“It’s okay. It’s okay,” I whisper in his ear, my face pinned against the back of his head.
His body eerily jerks. Any other time I would have been scared out of my mind, but in this moment my first inclination—my natural inclination—is to comfort him. I squeeze him and rain scant kisses from his face to his neck, not in a salacious manner, but a soothing one instead. We stay this way for long minutes until I’m able to coax him back down into the bed and shower him with words of assurance and comfort as he does me when my nightmares surface. It works. Azmir is asleep in my arms within minutes, breathing softly. This time I don’t return to my corner of the bed. I remain at his side until we’re both awakened by sunlight.
The next few days are similar to that night. Azmir is a ghost of himself, somewhat despondent, uncharacteristically taciturn. He goes about his days, but I’m worried about him, constantly checking in with Brett who reports of his reticent behavior, but assures that his business astute is still intact. I orchestrate shorter workdays, even covertly contacting Richard, his Global Fusions partner, to take on Azmir’s travels for the next week at least. Azmir is so aloof that either he doesn’t realize his early arrivals home to me at night or doesn’t have the energy to fight me on it. He retreats into his office until I call him for dinner and a bath. We do lots of quiet bath time. The silence doesn’t disturb me at all; I have my own cross to bear…alone.
The day to put Kid to rest arrives. It’s the greyest day, reminding me of Michelle’s funeral. Azmir’s rigid the entire event. I almost feel every bunched muscle of his frame as I sit just about underneath him the entire service. It’s a sad event. I’ve never seen so many hardcore thugs, bawling into their knees in one place. Their wails are frightening loud pitches. It makes me clench to a stoic Azmir even tighter.
Azmir holds it together well. He and Petey sit tall and military-like, just behind Syn and Kid’s immediate family during the service. They don’t flinch and hardly blink. I don’t know how they’re able to hold a public face. I know Kid’s death is taunting Azmir within. I’m not able to hold onto my tears. They seep of their own will. Kid was such a respectable guy to me. Of his memory, all I can think of is his little bop in the club in Vegas for his birthday. He held his bottle of bubbly, contently smiling and dancing blissfully by himself.
~~~~~~~~~~
Rayna
“You gotta get duke up outta here, Rayna,” I hear from just behind me, perhaps a little too close because it startles me.
I nearly leap in place before turning around to find a pensive Petey, peering into me. We’re standing in the hallway of Syn and Kid’s home, facing their kitchen. People are moving all about the house, attending his post-repast gathering. Children are running about. There’s a game of football going on outside with thuggish men, sporting casual attire, attempting something appropriate for a funeral. Azmir has been standing here for nearly ten minutes now in a grieving fog. Like his shadow, I’m glued to his back as I hold a Styrofoam cup of ginger ale to help with my queasiness. I need to eat, but won’t dare utter a complaint to Azmir. If he hasn’t eaten, neither will I. The soda has helped marginally.
Observing Petey, my belly toils even more. I knew something was majorly off with being here, but he just solidified it with the signaling look in his eyes. I don’t saying anything, don’t have to. With my eyes glued to his, I give a slight nod and turn to a haunted Azmir.
“Jacobs,” I whisper to him, pretty much in his shoulder as I can’t reach his ear without standing on my tippiest of toes in heels. “Petey is saying we need to leave.”
A melancholy Azmir beholds me from above, and while processing my message, turns his attention behind me to Petey. I glance over to Petey and catch him giving Azmir an affirming nod. It’s all so strange, but I’m accustomed to their peculiar dynamics by now. Petey’s eyes make their way back to me, silently messaging his urgency. I slowly grab Azmir’s hand and start making my way toward the front door. And without dispute, he follows obediently.
As we’re just mere feet away from Azmir’s truck, I ask for the keys so that I can drive. He pauses, considering my call. I’m prepared to be stern in my request. It’s clear that Azmir is a shell of himself and rightfully so, he’d just buried one of his closest friends. I feel the overwhelming urge to cover him in my bosom and nurture him until his strength and resolve returns.