Under Branches: V

V; the cat and the bird

    I lie in my bed, Connor next to me. I can hear him breathing, but he's not sleeping. Neither of us can bear to close our eyes longer than a few seconds. All I see when I do is Robin's face and how it had looked when I last saw it; his green eyes both tired and wild; his cheeks white as snow; his mouth downturned, unusual for his smiling and happy disposition. I stare at my phone; one missed call, one voicemail. Both from Robin.

    I caused this.

    "Are you awake?" I hear a quiet voice.

    "Yeah."

    "I'm sorry," Connor says before I hear him sob. "This is all my fault."

    I turn on my side and pull the cover over us. "No, it's not."

    I can't stand him thinking this is because of him, but I can't bear for him to know the truth. I don't dare tell him that this wouldn't have happened if I hadn't made Robin go back, hadn't forced him to look at the ghost. And I know what he was holding at that moment... that unbearable despair that leaves you cold and empty and alone, feeling as if he'd just lost the most important person in his life.

    But why him? Why Robin and not me? Why am I still here and he's...

    We lie together under the sheets until Connor eventually falls asleep. I slip out of bed and down into the kitchen, where I find my mother smoking a cigarette at the dining table.

    She looks alarmed when she sees me.

    "Oh, honey... I didn't realise you'd be up," she says, stubbing the cigarette out on a saucer.

    I sit down next to her. Her eyes are puffy and sore-looking. "This is my fault," I blurt suddenly.

    She looks at me, confused. "No, sweetie, don't think that..."

    "I made him go back," I splutter, and the tears take over again. I hold my face in my hands as I weep.

    I feel a hand on my shoulder. "Kit, nothing you could've done has caused this."

    "Mum, you don't get it. I made him go back to the forest. That's why he wanted to die."

    "Honey, that's just an old folktale. It's not real."

    I weep into my hands, unable to stop, knowing just how real it all is. She's not seen what we saw.

    I don't sleep. I walk Connor home in the morning, but he doesn't say anything. He only shakes and cries, and I hold his hand the whole way home as passers-by look at us in pity, the news of Robin's suicide already the newest village gossip.

    The funeral is in one week. I can't bring myself to listen to my voicemail. I can't bear to hear Robin's last words, recorded merely on a device and not straight from his mouth. I can't hear the pain in his voice as he lay alone and scared in that forest, haunted and freezing.

    Connor appears at my door a few days later with a box of things from Robin's bedroom.

    "His mum wanted us to go through this stuff..." he says. "I couldn't look at it on my own."

    We empty the box out on my bed, looking at every item; every photo frame, keyring, notebook, soft toy. Photos of the three of us, growing up in my back garden. Old diaries, filled with memories from summers passed. The old bear that still smells like him.

    "I know I treated you guys like shit..." Connor says quietly. "But I loved him."

    "I know. I loved Robin too."

    Connor blushes. "No... I mean... I loved him. As more than a friend."

    I stare at him, unable to register what he's just said. "What?"

    "We never... did anything really. We just kissed a few times. But... I loved him so much."

    I blink. "Connor, I had no idea."

    He smiles. "I don't think he really felt the same. That's just the kind of person he was... just going along with whatever I wanted. He just didn't want to hurt my feelings." His smile fades quickly. "But nothing he could've done would have hurt as much as him doing this."

    I pull him close to me, holding him tightly as his tears soak into my t-shirt, warm at first and then cold on my shoulder. I let my own fall freely, wishing I could understand what Connor is feeling but at the same time knowing.

    The funeral seems to catch up to us quicker than we want. It feels like we have no time to process or organise our feelings, and yet I can't wait for it to be over. All through the service, all I can hear is I'm never listening to you again on repeat. Over and over and over. It gets louder and louder as I stare at the priest and then Connor and then the headstone. Over and over, until we're throwing lilies into an open grave as Robin's family watch and then everyone starts dissipating across the graveyard towards their cars, hands gripped to others', tear-soaked faces still in disbelief at yet another suicide. "And one so young," I hear from a woman whom I'm not even sure knew Robin. Just another funeral show.

    I'm never listening to you again.

    The day is grey, tempting the clouds to open with rain. But the downpour doesn't start until I'm in the forest, and I don't know how I got here. I'm staring at my phone, my hands shaking, droplets of water forming on the screen, be they tears or raindrops.

    I call my voicemail.

//    As the sun rose the following morning, I couldn't help but watch the light as it touched your soft skin while you lay in the bed, your back to me, my arm under your neck, your long, soft curls tucked under with it. All I could think was how wrong this was, in so many ways, but I had never felt so full in all my life.

    I ran my fingers over your shoulder, both hoping to wake you and not. But as you stirred, sighing gently and rolling on to your back, I felt that stab of emotion in my stomach for you.

    You gazed at me as you turned toward me. "You're awake."

    I didn't stop myself reaching for your face. I feared you would flinch away, realising what a disgusting thing we had done. But you didn't.

    "Lian..." you uttered with a demure smile on your lips, the kind that sent my heart fluttering into tiny particles.

    I squinted at you. "I'm sorry?"

    "That's what I want to call you from now on. I want to call you something that only I will know."

    "And what shall I call you?" 

    The light was catching your eyes like fire, illuminating your face like a deity. You shook your head slightly. "Whatever you'd like."

    "Kit." I smiled widely at you. "I like that."

    "Okay, my beautiful Lian." You brought your lips to me then, sending me back into the flames of your love, setting the room ablaze. I'd never felt so hot in my life as I did then, with your body against mine, and your hands touching me so tenderly.

    We lay together for some time that day, barely leaving the bed. But by the time darkness fell, you were tearing yourself away from me.

    "I really should get back home..." you told me as if going back home was the worst thing imaginable to you. "I'm worried my assistant will come looking for me."

    I nodded, not really wanting to understand, but not wanting you to leave either. I was scared that if you left me alone with my thoughts, I'd realise what I'd done. And it hurt me to watch you go.

    It didn't take long for you to return to me. Every Sunday after, you would take me home in your carriage and you would stay with me for hours. We would make love until we were sore, and then we'd swim in the lake to cool down. This lasted for many weeks, and I battled with the consequences daily. Every Sunday, I'd see you with your wife, your beautiful and talented wife, but still, you chose to take me home, take me to hell and back with you.

    It was September before our love began to fall apart. You came to visit me for an extended time, after telling Claudia you needed to travel to another village to help a friend of your father's. Of course, that was only an elaborate lie, and you spent two nights revelling in my body.

    "I need to get back," you said to me on the second morning. "Claudia is waiting..."

    "I wish you wouldn't say her name."

    "What do you want from me, Lian? She's my wife." Your voice was so cold as if you hadn't just spent the last two days telling me you loved me.

    I bit down on my lip, trying to pull back on the sharp tears stinging the back of my throat. "I know that."

    "And you!" You threw your hand out at me accusingly. "You're supposed to be a man of God."

    You clenched your fists as I wrapped the bed sheet around me, trying to protect myself from your painful glare.

"Kit, please."

    But my plea didn't soften you. You began to grab your clothes.

    "I should... stay away for a while. We need to fix this."

    I nodded, my eyes now completely drowning, my rosary digging into the palm of my hand.

    Yes. We were broken souls. But it's your fault, Kit. You made me like this. You brought me to Hell with you, tore me into tiny little pieces. 

    Please, Kit. Take the dagger you stuck in my aching throat. Take the arrow you launched at my shattered chest. Take them and bring me back from this death you sent me to. 

When you left that evening, you took my heart with you. I was never so broken as I was that night, watching you hurriedly dress in your shirt and trousers, both creased from laying in a pile for two whole days. I envisioned Claudia chastising you when you arrived back at the cottage, playfully patting you with a rolled-up parchment from her writing lessons. And then you'd smile at her because you absolutely love her, and tell her to let her flowing red hair down because her lesson was over. She'd bring you clean garments to change into, thinking you'd been travelling for hours in the clothes you are wearing.

    But as I drifted into a painful slumber that night, I heard a knock on my door. At first, I thought I was dreaming, until another hurried knock came. I wrapped my coat around me quickly, concerned at the urgency of the battering. But when I opened the door, there you stood; soaked to the bone from the rain, your long hair in dark, wet tendrils around your sunken shoulders.

    "What are you doing here, Christopher?" I asked, not daring to utter my name for you.

    Your face was damp not only from the storm. "Lian... I am so sorry..." you uttered, falling into my arms. I closed the door quickly and held you close. "Know that I love you. I love only you, my Lian. I am yours."

    I could feel the tears and rain soaking through my gown, probably ruining it for service. But I couldn't care. All I wanted was to feel your body against mine again.

    "I love you, my Kit."

    I carefully undressed you, afraid of what death you'd catch in your wet clothes, and hung them by the fire. You shivered as I wrapped a cotton and down blanket around your shoulders, drawing me into you to keep you warm. But your teeth chattered still, and I could see a paleness in your face that was not only despair. I let you sleep, and in the morning, your eyes were still as dark.

    "Lian." Your voice was a mumble as I readied some porridge on the stove.

    "What is it, my love?"

    "Claudia... she's pregnant."

    A cold chill came over me. I dropped the spoon in the pot. "How long?"

    "It must be a few months. We haven't made love since..." Your voice trailed off. I knew what you were going to say.

    "Is that why you came here?" I slowly began stirring again, trying not to hit the spoon off the sides of the pot in my irritation. "Is that why you spent so many days?"

    "I needed to escape."

    "I thought you came because you loved me." I couldn't hide the bitterness in my voice. My heart was breaking inside me, and you could probably hear the shattering every time I opened my mouth.

    You sat up quickly. "I did! I do. Lian... please. You know once this baby comes, I won't be able to come here as much." You paused. "If at all."

    I stopped stirring and moved the pan off the burner. "At least you won't need to fix us then."

    We locked eyes. I could see the no longer masked pain in your gaze, and it broke the final piece left of my heart.

    "Well..." You looked away from me. "Maybe we should be apart for a while regardless."

    "Do you wish to kill me? Is that it?" I suddenly cried out, unable to hide the fragments of my soul. "Do you? If so then just pierce me with this knife!" I grabbed a hunting blade from the table and held it to my chest. "Just do it now, Kit, because I can't bear this any longer!"

    You darted from the bed and grabbed the handle, throwing it back on the table. "Don't say such things!" Your anger was short-lived. You pulled my face towards you and kissed my lips so sweetly it was almost out of place. "I love you more than I can take. Please believe me." You traced your fingers through my unbound hair. "I wish I were no longer a man, and you no longer of God."

    I gently pushed your hand away.

    "But I feel different. I don't wish to change us at all."    //