Page 68 of Dead Serious Case 5 Madame Vivienne

“No! I’m done! You couldn’t give me this one little thing, you all take and take and take, and I’ve got nothing left to give.” My voice breaks and the tears roll down my cheeks. “Why?” I croak brokenly. “Why couldn’t you just let me say goodbye? Was it really so much to ask?”

Death stares at me and he looks… troubled.

I feel like I can’t breathe, like I’m going to explode. The unfairness of it all is choking me and I’m so fucking mad. I pick up the next closest item, which happens to be a lamp, and with a bellow of rage, I hurl it across the room.

“GET OUT!” I scream at Death and he does. Between one furious breath and another, he disappears, and that makes me even madder even though I told him to go.

I try to rein in the anger but I can’t. I’m on a roll now and if I don’t get it all out I feel like I’m going to shatter. I let loose, grabbing anything I can get my hands on and launching it. I smash vases, pictures—even my precious books aren’t spared as I yank them off the shelves, tumbling them all to the floor. I want to break everything until it’s all as broken as I am. I don’t even realise I’m screaming at the top of my lungs until I feel Danny’s arms wrap around me firmly, pinning my arms to my sides to stop me from destroying anything else.

“It’s okay, love. I’ve got you,” he says into my ear, repeating it over and over until my legs give way and I sink to the floor and sob.

“It’s not fair.” I cry harder. “Why can I see everyone else but not the one person I want to more than anything?”

“I don’t know, baby.” I feel the heat of his chest against my back as he kneels on the floor with me, holding me tight.

I grab his arms and pull them tighter around me, needing the pressure, needing him to hold me together because I know if he lets go now, the pieces of me will fly apart.

Suddenly, I feel hands gently grip my face and lift my head. Through the blurriness of my tears, I see Dustin, his own eyes wet, tears sliding down his cheeks.

“My darling boy, you are not alone. We’re right here with you.” His thumbs trace my cheeks as my sobs quieten. “I’m going to fix this for you. I promise it will be alright.”

I can’t answer him, I can’t think anymore. I’m drained. My head hurts, my heart hurts… I just want to sleep so I don’t have to think about anything.

I see Dustin look over my head to Danny. “I know you can’t hear me, Danny, but you look after him.” Then he looks back down at me. “I’m going to go and find out what’s going on with your dad. I’ll be back soon.”

He leans in and presses a kiss to my lips, then disappears just like Death did.

I don’t know how long Danny and I sit on the floor amidst the destruction of our living room. By tomorrow I may work up the energy to feel bad about it, but my body feels too heavy right now and the numbness is creeping back in.

When my quiet, hiccupping sobs finally peter out and my body slumps against him, the anger burnt away and leaving only tiredness and grief, Danny shifts and slides one arm under my legs and the other around my back. He lifts me into his arms easily and I wrap my arm around his neck, resting my aching head on his shoulder as he carries me to the bedroom.

Settling me on the end of the bed, he bends to take off my boots and socks before stripping me down to my boxers. He removes my tear-stained glasses, cleans the lenses and sets them on the bedside table. Then he takes my phone from my pocket,switches it off, sets it beside them, and turns down the bedding while I sit and watch him mutely.

He grabs my favourite of his t-shirts, then slips it over my head and feeds my arms through the sleeves. Tucking me into bed, he strips off quickly, climbs in behind me, and draws me into the warm, protective embrace of his body.

As we lay in the darkness, I pull his arms tighter around me, hold them in place like an anchor. I close my swollen, gritty eyes and release a slow breath.

“Danny,” I whisper, my voice hoarse from screaming.

“Yes, love.” I feel him stroke my hair and press a kiss to my temple.

“I broke the little heart you bought me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says soothingly.

“I broke everything.”

“It’s just stuff,” he murmurs. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and the tears come again. He turns me in his arms and I press my hot face to his bare chest and cry softly as he strokes my back.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, love.”

I take the comfort he offers so freely, although I’m sure I don’t deserve it, and all I can think about is my beloved ceramic heart lying smashed to pieces on the floor in the middle of all that devastation. My real heart feels as broken as that little anatomical one, and even if I manage to glue the pieces of it back together, I have a feeling it will never be the same.

17

Ilie in the darkness of our bedroom, cocooned in the warm bedding, and stare at the wall.