Exemplary implies that he wouldn’t touch drugs. Exemplary implies that he wouldn’t gaslight his ‘girlfriend’.
He was exemplary in his earlier days. The accident made him wicked—no, not wicked, broken. Evan was my anchor, except the rope was too short and it kept me drowning below the surface. Now the rope has been cut, and in time, my body will decompose and float to the surface. Whether that’s scientifically possible, I’m not sure. Science stopped having meaning when Death came into my life.
Earlier, Carol had come up to me and said, “It must be so hard. Losing your whole family, then the man you were going to start a family with.”
I bit my tongue and smiled at her because there was nothing I could say. The truth of what her son was like was on the tip of my tongue, but I decided to keep my awfulness to myself. Everyone can mourn and grieve alongside their last memory of Evan. I will too, except, my grief doesn’t feel like pain; it feels like freedom.
I lean against the wall for support as a brain zap renders me momentarily useless. The nausea spells started this morning. I don’t need Dr. Mallory to tell me what the side effects of going off my medication are, especially when I didn’t wean myself off it but instead, stopped taking them completely. Cold turkey, as they call it.
The service starts, and everyone still in the foyer takes their place along one of the many pews. Just like the night of the accident, I get a feeling to stay behind and wait in the foyer.
Goosebumps blanket my skin as the music starts, and the comforting smell of the sea trickles into my soul. I’m not sure what hurts more, that Evan is dead, or that Letum has not made contact since I came undone on his fingers. Again.
When I spin around, my stomach sinks.
He’s not there. Instead, I swear I see Dahlia in the corner of my vision. When I turn, she isn’t there.
I clutch my phone tightly as I pull up our message thread.
Me: Where are you?
I stare at my phone, waiting for a reply that won’t come.
Swallowing the hurt, I force my legs to move and carry me to a pew where I mourn for a man who I have already finished grieving. As I stare at the coffin before the lectern, I yearn for the man who did not want to take my soul.
My apartment is a prison with unlocked doors. I don’t want to step beyond the bars and succumb to the mundane cycle of a meaningless life.
Each morning I wake up hoping to find a brown parchment tucked next to my head, but there’s none. Despite the pain, I still force myself to go to work.
Two weeks. Two. Not a single letter saying that he’s heading out of town for a bit or there’s an influx of souls to collect. Nothing. Not even a stupid flower.
Letum said that he will never let me go. He didn’t say that it was because I would be latching on to him. Why am I mourning the loss of Letum who is Death, rather than Evan, who is dead?
I haven’t taken any of Dr. Mallory’s medication since the day Evan died. At first, it was just because I wasn’t sure whether Letum swapped out the pills. Then it was because I thought I might be able to see him in my dreams. After, I didn’t have a choice because all of the bottles disappeared.
Death’s doing, I assume.
So, he can take the medication keeping my emotions at bay, and at the same time take the one thing that was actually keeping me sane.
When I need him the most.
I grip the counter as another brain zap rattles me, making me tense and relax at the same time. Hopefully, no one noticed.
I had no choice but to call in sick the first week and a half after the funeral. The withdrawals were hitting me like a ton of bricks, and I found myself hurling over the toilet with nothing coming out, and laying in bed partially comatose as another brain zap paralyzed me momentarily.
Without pay and without Letum’s financial contributions, I can’t afford to buy the medications again. Letum’s remaining cash has acted as a buffer, which means that I can still afford rent, electricity, and food, if I actually go out to buy some. So at least there’s that to be grateful for.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Brit giving me another look of pity. All of my coworkers have. I’m so sick of everyone looking at me like I’m broken. I’ve heard them talking about how I’ve lost everyone. I have no family to speak of and no man to warm my sheets. Not like Evan warmed my sheets before he died.
The day progresses like every other: with me suffering through my shift while my locker remains empty and my apartment stays death free.
Letum has cursed me in more ways than one because now I can’t resort to the recesses of my mind to escape. Now, tears don’t just gather in my eyes, they fall and they don’t stop falling. Every night my pillow dampens as I sob into it, thinking that it might take the pain away. Every night, my cries grow louder as if Letum might hear me and decide to come back.
He doesn’t. He never does. I’m beginning to think he never will.
When I fall asleep, he doesn’t visit me in my dreams despite my calls. Instead, I’m tortured by the memory of the crash. The memory of losing my sister.
I thought I was broken before, but now I feel as if I am breaking all over again. Piece by piece, another shard crumbles away from me. I’m haunted by the jarring realization that this is what it feels like to be well and truly alone.
Chapter ten
Letum
She thinks that I left her.
I could never leave her.
She thinks that I discarded her from my life.
I would sooner walk myself into the afterlife than do that.
Every night for the past three weeks, I sit at the foot of her bed and watch her tears seep into her pillow. She clutches it to her chest as her heart spills onto the floor, flooding the night with her sorrows. It is the most vicious battle, sitting and watching. I have to stop myself from pulling the pillow away and be the one that she clutches onto so her tears can soak into my soul.
My undead heart splinters every time I see her. My beautiful night monster’s eyes are filled with pain and longing, no longer the empty void that she disappeared into.
It’s too much to watch her wither the way she is, but I know it’s necessary. She needs to overcome this for the both of us to know she accepts me fully and completely. Her eyes need to open and she needs to remember. It is the only way for us to move forward.
I want to be enough for her in every way. I will be. She will want for nothing and live an eternity by my side. My Lilith will never be alone again because we will be by each other's side forever. My perfect other. My night monster.
Unable to stand by and see her in misery, I continue to write to her. Promising I will never leave her, reminding her of her strength and her beauty. She hasn’t noticed her kitchen cupboards haven’t emptied, even though she hasn’t gone to the store in three weeks. Nor has she noticed she hasn’t needed to clean her apartment once.
I told myself I would leave her alone to heal, but I am a weak man.
She does not truly understand the magnitude of her hold on me. She weakens every single part of me and makes me want to be something other than just death.
Lilith takes a deep breath, slumped over the steering wheel as she lets a lone tear roll. She has shed at least a single tear at work every day for the past three days. Lilith may be my greatest weakness, but her tears will be what kills Death itself. I always have to stop myself from wiping it away, to kiss her senseless until she forgets about the future, past and present. Until all she can think about is me.
I want my storm to be more than just clouds. I want her to be lightning that splits trees. She will be the thunder that follows too, shaking houses and making children scream in their beds. She is named after the Mother of Demons; she will do nothing short of prosper.
Lilith wipes the lone tear from her cheek and sits up straighter in her seat. She juts her chin out as if she’s pretending that she hadn’t just cried.