he was sleeping for a while, so I’d consider that a retreat.”
I can’t discern if he’s trying to be cute or badly trying to lie his way out of this. Judging by his muted chuckle, I’m leaning towards somewhere in between. “How the fuck do you expect me to trust a word you say?”
“A little birdie saved your life.” He shifts his body against mine and wraps an arm around each of my shoulders, holding me by my chest. “I’m that bird.”
His bare chest against my bare back. Out here in the wilderness, we bury the dead in as little clothing as possible. For men, that means bottoms but no tops. For women, that means floor-length, strapless gowns.
“I prayed every day for years you’d come back.” His breath is hot on my nape. “Your timing is awful.”
I break free from him, turn on my feet, and confront him. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“I mean…” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his uncharacteristically clean jeans.
“You left us all here to die. You disappeared without saying goodbye, without telling anyone where you were going. We didn’t know if you were dead somewhere in the wilderness, dead somewhere out there.
” He inches forward, eyes narrowed. “This place should be mine.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, you can have it!” I shove past him. “Take the fucking throne. I don’t know how to make it any clearer to you that I’m not sticking around. I’m leaving in the morning.”
He smirks, or something like that. “You know it’s not going to let you leave, right?”
“No power nor man can stop me.”
“And when you’re still here in the morning? When you’re still here for the passing of the torch in a week’s time, how will you answer the call?”
I say nothing.
He circles a finger in my direction. “That wooden crown tattooed around your hairline tells a truth you’re too scared to admit.”
“Please enlighten me,” I scoff. “What truth is that?”
“You never really left this place. You were always bound to find your way back because you are the chosen one. I was an idiot to think this place would ever be mine.”
“You’re an idiot for a multitude of reasons, so don’t sell yourself short.” I pinch at my eyebrow piercing. “Now, can you please let me say goodbye to my father before the cult of brain rot marches through those doors?”
He nods and takes a step back. “Not letting you out of my sight.”
I roll my eyes as he takes a seat in a pew in the front row, his arms stretched out over the back. The death stare I glare in his general direction does nothing to deter him from watching me. I turn back to the body with a sigh.
A forest of grey hair on his chest peeks out from underneath the green cloth that covers my father’s naked body. The fabric is wrinkled over his elbow, so I pull it tight to fix it. His eyebrows could use a fucking trim and his hair is raggedy as hell.
Every time I move my mouth to say goodbye, the words don’t come out. Stuck on the tip of tongue, or somewhere in the back of my throat. How do you say goodbye to someone you barely know anymore?
“I don’t know how to do this,” my voice cracks.
“I don’t know if I should be thankful I get the chance to say anything at all or if I should be resentful that you took this same opportunity away from me when Mom died.
I’ve learned a lot about myself out there in the real world.
I learned about the way things are supposed to work, and that makes me look back on my time here and how nothing was as it should have been. So much of my life is gone, wasted.”
I grit my teeth and pause to collect myself.
A lump swells in the back of my throat. “You did that. That’s your burden to take to the grave with you.
For your sake, I hope you’re right that there’s nothing waiting on the other side.
I hope you’re nothing more than dirt, a part of this place forever.
The alternative, if you’re wrong, is an eternity burning.
” I take a quick glance at Tucker, who watches intently at first but then diverts his gaze away when he catches me looking.
“Someone is after us all for the things we did when we were kids. Stupid fucking kids. Things we shouldn’t have done, but things that would not have been done if it weren’t for you, if it weren’t for this place. ”
I bow my head and close my eyes, tears welling up in the corners.
“I don’t know if I’m sad you’re dead, but I know I’m angrier than hell that someone did this.
That they took away my only chance for answers.
I’ll never know why this is the life you chose to live, and why you trapped us here with you.
Why the fuck am I crying?” I sniffle, dragging the side of my thumb under my nose.
“I haven’t cried since Mom died. When you punished me for it, for being weak. ”
I reach into my pocket, grab the stopwatch he gifted me for my tenth birthday, and drape it over his chest. “What’s the difference between a compass and a clock?
” I shake my head and exhale. “A clock is a bomb on borrowed time. Time will always run out. But I could run forever and more south, or north. I could run and run, and fucking run some more, and I’ll never run out of places to go. ”
I pound my fist on the wooden side of the casket, a desperate attempt to fight back the burning sensation in my eyes and the quivering of my lips.
It’s no use. Tears stream down my cheeks, settling at the base of my jawline.
The wetness pools there until it’s too heavy, and rains down onto the green blanket.
I duck down and plant a soft kiss on his cold forehead. “Goodbye, Dad.”
The wooden bench behind me creaks and then Tucker’s shadow hangs over me. I can’t face him. Not like this. I drag my hands over my face, trying to wipe away the evidence of emotions, but it just makes my cheeks feel sticky, and the tears haven’t stopped anyways.
Tucker moves forward, finding an opening between the casket and me.
He wraps his arms around me and pulls me in for a tight hug.
In the library of my shitty memory, this has never happened before.
I choke back a sob against his shoulder, and he holds me tighter with his big strong hands on my back.
I’m not strong enough to break away from him if I wanted to, but the thing is…
I don’t want to move. I want to stay here in his arms for as long as I can, and that fucking terrifies me.
He runs a hand over the back of my buzzed hair and settles there.