Rest Your Head Close To My Heart...
~*~
Prance is absolutely beautiful, and best of all, it's nothing like I expected. That might be because we're avoiding major cities, of course. You think of Prance, you think of all the postcards, the buildings, the extravagant restaurants, the fashion! But that's... not exactly what we want. For one thing, big cities mean a higher chance of getting sick, which is a no-go for my dear Anon. And for another thing, I like small suburbs and villages. It lets me breathe and think. I'm not so overwhelmed. I can take my time and get to know absolutely every little detail or a place, and I won't leave feeling like I've somehow missed something. It feels a little like home once the last day comes.
I have that here, in this small town. Life is pretty good. I should be happy. I am happy. I can tell myself that as many times as needed in order for it to be true.
And yet...
Anon is over on a small soccer field, absolutely destroying some kids at their own game. From what I can tell where I'm sitting on the sidelines, it's all of them versus him. At the moment, he's completely forgotten that they could get him sick, and that this little game could actually spell the death of him. And to see the smile on his face, I'm completely willing to let him run that risk right now.
The five foals practically hang off of him like streamers as he trudges his way towards the goal. They're shrieking orders to each other to hold him back, or at least I assume so based on their tone. He speaks a little of their language, even if I don't, so I'm sure he's saying plenty of choice words as he shouts things back.
I have my own little dumb grin plastered across my face. It's obvious they are not going to stop him, and as he nears kicking distance to the goal, he lets out a truly villainous laugh.
"It's too late now!" He crows, "I am the ultimate warrior! Take this child scum!"
With that, he nets the ball and all of them fall to the field groaning in defeat. He does a short victory lap around the pile of them, cheering for himself. He'd never admit to showboating or bragging, as he thinks that's tasteless and arrogant. But he's not above poking fun at kids. I applaud with minimal enthusiasm, but an affectionate gaze nonetheless.
"Should have let them stop you!" I call.
He pauses only to reset, as if the kids are going to get back up and actually try another charge after that.
"What, and lie to them? Screw that!" he says with a scoff, "They gotta learn somehow! And here, I actually present a challenge. I feel great!"
"At least be nice," I say with a roll of my eyes.
"When have you ever known me to be nice?"
"All the time. Every day."
"This is lies and slander," he says with a scowl, "I am a true and honest asshole at my core and you know it."
"Sure you are babycakes," I call, sticking out my tongue.
"If you start a nickname war with me, you know I'll win."
I shut my mouth at this warning. He's right, he knows how to make the most absolutely disgusting nicknames, dripping in sugar and saccharine condescension. He'd even dare to do it when I least expect it. In bed. I can hold my own, sure, but once we start trading blows that's a game neither of us wins. He takes my silence for yet another victory, and immediately turns his attention back towards the kids.
"Come on, your ball," he urges them, "Get it past me."
When they stare blankly up at him from the ground, he tries again in their own language. Four of them climb to their hooves, looking bleakly determined at least to try. Another rises much more slowly. As he does, I notice he has a small trickle of blood leaking from his nose. He's not crying, but he does look very uneasy.
"Shit," I mutter.
These are feral children. Their parents are god knows where, doing god knows what, and I doubt any of them would appreciate my boyfriend giving one of their little ones a bloody nose or fat lip. Luckily, I've spent enough time in the hospital and enough time as an anemic person that I know what to do.
"Hey...uh...you... uh..." I gesture futilely at the little colt, and eventually, he looks my way. "Come over here."
I point at the bench on the sidelines next to me, and he gives me a quizzical look. I don't know if he can understand me, but he makes his way over to me, red continuing to snake down from one nostril. I pat the bench with one hoof, and he sits.
"You have a bloody nose," I tell him.
More blank staring.
Shit, I'm awkward around kids as it is. Looks like I'm even more awkward with kids in other languages.
I once more aim for pantomiming, holding my hoof to my nose and wiping it. He follows my motions, but makes no move himself. Well, this is getting me nowhere. I reach into my bag and fish out a small pouch of tissues, something I never leave home without just in case I'm the one with a bloody nose. I think this is the first time I've given it to someone else.
"Here," I say, as gently as I can.
I hold the tissue to his nose and use my hoof to tilt his head towards me slightly. I don't pinch the nose shut, and I don't have him lean back. It's not broken, and I don't see any major swelling. So we just put pressure under the nostril and wait for now. He seems a little surprised at my touch, but he lets me do it.
"See, you're doing ok," I say, gently ruffling the back of his mane as I hold his head into the tissue, "You're going to be just fine."
"Thanks," he says lightly.
I simply stare at him.
"You speak English?" I ask haltingly.
He nods, and it's an effort to keep the tissue pressed against him while he does. Well... okay. That's good news, right? Now we can communicate? Still, I can feel my cheeks flush at how weird I must have acted just moments earlier.
"Ah," I say, unsure what else I can say.
"Not all of it. But some," he goes on.
"Ah." I say again.
"My name is Minuit. It's nice to meet you."
"Berry," I say, "Nice to meet you too."
I extend the hoof I was holding to his head and he shakes it. Yet again, terribly awkward, but at least I've made the kid smile. Now, think, what do adults talk about with children? What do they ask? What do kids like to talk about.
"Um... how old are you, Minuit?" I ask.
Sure, real original.
"I'm five," he says, chest puffing up proudly. "My birthday was last month."
"Well, happy birthday!" I say, brightening. "Five is a very important age you know."
"I know," he says, "My mom says it's... how do you say... that I'm grown now."
"Ah," I say with a knowing nod that I am totally faking, "I get you. You're a big boy now."
"Yes," he says, "I have brothers that are older, but now I'm older too like them. So I have more things I do around the house."
"Well, chores do suck, but they're part of being grown. You'll get used to them."
Another silence. My smile wavers on my lips as I fumble for words again.
"Hey, uh, want to know how I know you're grown?" I blurt out, unsure where I'm even going with this.
"How?"
"You... didn't even cry when you got a bloody nose," I say, relieved that I found anything to say at all, "Takes a lot of bravery not to cry when you get hurt."
He looks up at me with big, blue eyes. They shine. They shine in this pure and empty way I cannot even define or describe. I can feel them, feel that behind them is so much space to fill with new experiences and thoughts. There's an honesty there, of a child who does not fully understand yet what a lie is, what death is, what suffering is. It's so damn beautiful that I feel a tightening in my chest. There's nothing like that look from a child. I'd pay all my savings to have someone look at me that way every day. It makes me feel big. And it makes me feel strong, like I could fight off any monster or evil in the world to protect those eyes.
He blinks, and the spell he's unconsciously weaving is broken.
"Thanks!" he says in a near chirp of pride. "You're really nice. Like my mom is."
That is crushingly adorable and kind. The corners of my mouth crinkle. I can't help it.
"That's lovely, thank you for saying that," I say.
"Do you have any kids here?"
There is a stillness that swoops in inside of me. It makes everything around me go quiet. I don't hear Anon anymore, or the kids trying desperately to get the ball past him. I don't hear my own breathing. I just see those big, honest eyes. Waiting. Expectantly. Say something, Berry. Say something simple, quick, before you get too wrapped up inside yourself.
"Ah...no," I say with a careful, calculated smile that is polite at best, trembling at worst, "I don't have kids."
"But you're nice," he says, tilting his head, "Why don't you have kids?"
Like something slitting open a place within my chest. Parts of me separating and splintering into fine threads of sinew and flesh. A harder thud than usual in my heart, one that reverberates through my whole body so I feel it rattle the back of my skull. That's what this question, in this voice, does to me. And It is all I can do not to show it.
"Well," I hear my own voice say, calmly and evenly, like it's miles away from me, "Some people just don't ever have any kids. And that's ok. Ok?"
"Ok," he says, but he's frowning. He's studying my face.
I smile. It's all I can do. I order my body to hold still, I order my eyes to stay dry. My body, slowly decaying and fraying at the edges, chooses this moment to obey me and for once I am grateful to it. It doesn't grant me many favors like this. I must not let this child see any evidence of what I am feeling right now, of the thoughts coursing through me like blood. He must not know. I felt like I could fight off any evils and monsters away from the innocence and honesty I see in him. This is one of the strongest monsters I can imagine, and I will be my bravest right now.
I pull the tissue away from his face, and no fresh red springs forth. The bleeding has stopped, no big deal, just like I thought. He's probably ready to go back out on the field, have more fun. Around me, I can hear sounds beginning to become real again, like time is gradually twisting itself back into motion. My frozen moment is thawing. I've weathered winter.
"Are you sad?" he asks me quietly.
I hate myself. In this moment I hate myself so very deeply. I thought I hid it better. I thought I covered it up. I smile harder, with a guttural effort like it's a battle cry.
"No," I tell him, but my voice isn't as steady as before. "Now, you're all mended. Why don't you go back and play with Anon?"
"Ok," he says.
He gets up off the bench and turns to go.
"Wait," I say, not entirely knowing why I've said this. "One last thing you gotta do."
I mean... yes I do know. I want to hug this child. I want him to hug me back. I want, for a brief moment, to feel like my small kindness mattered, that he won't forget me in an hour's time. I want him to know that he is small, and cared about, and protected, and has such a beautiful bright future ahead of him. I want to feel that in my grasp too. Just for a moment.
"...up top!"
Quickly, I hold my hoof up high, and put on my best signature smirk. He lights up too, and has to jump into the air to reach my hoof with an exaggerated slap. The sound of his small giggle of satisfaction haunts me as he turns and trots away back to the group.
I can only watch him go as the feeling of longing refuses to let go of me. I bite my cheek to keep the tears away. Physical pain is gentle enough right now that it soothes me, and I don't even feel bad about it.
I have never been great with kids. I'm too vulgar. I swear too much, I have no filter, and I don't water things down like I should. I talk to them like they're little adults. I'm not afraid to bark out a short, sharp, yell to get their attention. I'm not gentle enough with my mannerisms. I don't know how to be a good role model. I don't know when to give a hug and when not to.
And yet, as I've been sitting here, watching Anon, knowing I should be happy... I hurt. I've been aching this whole time, deep down, but now it's at the surface and I can't ignore it. It's a primal hurt, something I can't argue with or logic away. I can only sit with it and let it simmer until some part of me turns entirely to steam and lifts away. In this moment, having heard this little foal's questions, I feel full of boiling regret, and yet so empty.
So very, very empty.
There's a physical part of myself, a small section in my abdomen that feels hollow right now, and I place my hoof across it protectively. I want to crush it into me, until it merges and becomes whole again. But I know it won't. It can't. It never will. In an awful, honest way, I know I'll never be properly whole the way I want to be.
Some people aren't meant to have things. I wasn't meant to have this. Sure, I could try to make it happen but with my... situation. It wouldn't be fair. It wouldn't be right. They'd be alone, with no one there for them in a year or two. Before they would even remember my face. And who's to say I even COULD with Anon. We are certainly compatible when it comes to sex, but genetically, who's to say? That's even if he ever wanted this.
We've honestly never discussed it. I think we both knew it was never an option for us, given that we're both time bombs with explosion imminent. There's even a chance he never wanted kids to begin with and hates them, though from what I've seen on the soccer field, I deeply doubt that. I can see a sort of compassion and instinct in him too, even now. But I'll never ask him. I think it would hurt me ten times more if I knew he wanted this too, once upon a time. I couldn't bear to have yet another tragedy in common with him.
I don't really deserve to have this, anyway. I might have, once, but that went away so quickly. I wasn't ready then. I guess I'll never be ready, not really, even if I feel ready in this moment. I've wrecked my body so much by this point. It's probably not hospitable to another life form. Even if that life form was made up partially of me.
Who'd want to be made up partially of me, anyway?
For an instant, I feel so very ugly. I feel old. I feel worn out. I feel every second ticking by so much faster than it should. I wish I had more time. I wish I had enough time to nurture, and raise, and celebrate, and cherish. I wish I had time to watch my belly swell and fill out. I wish I had time to see large, honest, empty eyes stare up at me as if I'm the whole world and even more than that. I have always wished this. Even when I was little, holding a dolly, watching my own mother make breakfast. Even then. I always planned this until...
No. I have to stop. I can't keep wishing and wanting things that I'm not meant to have. I have to let this go. I have to let this go right now, before I'm sucked down into this feeling. My path is set, I can't wander, can't muse over what ifs anymore. I have to realize, have to feel the answer like a slab of cement, sealing off that empty place inside of me:
A finality. The word 'never.'
I blink, and feel the tears threaten. The back of my hoof moves up subconsciously and pushes them away before they can begin any sort of flood. I swallow several times, until my mouth starts to feel dry again.
Never. Say it again. Say it until you stop hoping for a miracle.
I take a few deep breaths. I breathe out through my nose in one long sigh.
Never.
My shoulders unclench, and I realize I've been holding them so taught that my back hurts all the way down to my tail.
Never.
I shut my eyes. Count the letters. Sound out both syllables. Feel the essence of the words. Absorb them in until they're a part of me, running through my veins.
Never.
Until that word is a summary of my very existence. Breathe it in. Breathe it out. Be it.
Never.
When I open my eyes again, I see Anon coming over to me at an easy lope. I give him a half-smile, liking how wild his hair looks and how his cheeks are flushed with the exertion of child-wrangling. He's still so handsome to me. I try not to guess if he's more handsome right now, given the context of what he was just doing. He smiles back at me, still looking self-congratulatory about the absolute stomping he pulled off out there.
"All done being a bad example of sportsmanship?" I say.
"Nah," he says with a shrug, "I'm heading right back out to give them another round, teach them what 'resilience' really means."
Of course, I should have known the kids would quit before he would.
"Then what's up?
"One of the little guys out there said I should come talk to you."
I tilt my head, feeling a sudden lurch of anticipation in my throat.
"Oh?"
"Yeah, said I should check on you for some reason. Was there something you wanted?"
Oh.
Something I wanted.
Was there? Was there something I wanted?
Anon's face falls, his levity gone. I continue to smile as hard as I can up at him as he reaches down to hug me, and I'm grateful he's so much bigger than me. That way, his body can block the view the children have of me. That way, they won't see me starting to cry.
-END-
Author's Note
Hey again. I'm not dead yet and neither is Berry or Anon. Huzzah or something.
I know I don't write stories very much, and I'm sure this isn't the fun update you were probably expecting. But it's one I needed to write. So here it all is, very much similar to the style of "I Wish I Were Dead."
For those of you joining this series for the first time... hey. Sorry. This probably isn't a great introduction to the Broken Love series. There's usually a WHOLE lot more sex involved, I promise. But tonight, I'm letting Berry talk about her future, and that's a rough topic for her. It's likely not relatable to... well... any of you. And that's ok.
For those who might ask: I'm okay. Ish. I'll be okay is the better answer. And I'm not looking talk about this to any more extent than I've written here. Maybe I'm writing for an audience of one tonight. Maybe I'm writing for Berry. Hey, maybe I'm writing for you, and I don't even know it.
It's a... hard thing to feel this way. It's a hard thing to look at where your life is and where it's going, and realize the road you're on is a culdesac. Especially when you often hoped there would be many branching paths for you to travel. Even if there's time, even if you have lots of road left... the route is set. You're on your way. No veering now.
Anyway, I should stop whining in this author's note. It's not terribly like me, and I kinda enjoy my terrible, irreverent, snarky self.
So uh... fuck you guys and all that wonderful usual noise. I hope you all get a splinter on your toe today or something. Vomit, tits, ass, and fetishes! Haha!
...actually, have a great night. Raise a toast to me if you imbibe. I'll raise one to all of you too at the bar later this evening. I could use some time out and about.
And just do me one favor? Never stop going after the things you want.
-Pencil
