Sing Out My Soul

My shoulders burned, my arms ached, and my legs were sore and shaking, but I still had work to do as I began sifting through the duffle bags once I’d dragged them into the living room.

To be honest, I’d taken everything I reasonably could and a few things that were probably a bit unreasonable. One of the duffle bags was stuffed with sheets, pillowcases, and a thin blanket, along with a few other knick-knacks that would fit. The other was stuff with the comforter from her, and wrapped inside of that was the sealed metal box from Wallflower’s bathroom.

In the rolling suitcase, I’d put in as much of her clothing as I could. Sweaters, shirts, socks, skirts, jeans, even her underwear. I didn’t leave anything behind. What very little wouldn’t fit in the suitcase was stuffed into the sidepockets of the duffle bags.

Most importantly, though, in the suitcase, was the coil of rope that I’d found on the bed. That, among other reasons, was why I couldn’t have anyone helping me. It would be difficult enough to explain why I’d bothered to grab so much stuff that even I’d be hard-pressed to come up with a reasonable enough lie. I definitely wouldn’t be able to give one that would satisfy someone like Applejack.

As I started sorting, I turned on my phone and finally checked it to find thirty-nine missed calls, seventy-seven missed messages…and fourteen new e-mails? Wow. They were really desperate.

Opening the call log, I tapped the callback for the latest missed call from Sticky Note, then set the phone down and put it on speakerphone.

It only rang once.

//Sunset?!//

His voice came over raw and sharp. It’s funny. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Sticky Note emote that much in all the time I’ve known him.

“Hey, Sticky, I’m uhm…I’m really sorry about bailing on breakfast like that, I know I said I’d be back but—”

//Don’t be sorry, hon,// Bright Eyes voice cut through. //We talked to Chrysalis, we know what happened and we understand, we’re just worried. You scared us, that’s all.//

“I know,” I said as I cracked open the duffle bag and began pulling out sheets and pillow cases, folding them, and setting them off to the side. “But I still shouldn’t have just run off. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

//We know,// Sticky’s tone was back to its usual calm manner, although it was more brittle than I remember it being. //Are you safe? Where are you?//

I pulled the thin blanket out last, gathered it up, then held it up to my nose. It still smelled like her. Tears slipped down my cheeks and I couldn’t stop myself from taking another deep breath.

//Sunset? Are you there?//

“Yeah.” I lowered the blanket and folded that too. “I’m here, sorry, I’m back at my apartment, and yeah, I’m safe.”

//You’re sure?//

“I’m sure.”

It didn’t matter if they believed me so long as they let it drop. I know that they want to believe me and I’m banking on that being enough. People are willing to suspend a surprising amount of disbelief for the sake of the comforting status quo.

//You know you can talk to us if you ever need anything, right?// Bright Eyes said, although his voice was distant, as if he were speaking over his husband’s shoulder.

He probably was.

“I know,” I replied as I opened the other duffle bag, slid my hand into the center of the blanket, and pulled out the metal box. “I’ll call if I need you, and I’ll keep in touch.”

//Luna contacted your friends, have you let them know you’re alright?//

“I ran into Applejack on my way into my apartment, she was posted up like a royal guard pulling a backshift,” I said, forcing a small laugh. “We talked, and I’m sure she’s told everyone that they can go home by now.”

Clicking the box open, I scanned the contents. They didn’t hit me the gut like last time. This time, all I could think about was how much of this I could use. How much was new? How much still had an echo of her fingertips on it? The bandages, linens, and swabs were all fresh and new. The razors were still in their packages.

The box, though. That should be useable, at least. It was old. Clean, but old. Old enough to soak up a lot of imprints.

“Anyway, I’m going to try and get some chores done and eat something,” I said quietly as the silence over the phone line stretched out.

//Do you want us to bring you something?// Bright asked. //You shouldn’t be eating boxed and canned foods all the time. You need something more substantial sometimes.//

I sighed. They weren’t going to let this go. If I kept pushing, they would push back. I had to give a little ground. Just a little.

“Not tonight, but if…if you want to drop off something tomorrow morning, I promise I’ll eat it,” I said.

Hopefully that would be enough.

//I think we can manage that,// Sticky replied before his husband could say anything, and I was relieved to hear that he sounded at least a bit mollified.

It had been enough.

“See you tomorrow, then,” I said.”

As I reached out to push the end-call button, Bright Eyes’ voice came over the speaker. //Goodnight, Sunset, and…we love you, you know that, right?//

My finger froze, hovering over the red button, and suddenly I couldn’t get any air into my lungs. Don’t cry. Don’t sob. Don’t make a sound. Don’t let them hear it. If they hear it then it will all be a waste. They’ll come over and then…

I swallowed back my tears and forced a smile in the hope that they would hear it over the call.

“Yeah.” I was proud of how steady I sounded. “I know.”

I tapped the button, ending the call, and let out a ragged gasp as I stared down at the open box. Later. There would be time later.

Closing it, I set the box to the side and began sifting through her clothes. She was buried in a simple black dress that had been provided by the funeral home. It wasn’t hers and it never would be, not really. These clothes, though. These were hers.

I drew out a sweater, one of many. They were a bit big and kind of baggy, just the way she liked them, and I held it up. I ran my fingers along the soft contours of the sweater, it was striped with alternating brown and tan lines, and I’d probably seen her wear it a hundred times if not more.

“Okay, here we go.”” I muttered as I balled up the sweater in one hand and palmed my geode in the other.

I dipped into the power gradually at first, pulling the power out with a tentative tug as opposed to how I’d been using it lately. Part off me was scared that it wouldn’t respond at all after what had happened in Wally’s apartment.

My relief was palpable as the geode responded as readily as ever, with a warm, amber glow. It built up, then shone between my fingers as I held onto the sweater and buried my face in it.

Be lonely.

I opened my eyes and frowned. Was that it? It wasn’t a good feeling but…but it was something. Still, it wasn’t anywhere near as intense as I’d been expecting.

As I’d wanted.

“C’mon…” I muttered as I clutched the geode tighter and tried to dredge more out of it. “Just…I just want to feel her…” My tears stained Wallflower’s sweater as the amber shone more intensely and—

Be lonely…be tired. Tired of hurting. Tired of crying. Tired of being tired.

Sunset. Be missing Sunset. Wanting her.

Be quiet. Be too quiet. Need to let the quiet out. Need to—

The rest of it faded into static and I let out a snarl of frustration.

“Come on!” I shout.

I gripped the sweater tight in one hand and the geode in the other and focused. I poured every ounce of my drive, concentration, and not inconsiderable stubbornness into the impulse. More. I know there’s more! There was more in that teacup!

More loneliness. More tears. More quiet.

“FUCK!”

I let the sweater fall from my fingers. Why isn’t it enough? It worked when I was holding her cup. It worked when I was holding the razor. Why won’t it work again? Why…

Lowering my head, I shivered.

“You’re still precious to me,” I whispered. “You will always be precious to me.”

A thought occurred to me. A bad thought. Or maybe a brilliant one. I guess bad and brilliant aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive. I’m probably the poster girl for that, actually.

Diving back into the suitcase, I dug out the noose I’d recovered and looked it over. Just holding it made me feel sick. Knowing that this was the last thing she had felt—that this was what had taken her away…no, it wasn’t the ropes’ fault. It wasn’t Wally’s fault either.

It was my fault.

Mine.

I gripped the rope tight and sat back down as I held up the geode, focused its power, and—

Be deaf, dumb, and blind.

Be hearing everything. Seeing everything. Be screaming so loud and so long that my throat tears and the blood drowns me out.

Be numb. Be burning. Everything and nothing all at once. Too much and nothing at all, all at once. It won’t stop. Won’t ever, ever stop. The pounding in the walls of my apartment and the walls of my skull. Won’t stop! Won’t—

—I gasp sharply as I surface, but immediately suck in another breathe and dive back in. I need to know. I need to feel her. I have to—

Be ready. Be prepared. Just in case.

Funny what you keep ‘just in case’. Keep candles and a box of matches ‘just in case’. Keep an extra twenty dollars in your dresser ‘just in case’. Keep a noose, tied and ready, in the closet.

‘Just in case’

Be holding it. It digs into my skin. Scrapes it raw. I don’t feel it. I don’t feel anything at all. Can’t feel it. Can’t remember how.

Wrap the coils around my hands. Should I? Could I? Can’t think. Can’t get the quiet out. Stop thinking. Do it.

Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it.

Black out. Choking. Crushing. Snapping. Biting.

Can’t breathe. Can’t see. Can’t feel. Can’t think. Can’t…C-Can’t! N-No! Stop! STOP IT! STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT! HELP ME!

HELP ME!

SUNSET! HELP ME!

The geode clattered to the ground, trailing tiny spatters of blood from where the rough surface had bitten into my skin again.

“I’m sorry.” The words came out raw and shaky as I clenched my eyes shut. “I…I’m so sorry…”

…shshnshet…

Tears were falling hot and fast as I clutched the coil of rope to my chest and curled over it.

“I tried, I swear I tried.”

…shnset…

“I should have been there, I should have done more, I should have—”

“—Sunset.”

I clamped my mouth shut as the static voice broke through with real clarity for the first time. Was I going crazy? Had I already gone crazy? Was this what going crazy felt like? If it was then maybe it wasn’t so bad, and if it wasn’t then…then maybe there was still time.

Still hope.

“Yes?” I spoke softly, silently begging the voice to answer. To react. To not be a figment of the worst sort of fever dreams.

“Am I still precious to you?”

Finally, I let myself look up, and I almost cried in relief. I’m wasn’t crazy. There’s no way I was crazy. It wasn’t possible. How did I know? Because if I was crazy, and I was hallucinating Wallflower Blush being in my apartment after she hung herself, I would be seeing her the way I remembered her. The way she was for most of our lives.

She wouldn’t have a dark, angry bruise around her neck that was pocked with harsh abrasions. Her eyes wouldn’t be saddled with dark bags and she wouldn’t be wrapping her arms around herself, badly trying to conceal that the sleeves of the sweater she’s wearing is stained almost black from the inside out. I know what’s under those sleeves. I’m not stupid. I know what was in that box and I know how desperate she was on that final night.

Now, though, she doesn’t look desperate. She just looks sad.

Wallflower’s body is limned in a pale, green, gravelight glow, and her hair hangs a lank over her face, but it’s still her. I can see it in her eyes and in those soft lips that never seemed far from a frown.

“Always,” I finally managed with a shaky sob. “Always.”

“I’m sorry.” Wallflower’s voice still had that strange, static hush lingering under every word. “What I did…I—”

“No, Wally, no,” I stood on legs that had gone partially numb, dropping the coil to my feet as I did. “It’s not your fault! I promise!”

She stepped back, her ghostly form flickering faintly, and the lights of my apartment flickered in time with her.

“You saw.”

I nodded.

“You saw everything.”

“And I don’t care!” I stepped closer, holding out my hands to her.

She lingered, flickering in and out, sharpening for a moment, then fading a moment later. I was vaguely aware of the clock radio by my bed emitting a low, static wash, and as she stepped forward, the television flicked on to a channel that was nothing but white noise.

I ignored it all. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she was here.

Wallflower reached out and I almost jumped out of my skin as I felt her touch my hand that been holding the geode. Her hands were cold and left the oddest numbing sensation where her fingers passed. It was like a tiny dose of anesthesia wherever she touched my skin.

Turning my hand palm up, she examined the tiny knicks and cuts, a few of which were still bleeding, then looked back up at me with a plaintive gaze.

“Why?”

I swallowed thickly and wrapped my hands around hers. I didn’t care that it was freezing. I didn’t care that her touch left my fingers and palms simultaneously numb and buzzing with pins and needles. It was her. I was touching her. That’s all that mattered.

“Because,” I said softly. “You’re precious to me.”