Stolen by the thoughts cluttering my head, I was startled by a loud thunderous knock on my door. It wasn’t a delicate, I know you’re in there suffering knock, or a can I come in and help you knock. It was a what the fuck are you doing in there one, a scary knock, a pounding knuckles upon the aged wood that sounded like it could be splintered into a thousand pieces type of knock.
I took a breath, as I tried to steady myself in my crumbling certainty. I clutched Mr. C’s package to my chest, as if it was something that could protect my heart from dissolving. I wasn’t gonna open my door to just anyone, especially iron knuckles on the other side.
I shivered from the inside out, when I heard whose voice belonged to the thunderous knock.
“Aye, Rosie, you in here? It’s me, Briggs.” Kean’s voice penetrated the door, floated across and landed in the gaping hole in my chest. I froze as the envelope I was clutching tumbled down onto my bed. I didn’t know if I could handle seeing him right now.
“Come on, sweet’art, let me in. I know what happened to Sybil. I want to make sure you’ okay.”
I heard him jiggle the doorknob, and felt the same tempo pick up in my heartbeat.
“I’ll only stay a wee bit Rosie gir’. Com’ on now.”
I crept over to the front door; the floor creaked loudly with every other step I took. I pressed my face against the cold plastered wall for a handful of seconds before I reached out and grasped the door handle.
“That’s right, Rosie. It’s goin’ to be okay, you hear me? I’m go’na be here, Rosie. When you’ ready to op’n the door, I’ll be waitin’ righ’ here.”
Tears spilled over my eyelids, drenching my cheeks. Briggs was here for me, he came here just for me. I pulled the chain from the door, and unlocked the deadbolt. It was the last thing between us before I was going to let him see me more broken than I’ve ever been.
Briggs cautiously pushed the door open, I didn’t stand there waiting for him to come in. If I looked at him and our eyes caught each other, I would break down and lose my shit all over again. I did the best survival mode action possible, I shuffled over to the kitchen and started fussing with the handful of dishes in the sink.
“It’s been two days, Rosie. I’d been tryin’ to call.” He followed me to the kitchen, his words filled with concern sharpened to a point which easily pierced my heart.
Every ounce of resolve I held drained painfully from my soul.
“Well, Briggs, I’ve been here, living it up!” Sarcasm dripped from my words, words I regretted the moment they flew out of my mouth.
“Com’ on, sweet’art. Don’t do tis. I’m just here, worryin’ about me gir’.” With a tug of his hand, he pulled me around to look at him.
“Two days too late, Briggs,” I spat before I turned back to the sink. I knew it was an asshole answer, a thoughtless way to let him know I was still hurting and too drunk from the bottle of lemon flavored Smirnoff I had polished off twenty minutes ago. In fact, every last drop from the bottle of vodka still swam fiercely in my veins.
I pushed on the faucet determined to keep from looking at him. I went from being in a world of hurt to being pissed at the world in a matter of a couple of days, and, well, unfortunately for Briggs he happened to be the first who showed up. The water poured down, cradled in the curve of a soup spoon before it splashed up like a lawn sprinkler drenching me, the countertops, backsplash and even Briggs who was standing behind me.
Briggs’ massive hand and beastly inked arm shot over me and shut off the faucet. His determination to get through to me grew as he flung me around to face him. He wasn’t delicate, and the expression on his face told me he was done playing a fool. He clutched my arms in his mammoth hands and held me so I couldn’t run away. I was soaked from head to waist as the tears that streamed down my face became the exclamation points to my pain.
“Now you listen to me. I’m not here to play games. I kno’ you’re hurtin’ but, you gotta get a grip,” Briggs huffed as he shook me with each word. He was bound and determined to get me to snap out of it.