A/N: I writ the first draft of this just intended for LJ but having touched it up a bit I wanted to put it on here. Please don't hurt me! The lyrics used are from the song 'Missing' by Evanescence.
Disclaimer: Not mine. End of.
Unforgiven
Please, please forgive me,
But I won't be home again,
Maybe someday you'll look up,
And, barely conscious, you'll say to no one:
"Isn't something missing?"
My brain wakes up before my eyes. That's odd. Normally it's the other way around, with my brain hitting the snooze button and staying asleep a lot longer even with my eyes up and awake, taking in the familiar scene around me. Like when I've been having a genius dream about being on stage at the 02 as the front-man of a band with a silver unicorn playing acoustic guitar behind me. Dreams far too brilliant to spoil by having to be dumped back into reality. This time, though, it's not so much about staying where I was dreaming. It's just more about not wanting to wake up. Not wanting to face....him. Not after last night.
Oh shit. Please say he's already up. I know he always gets up earlier than me. Please say he's already downstairs in the shop. That means I've got a good forty minutes to prepare myself. Enough time to fix myself up the best as possible. Put on my tightest-fitting clothes, do my make-up to perfection and apply the trusty Nicky Clarke's to my hair; so I look so beautiful that he can't possibly stay mad at me. Even if that doesn't work then I've got enough time to also perfect what I could say to make him melt. Well, more so how I'm gonna say it than the actual words. A slow lazy drawl, a toss of the hair, a flutter of the eyelids and all should be well. Then we can go back to being how we were, with everything that happened last night barely a memory. That's how it usually works.
Except…what happened last night wasn't the 'usual'. Not by our standards of arguments. Me and him; we don't fight, we bicker. We tease, we taunt, we push. Or, at least, I push - and he pulls back. So I keep pushing to see just how far back he can keep going until he bashes into a wall and then there's no escape. Only, last night, I went too far. That's what he said anyway. It was just a joke! The same as all the other stupid things I do. He wouldn't see the funny side though. He just wouldn't let it go. Even after we finally got home from it all and went upstairs, we didn't fall into our usual habit of letting the days events roll off our backs and indulge in a good crimp on the sofa. The first thing that happened as soon as he followed me up those stairs into the flat was something very different:
"Right," I chirp, bouncing up onto the landing. "I'm starving. Shall we order some Chinese? I really fancy so-"
I'm cut off from speaking by the hand that grabs my shoulder and swings me around, before both hands are on my collar and I'm flying. He hurls me - hard - across the room and I crash into the C-D rack. A sting runs up my back as I flop down to the floor, disks in their electro style cases spilling out to the rug at my feet. I rub my hand up where it aches whilst turning my head up in time to see him already stomping towards me, his face still holding the same hellish expression as when we left the club.
"What the fuck you think you're doing, you Casablanca!?" I curse up to him, "You could've snapped my spine! There's some of your jazz rubbish in there as well," I say, pointing to the C-D rack and Howard's lone 'Weather Report' album that slid out, yet somehow segregated itself from the other c-d's that have fallen, "that could've done some serious damage if it had gone in-"
"SHUT - UP!" He cuts me off again. His hands reach down and he hauls me up to my feet by the scruff of my shirt before throwing me against the wall, just a tad lighter this time.
I press myself against it, shaking now as I almost trip over the fallen c-d rack, as well from the murderous glint in his eye that I've never seen before. Not even when he wanted to eat me when we were stranded on that island. Then, for the first time in ten years, I'm genuinely terrified of him. Something I never thought was possible.
"What the fuck, Howard? What's wrong with you?" I ask fearfully. As if I honestly have no idea. Though even I'm not that slow.
His eyes widen to a point I thought only possible with the aid of salad spoons; "What's wrong with me? WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?"
"Yes! You're the one going all Kodiak Jack at the moment!" I regret what I say next before I've even said it; "Is that what this, ey? Foreplay?" I laugh through my fear. Wrong move.
He glowers at me for a moment. Then it comes. He doesn't swear, he doesn't call me anything - he just lets out a sort of animalistic howl. More like a growl. It's then that all my attempt or thoughts at mocking him anymore scamper off for good. Then I'm left cowering against the wall with all my defence mechanisms having abandoned me. Fuck. He really is going to kill me for what I did to him tonight. I need to get out of here.
Before I can so much as flinch, his hand is on my throat. And I'm trapped.
"Look, Howard, it was only a joke - just calm down! Please!" I beg and my voice pitches, revealing just how scared I am. It doesn't have any effect on him at all though.
"Only a joke?? Calm down??" His face is close to mine now that I could just easily make another joke. If I had a death wish. He's not yelling anymore though. He's just hissing at me, each syllable spitting at me like the venom from a snake's tongue. It's worse than the yelling. "You humiliated me tonight, Vince! In front of everyone! I'll never be able to show my face around town ever again."
"As if anyone would notice if your face didn't appear anywhere again."
Shit.
Why? Why the fuck did I say that? I didn't even mean it to come out like that. But the second it's out of my mouth I realise what it did sound like. And it's too late to take it back. I realise that when I see the look in his eyes change. Only slightly, but enough. The blazing anger dims and becomes replaced by something else…Something far more darker, that I've seen a lot more recently in those eyes. I don't even know what it is. All I know is that it scares me more than his rage ever could.
"Howard, I…."
The next thing I see is a fist swinging towards my face. I shut my eyes tight, wishing for an escape before I receive the blow to my precious face. And then-
SMACK!
I wrench my eyes open, if only to escape the memory and return to the present. I turn my head to see that his bed is empty and has been well-made as usual. I breathe a deep sigh of sweet relief. As frightened as I was before of waking up, I realise what I'm going to face can't possibly be any worse than the events of last night. It's best I just get it over and done with. Knowing Howard, and his loveable mood swings, it's all close to being forgotten and painted over with worries of Stationary Village missing the Sharpener Bus.
My mind still in something of a haze, I pull myself out of bed. After a quick shower I make my way back to the bedroom with a refreshed grip on reality. It's only when I'm walking towards my wardrobe in mine and Howard's shared room that I notice there's something different about the place. Nothing about my side of the room. Just Howard's. His bed is made…but a bit too much. Normally he folds his pyjamas neatly and places them into a pile at the end. Not this time. Was it washing day? Which day is washing day? Don't ask me, I don't even know how to use the machine. I just like watching it spin around. That's true, thanks brain-cell.
It's not just the pyjama thing though. Everything on Howard's side of the room is so…bare. Which is saying a lot when talking about Howard's side of the room. Whereas my side has all my walls covered with every electro front man poster, with some punk and a few Goth kings in places, Howard only has one small Polar Bear poster that he keeps above his bed. And it's gone. Ha, maybe over the night he finally acquired some taste and now he's gone out to HMV to buy some proper tunes. He must have thought the same about his fashion sense as well because his chest of draws is gone. So he doesn't just want new clothes he wants a new chest as well. Or maybe he's gone to a car boot sale. That would explain why all his little trinkets, hats and WWII figurines that his dad gave him when he was a nipper are also gone.
Idiot. I wish he'd told me. I need to flog some stuff. Naboo's been a right twat with wages and upping the rent lately. Blaming some new business fad called the 'recession.' Which, like bird flu, just sounds like another bit of scaremongering to me. I suppose the charity shop will appreciate some decent clothes given to them for once, even if they are a week out of date. Being poor doesn't mean you necessarily have to behind on the fashion.
After getting dressed myself, I go out into the kitchen. Naboo and Bollo are there, their eyes shooting on me as soon as I set foot in the room. They're on the sofa, smoking Naboo's hookah as usual, though even through the glazed expression in their eyes I can see something else piercing through to me. I give them the usual nod of greeting a smile.
"Mornin'!"
They're on their feet, more quickly then I'd've thought two stoned out blokes - well, an alien and a gorilla - could manage. Naboo asks if I'm ok. I say I'm great, thanks. Bollo fusses over me. He sits me down at the table and says he'll make me some tea and some hot toast. He's like a furry angel. I don't even think my own mum, from what I remember of her, was as tentative to me as he is. And Naboo, bless him, he's such a diamond. He's telling me stuff, saying he's gonna have to go out later with Bollo and if I'm sure I'll be ok running the shop and being without him. Ok, he's a diamond - but he sure don't half say some freaky things at times. As if I can't manage without him!
I then look over across the room and to the wall where the C-D rack is pressed up against, the c-d's now neatly put back in their proper place and tidied up. And, in the actual wall above the rack, is a hair-line crack running through another crack where the wall has been dented in. Ah. They know what happened.
CRACK!
I let out a pathetic whimper. My hands fling up over my face before I realise what has actually happened. Howard's hand is off my throat. I'm free. I feel my face and realise there's nothing wrong with it. No damage has been done. Just my smooth, pointed, angelic visage tainted only by the tears that slipped carelessly from my eyelids and are running down my cheeks. I gasp, opening my eyes to see Howard's arm still outstretched - only his fist didn't hit me.
Turning my head to the side, I see it was the wall that took the blow for me. Fuck. The wall is actually dented in. Just a smidgen harder and it would've gone straight through. He then, ever so slowly, brings it back, his breathing strained and fierce as he pulls away and looks at his hand in disappointment. A weapon that's malfunctioned. I'm still pressing myself back against the wall, breathing out silent sobs as my tears continue to fall, my eyes also stuck on Howard's fist like it's some dangerous alien object.
Then he looks at me. I look at him. We spend the next god-knows-how-many minutes just staring at each other with faces we'd never exchanged before. The faces only two strangers who'd met in the worst of collisions would share. Not two best friends who've known each other for the best part of their whole lives. Howard's eyes have softened slightly. The hate is still there. Only now I think it's hate…at himself. At his failure.
He laughs. Not a proud or naïve Howard Moon chuckle. A cold, sadistic chortle that makes me press myself further back into the fractured wall, hoping it will fall in completely and swallow me whole. I don't know what to do. So I do the only thing we normally do when one of us laughs. Join in.
I raise my lips into a shaky smile; "Hehe….Good one, ey? Right on target."
"You're joking, right?" He stops laughing. "I missed!" I freeze. He frowns again, "I can't even hit you right. Can't do anything…"
I try and reach him, "Howard-"
"Don't - touch - me."
Unlike all the other thousands of times he's said that to me, the words are of gentle banter or non-existent defence. The words are filled with genuine hurt and malice. He really doesn't want me touching him. I disgust him. No. I'm repulsive to him. As I stretch my hand out to him, he winces back, not like the playful times he's done so many times before. It's as if my touch will cause him to shatter like fragile glass. Oh God…is that what I've done to him? Is that what I've made him into?
Tears form in my eyes as he steps back further away. All I want is to touch him more. I want to grab him, turn him around, then shout in his face that he's being ridiculous. That he's being a self-loathing wanker who doesn't see just what he's got around him and is to god-damn sensitive. He needs a good slap in the face. I would give it to him - if I wasn't so fucking terrified of getting my head smashed in. So I just stay silent. I watch him go down the stairs. Then, when he's gone, I collapse….
My head jerks up. It seems to have been resting on the breakfast table. Where have Naboo and Bollo gone? Oh yeah, they left. They did tell me. Shamans business or something. Naboo had asked me if I'd be ok on my own. Of course I would be! Bollo, the big black furby, had offered to stay with me. How old am I? Ten? As if I need a babysitter. Honestly. It's not as if I'm all alone anyway. Howard's downstairs, waiting for me to come and run the shop with him. Speaking of which, I can't hang around here much longer, I better get to work. No point making him madder at me for any longer.
Pulling myself up after finishing the breakfast Bollo made for me, I skip towards the staircase and go down the steps. My footsteps become ever more gingerly taken as I begin to reach the bottom. I remember that Howard's there. Fuck, how is he gonna be? Will he still be angry about last night? What if he tries to hit me again and Bollo or Naboo isn't around to protect me? Wait - I don't need protecting! I was raised in the jungle. I lived on my own in good old South London for the best part of my teens. I know how to defend myself better than the chavs you usually see. It's just…something about Howard when he's really pumped up. It's almost like I don't want to defend myself. Like I know I deserve what I'm getting and I should take it.
I don't deserve it though, do I? So I played a few jokes on the jazzy freak. Big deal. He needs to learn how to laugh at himself. I'm only doing what's best for him. Once he gets used to it then maybe he'll be able to tackle the social scene more and get used to Camden life. I did. And I was brought up in the forest, for Christ's sake. Did I mention that already? Oh well, I'm at the bottom of the stairs now. I suppose I'll just have to trust whatever comes to mind to say to him. Deep breath, Noir - here it goes!
Hand on the banister, I swing myself around to bounce down the last step and face the shop;
"Alright, Howard!" I beam to…
No one.
The shop is empty.
This wouldn't be much of a surprise except…no one is at the counter. Normally Howard, also used to the tradition of one customer each day (usually a deaf-mute bipolar war veteran called Alf) would be sat in his usual chair behind the counter, feet up, watching some boring BBC4 programme on the portable telly. But, today, the telly was off. And the chair was empty.
I frown; "…Howard?"
Maybe he's in the store-room. Even that seems odd in itself, as much as Howard loves to do stock-taking, I know he wouldn't leave the till unattended. Still, I go to the store-room cupboard to see if he's there with his trusty 'Mayor Calculator' from the village. I pull open the closed door.
No one. No Howard. Just boring old stock.
Where's Howard?
My heart begins to pound harder against my ribs. I try and 'shh' it, thudding my fist against my chest. I need to concentrate here. Howard's disappeared and I need to find him. I'm rubbish at running the shop on my own. No matter what Naboo says about me being a great shop keeper with my big eyes that draw people in, it's Howard who keeps me disciplined, who keeps me focused. Where is the Northern corduroy disaster?
Then I remember his room. His clothes. His posters. His possessions. Everything is gone.
Oh…the batty crease has only gone down the ruddy Car Boot sale. We're supposed to be working! He can never yell at me about going to Topshop or whatever again when he leaves the place open to thieves and what-not just to go flog some of his old junk that no sane person would want anyway. Which means I need to leave the place to find him. Fuck…Naboo's gonna kill us when he finds out we both left the place unattended.
Stuff Naboo. Stuff the shop. I need to get to Howard. This is just ridiculous! Using a stupid opportunity so he doesn't have to talk to me about last night. Pathetic. I'll be sure to tell him so as well.
Though, if he wants to be so childish about it, maybe I should just stay here. No point running after him. That's what he wants me to do most probably. He wants me to go running after him like some lost puppy dog that's just been giving a good lashing with the crop from his master. I ain't no fucking puppy dog. I'm Vince Noir; Rock n' Roll star. I'm my own master. I don't beg for anyone's forgiveness. Especially not a boring old loser like him…
You won't cry for my absence, I know
You forgot me long ago,
Am I that unimportant...?
Am I so insignificant...?
"Naboo? Where the hell is Howard?"
He raises his eyes from his breakfast, giving me a look I'm not sure I like; "D'you actually care?"
"'Course I do! He ain't in the shop and I can't get hold of him on his mobile, where is he?"
Naboo puts his fork down and sits back; "He's gone, Vince."
"…Gone?" The word doesn't register, "What d'you mean 'gone'?"
"He left this morning. He had all his things packed and everything. He gave his resignation form - not that I'd've needed one to let him go, but it was all prepared and everything. He even gave his rent money for the rest of the month. Then he left before I could even say anything."
My mouth is hanging open. This…No. This doesn't make sense.
"He just…left?" I ask, my voice struggling to reach the level of a hurt whisper.
"Can you really blame him? After what you did to him last night, I'm surprised he didn't just run as soon as he could get home!"
"What the hell are you on about? I didn't do anything to him!"
Bollo, whose currently munching on a Rice Crispie Square bar on the sofa, gives off a grunt. He doesn't look at me, just continues staring down at his snack, an unreadable expression on his inhuman face. I frown at him but he doesn't look at me. Something is definitely wrong.
"…It was just a joke. As if you two ain't done similar things before!" I accuse.
"With us it was just teasing. What we knew he was used to." Naboo says, defensively, "And even if we did do anything like you did, it wouldn't matter half as much, because we're not that close to Howard. But you…you're like meant to be his best mate!? Not even Bob Fossil would be that callous. Jesus Christ, Vince…"
"Just shut the fuck up!" I cry out. The fucking midget hypocrite. My hands are on my ears, unable to listen anymore.
Then I realise that I'm not listening to anything. It's another memory…
Howard left? He left the shop? So that's what Naboo was telling me when I was so dazed at the breakfast table earlier. What is wrong with me? Why didn't I take that in? He just kept talking, while my mind kept floating out of myself, whilst everything that…. Howard left? He left?
I stop pacing the shop which I must have been doing for the past hour without noticing. I wander if Naboo's 'fumes' had seeped into my room in the night. Perhaps that's why I'm so jaded. Everything seems to be passing by in a rainbow coloured blur. Someone keeps pressing a 'fast-forward' button on my life that's screwing me up. I just missed a whole chunk of conversation from just an hour ago. Howard…
Howard.
He's gone. He didn't pack his things for a Car Boot Sale. He left. He left without saying goodbye. He left without even giving me any chance to apologize. He left me standing in this tacky shamanistic shop on my own. Just because of some stupid prank I pulled. It wasn't that worse than the others that I'd pulled on him lately. Ok…maybe it was. But he's still just being oversensitive. The big girl's blouse. He's probably gone back to Leeds. Back to his mummy.
I need to find him. He'll regret it forever if he goes. He can't be in his forties and just settle back to living with his family. Not that I've ever had a family to live with but, according to all my mates around Camden; only geeks and nobodies live close with their parents. It's just not cool. And Howard, bless him, doesn't need to be any lamer than he already is by nature.
Forgetting any loyalties that I have to Naboo, I close the shop up, apologizing to Alf just as he hobbles by on time for his usual drool over the John Coltrane LP's. I leave him staring with his face pressed up against the window and walk off down the street. Shrugging my coat on, I try and think which way Howard would have gone. What's the time? I look at my glitter-stained watch. Half two in the afternoon. Shit. Why do I have to always sleep in? Howard left this morning…meaning he's been gone for hours. He could have been on the first train out of Kings Cross and could already be in Leeds by now.
I keep walking though. All I have is the strong hope he hasn't left. See, I've known Howard for so long, it's like a telekinetic (a word Naboo taught me) link that I have with him. And my little brain-cell is telling me that Howard hasn't left the city. He's close by. If anything he's right beside me. Maybe my brain-cell must be being a little bit too hopeful. I'd've seen him if he was that close.
He's still in London. I know it.
I don't even know where I'm walking towards. Just around the block, through the winding streets of Dalston, passing crowds of locals labelled with names I could never remember in a million years even though their eyes light up as I pass them. It's so cold. It'll be Christmas soon. I wander what to buy Howard? I feel the need to buy him something really impressive. Just to show I do still care about him. He's convinced I hate him because of what I did. Ironic how…it's the opposite.
Oh, Howard.
Where the hell is he?
I'm coming over a bridge that runs over a frozen stream. When I say 'frozen', I mean tiny burgs of ice floating on the surface, not anything hard enough to skate over. Not that like that time when me and Howard bunked off school and spent the afternoon skating on the ice together. It had been the coldest day of the year. We'd tried to make the tallest snow man in Dalston, seeing as competition was on at the time. But, after several failed attempts, I came up with the most genius way to get the best snow man. Howard wasn't impressed - seeing as it involved him being covered head to toe in snow, yet he still cheered up later when he saw the award and the reward of a box of Quality Street that we won. It helped him recover from the pneumonia anyway.
Does he even remember those times we had together? He's so anal. He just has no idea. He's convinced that I, plus the world and his wife, hate his guts. It just gets on my nerves. He's so vain. So self-obsessed. Everything is me, me, me, me with him. Howard Moon - Man of Action; has to be the one who did everything. Ugh! That for ten years sure don't half do your head in. It helps him to be taken down a peg or two. Which is where I, his best friend, come in to help. If it wasn't for me, his head would be so big, he'd tumble over like a….well, a snowman with an overly large head.
I keep looking into the murky water. I'm expecting his face to appear in the reflection beside mine. We always somehow end up back with each other. He either comes back to me or I manage to find him. It's just how we always work. Howard doesn't have the guts to go back to Leeds. He needs me. He could never leave me. He would just never do that to me, even if he hated me to the point that he wanted to punch my skull in, he just wouldn't. My eyes peer deeper into the water…
"Oi, mate, have you seen my mate Howard? Tall guy, scruffy hair, moustache, small eyes like an Asian cat?"
I'd asked that question to about a dozen or more people around Dalston. No result.
No surprise! Who would have known Howard? Who would be able to recognise the generic freak?
The whole mission was like finding a fart in a Jacuzzi. Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I came up to the bridge over the local stream. The plan was just to cross over it in order to get on my way to the tube to take me to Kings Cross. I could go to Leeds, go to Howard's parents house (I'm sure I could still remember where it was) and find him there if he obviously wasn't around in London anymore.
Then I just stopped. I spotted something in the water.
A shoe.
Nothing like any shoe that would normally catch my eye. Just a plain boring brown loafer. It doesn't belong to anyone's foot…it's just been dumped there. Not that I'd blame whoever abandoned it. Except…it's floating beside another boring shoe of a different set. Then a cardigan. Another cardigan, bopping through the surface of the water, beside a mass of other clothes also floating upon the surface. I lean over the side of the bridge. A whole case of clothes and other personal objects have just been tossed carelessly into the stream, now floating under the bridge and off, unwanted and (almost) forgotten, into nowhere. An empty suitcase is the last to follow the herd of spilled clothes. Clothes I've seen before. Clothes that just don't look right existing without the proper person wearing them.
"Howard!" I gasp, the world falling from beneath my Chelsea boots.
My feet swivel around and I'm running. Don't ask me where I'm running to, I just need to run. I don't have time to think. I don't have time to investigate. Not when I don't know how to investigate. They were Howard's clothes in the lake, that's all I need to know. Howard's belongings. Everything that Howard held dear to himself, even his beloved stationary, had been spilled by some means carelessly into that stream.
No.
No. No, it just wouldn't happen. Howard lived for all his pedantic, embarrassing clothes, jazz L.P's and various other trinkets. He wouldn't have just abandoned them. Not unless….not unless he was forced to. Not unless someone else did it for him and he was unable to stop them. Oh Jagger. Something must have happened to him. Something so terrible.
Old Gregg? Seemed most likely, what with the river as a clue. Or maybe Crack Fox wanting revenge on me, via Howard? Or maybe it someone we hadn't even encountered yet. Someone who wanted revenge on Naboo and decided to use Howard as leverage. Whoever it was, if they weren't nice enough to let Howard keep his precious possessions, no way would they be nice enough to oblige him any other pleasantries.
Just run. Stop thinking. Just keep running!
God…what if they were torturing him? Howard is such a wuss. No way would he be able to handle torture. Just a simple cold leaves him convinced he's got the bubonic plague or whatever that nursery rhyme is about. I can't bear to think about it. Howard may be big but he's…Howard. Even a slightly poisonous Black Widow spider that had escaped from Naboo's potions cupboard that had come crawling along Howard's bed covers once caused him to shriek and cower against the wall, whimpering that he had so much to give, pleading for the spider to go away. How the hell would he ever be able to suffer thumbscrews or a whip or…shut up, Vince!
Shut up and run!
I am still running, the sharp icy air rattling inside my lungs as I try and process it. Dalston whirls past me with the same gawping idiots pointing at me. I don't care. Even if it is the first time in…well, a long while, Howard comes first. I can't just let him suffer. Not on top of everything else I've put him through recently. If I save him then he'll know for sure, same as all the other times, just how much I care for him. How I'd go to hell and back (and have done, I can say!) in order to save his arse. And I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Considering how fast mine is going, that's saying even more than usual.
I'm coming, Howard. Whatever has happened, I'll sort it out! I promise.
Please, please forgive me,
But I won't be home again.
I know what you do to yourself,
I breathe deep and cry out;
"Isn't something missing?
Isn't someone missing me?"
Almost slipping to my knees as I skid around a corner, the Nabootique lies up ahead of me. If I'm lucky then Naboo will have come home by now. I don't care if he gives me shit for having left the shop. He can help me find Howard easily. He doesn't even need to help me save him. I can do it myself just like I have before. Like I did with the spider; I just yelled at her to get away from my friend and get back to his shaman master, unless she wanted to be a splatter beneath my favourite pair of cowboy boots. She crawled dejectedly back to Naboo's cupboard, leaving a flustered Howard attempting to regain his dignity. I seem to have a gift of being able to persuade people to just 'lay off' most of the time. Even if I do require help from my straighteners or a spare pair of absorbent gloves.
I reach the Nabootique and stretch my hand out to grab the doorknob. As I do that, I trip over my own feet in a hurry, with little help from the ice-covered path beneath me. I end up opening the door whilst stumbling and fall, headfirst, down to the floor of the shop, smacking my head on the tiled floor. A burning white flash shines in my mind. I rub my head as I try and stand. Fuck, this is worse than the king of hangovers. And I've had my fair share of them. I use my spare hand to steady myself. When I open my eyes, stars dance before my eyes as I try and walk, and they don't part to let me through either. I'm trying to go upstairs, whereas my mind seems to be flying out of the shop. Outside. Across town. To the high street. To one of my favourite clubs.
"C'mon, we're going home!"
"Whaa? But Howaaaaaaaard, m'havin fun! We don't need to go home yet."
"Yes, we do, little man. It's getting late and you've had far to much to drink."
"It's called 'having a good time', you ought to learn it some time!"
"I'm more than capable of having a good time in my own way, sir."
"I'm talking about having a good time in the 'legal' sense of the word, Howard. Bestiality and pornography doesn't count as far as I know."
"What did you say?!" He spins around to face me, letting go of my arm which he's been tugging on for the past fifteen minutes or so. "You know, as I've told you before, they are just rumours!"
I can't help but burst out laughing; "Howard, I saw the magazine shoot! The whole of Dalston has seen it, or the few people that came to our last gig anyway."
"Yes, what was meant to be my carefully and hard-effort produced play which you turned into a fucking….exposure! Thanks a lot, Vince."
"It was just for a laugh, Howard. It weren't like there were many people at the gig anyway." I try and console him somewhat, though the alcohol in my system makes it difficult.
"Oi, Vince, why're you here with your dad again?"
Some of my mates who Howard had just dragged me away from were now coming up to meet us near the exit of the club. Some of them were just as drunk as me. The only person sober at all in the club, including the bouncers and the bar staff, was Howard. I could feel him starting to shake with awkwardness beside me. I noticed his hand on my arm and saw some of the guys looking at it shiftily.
"Get lost!" I cry out impressively to no one, shrugging Howard's hand off, "He ain't my dad!"
"You always bring him here when you do your gigs." The blonde guy, Shawn, grimaces, "Then he's always appearing to drag you off when the parties just getting going. Jesus, he's just your boss! Does he control your life or sommat?"
A snigger passes amongst the group and I go red.
"Wouldn't have thought Vince Noir was anyone's bitch. Especially not some jazz creep's."
The snigger turns into a wave of full-blown laughter. My cheeks burn.
Reputations take a lifetime to build but can be torn down in seconds. I can't let that happen. Not after all the effort I've put in. I hate to do what I do next but…Howard's given me no choice. He keeps pushing me around, clinging to my side like an ugly sticky handbag, treating me like some sort of inferior. Look where it's got me? He's looking at me now, wanting me to turn and go out with him.
I do turn around only to join in with my crew. Where I belong; "You're joking, right? I ain't no one's bitch…I don't even like him for fuck's sake!"
Howard's face goes whiter than my own pale complexion.
"Oh yeah?" Shawn sneers in disbelief; "Why d'you always let him hang around with you then? Everyone knows you're practically bumming each other."
"Why d'you think?…Look at 'im!" I force a laugh, pointing at Howard whose just standing there. A statue. "I feel sorry for the guy. 'e's like my own charity case."
"Vince…" Howard shakes his head, pleadingly.
Oh, come on, he knows I'm not being serious. It's only a joke. A front for the sake of my place as the Prince of Camden. He must know that. Why the hell has he got tears in his eyes for?
Another mate of mine, Terry, nudges me in the ribs; "You need to work on your charitable skills, Noir - you've just made your 'special case' cry."
"Come off it, Vincey…everyone knows you're in love with this loser." spits Shawn.
I just freeze. In love? With Howard? I look at him. I don't even think what's being said matters to him. He just wants to go home. Oh, Howard, I really wish we could. But now it turns out that everyone thinks I'm in love with you. Isn't that…disgusting? I can't have them thinking that about me. They think I have 'standards' you know? You'll understand, I know you will.
"In love?" I force the coldest laugh I've ever uttered, "You're only half right, Shawnie. 'Course I ain't in love with Howard but yeah - he's head over heels in love with me!"
Howard's eyes nearly burst out of their sockets. He opens his mouth into the shape of an 'O' but can't even speak a word. He doesn't even deny it. He just looks surprised…shocked. Not of what I've said, but just that I've said it, in front of all my friends. The thumping electro music that was once pulsating through the club also seems to have stopped - all the dancers focus directed to our strange group and it's shambling outsider.
Shawn snarls over at Howard, as if he were something he wouldn't dare wipe the soul of his shoe on; "Is that right? A loser like you thinks he can pull Vince Noir?! Oh that has to be the saddest thing I've ever heard! "
More laughter ensues, this time echoing around the pub. I keep up a smile but it wavers as I look over to Howard. He just keeps staring at me. His eyes burning me with…betrayal? If it's that bad then why doesn't he just leave. Or why doesn't he just deny it and be a man for once in his life. He really is hopeless. I actually feel sorry for him.
"He told me twice as well! First time he said he loved me and got all upset when I laughed. Well - who wouldn't?" I pander to the crowd who lap up my worlds like dogs to sweet milk. "Then, and you can ask my neighbours to back me up on this, he shouted out to everyone from the bleedin' rooftop that he'd come out of the closet and was a 'complete gheyist' for me!" Laughter erupts once more, bubbling louder then ever, as loud as the music that once pumped through the place.
I join in because, well, it is funny! I'm surprised none of them know about it already. Considering how all of Howard's other antics have ended up as, literally, front-page news. I look over to him, expecting him to have got the joke by now.
Except that he's gone. He's left.
Oh no. Don't tell me he took all that to heart. Again. I look around, scanning the club that's still full of my fellow indie crew giggling over the scene they've just witnessed, having a good time at Howard's expense. I can't spot Howard anywhere. I do spot Naboo and Bollo who are at the DJ stand. Damn, they could at least have kept the music going while that was happening! So what gives them the right to look over me, not amused, but…disturbed. What the fuck? If looks could kill, and considering Naboo's powers (I'm right to be getting flashbacks of the film 'Carrie') I'd be blazing in Electro hell right now. I stop looking at them. Clearly they've got their own problems.
I've got people asking me for a dance. Wanting my love. It's only right I give it to them.
Naboo keeps staring at me. I know what he wants me to do. But Howard's a big boy and he can get home in safe. Presides, best I let him cool off before I see him again anytime soon I think.
When I do finally stagger off home, I find him sat outside the shop. In the cold. You wouldn't think anything of the weather though, looking at him. Not the cold ever effects him. I envy that his body is so stocky and squishy like a hot water bottle. He's just sitting on the doorstep, looking out into the distance, crystalline tears frozen to his cheeks. Ok…maybe I did go a bit too far.
"Howard?" I speak, treading towards him, still very tipsy. "Are you ok?"
Bryan Ferry used to say that there's no such thing as stupid questions - just stupid electro boys.
He doesn't look at me. I sort of don't blame him.
"Why are you out here in the cold? How long you been 'ere?"
He shifts in his spot, still not looking at me. He mutters something, thick steam seeping visibly from his mouth to the air.
"What d'you say?" I ask, unable to hear him properly.
He says it louder; "You - have - the - keys."
Oh…
Disappointment threatens to choke me. Dunno why. God knows what I was expecting him to say.
I'm upstairs. In the flat. I'm alone. Somehow I managed to find my way through the stars and fly to here. The stars weren't as pretty as I thought they'd be. They didn't twinkle jovially and let me dance with them. They're gone now anyway. They've left me with something else. I sink down against the wall beneath the phone, all the way to the floor, my gaze fixed across the room to the farthest object away from me. I don't see the kitchen table or the small mouse hole that my friend Remy sometimes crawls through to visit me.
I just see Howard's face. How it looked when I said all that stuff. How it looked when I laughed with everyone else. How it looked when I found him outside the shop. His eyes…I'd never seen them looking so lost. Like a child who'd just been betrayed, for the first real time in their life, by the only person they could trust in the world. When I think of how his glistening deep dark brown eyes turned so cold and empty it makes me suddenly want to hurl. I clutch at my ever dropping stomach.
Why did I say that? Why did I say any of it? How could I…?
He didn't deny it. He didn't run away when he had the chance before I could embarrass him. Did that mean that…it was all true? I know he 'said' he loved me but I thought it was just Howard being Howard and saying things he always ends up taking back. He didn't take this back though. He…Oh God. My poor darlin'. What did I do to him?
I drove him out. I sent him into danger. It's all my fault. All. My. Fault.
Somehow I manage to climb to my feet again. I'm shaking. All the things I've ever said. All the things I've ever done. I can feel them collapsing in on me. I don't like it. I get claustrophobic easily. The walls are closing in on me and I'm trapped. There's not another soul in this flat but I've never felt so much guilt in all my life. I have to get some air. I have to escape. I can't go outside. I have to stay here in case Naboo comes back. Where to…
I look up. The skylight. The roof.
Using the step-ladder normally pushed away to the side, I use it to prop myself up and push open the window above me. I go up a few more steps until I can properly pull myself up onto the edges of the frame like I've done before. My head comes out to see the roof, whilst my arms pull up the rest of my body. I climb up and onto the small flat ledge of the rooftop and sit myself down properly with my feet hanging over the ledge, my lungs taking in the brisk fresh winter air. I then look the side and notice, for the first time, that as I shuffle up towards the chimney I'm blocked by….
Howard.
My jaw dropped. My very sweat froze to my face. Howard.
Sat up against the chimney, arms around his stomach, staring off into the distance, over the rooftops. An identical pose to how I found him outside the shop the other night. Once again, he doesn't even turn to look at me. I don't care. He's here, beside me, and that's all that I care about. It's more than I could ever hope for. More than I deserve.
I shuffle up closer, wanting desperately to pull him into a hug; "Fuck sake…I thought you'd been abducted! First all your stuff disappears, then Naboo tells me you've left the shop and the flat for good, then I find all your clothes having been dumped! Thought that tranny merman had got his webbed hands on you again…and it turns out you're just sulking on the roof! Are you gonna tell me what's going on, Howard?"
He still doesn't reply to me. He doesn't even need to blink anymore apparently.
"Oh c'mon, Howard." My voice softens. It's getting to much of a struggle stay angry anymore; "Talk to me. We could always talk here, couldn't we? Or anywhere where it could just be me and you. In the shop, in the living room, back at the zoo…on the benches or in our hut. D'you remember?"
He must do. I do so he must as well. He still doesn't even nod. Not a hint of recognition passes over his face. He's being so difficult again.
"Howard, look, what happened…you know what I'm like with everyone in town." I try and make him understand things from my point of view. "You try growing up in the forest with no one but animals to connect with and a musician who thinks he's Tarzan in a white suit. When I came to the city, I was terrified, I was dropped into a different kind of jungle that I didn't understand. But…I still fitted in! How unlikely was that? But I did. I felt at home. I wasn't a 'freak' who could talk to animals and have weird roommates…" I then feel the true bluntness of my last words, "…Though, you're not just a roommate, Howard. I know. You're my best-…well, you know. And I know I shouldn't use you to try and make myself fit in more but…well, it's not like you wanna fit in anyway, do you? So what does it matter what they think?…Howard? Howard, are you even listening to me?"
I just want some sort of reply. Is that so much to ask? Even just a grunt. Or a shrug. A breath.
Tears of frustration begin to blind me. I raise my hand; "For fuck's sake, Howard, will you stop pretending I'm not even here!"
I swing my hand at him. And, seeing as we had a bigger budget this time, my hand goes straight through. It cuts through the air as if I were practising a judo move. For a small moment I think I get my wish and hear a sob escape from Howard. At least I assume it's Howard, till I feel the ache in my own chest, and the warmth of tears spilling down my cheeks. No.
No. No. No!
The moment I get into the shop, I go straight up the stairs to the flat. I need to find Naboo. I need to tell him about finding Howard's clothes in the stream. I can't waste any time. If Old Gregg or some other deranged mutant rapist has kidnapped him…No! No point stopping to think about what might be happening to him. Or wondering if he's still alive.
"Naboo! Naboo, are you in?" I call out, reaching the flat and looking around the living room.
Empty. Shit, he said he'd be out. He better not be on another piss-up with his Shaman mates. Not when I really need him. Not when Howard needs him. Maybe he's in his room. Even if he isn't then I can look through his spell books myself if need be and try and do whatever I can to help save Howard. I've conjured up an army of evil nanas before; it was child's-play! Nothing else should be too hard. A unicorn that can take me to Howard, maybe? Or a wise-cracking toad that used to be the real Prince of Wales?
I spin around to go down the hallway and towards Naboo's room. Then I stop. And, suddenly, everything that I was worried about before dissolves away and becomes pointless. I let myself breath a deep sigh with a hushed prayer to up to old Mr. God, my hand landing on my heaving chest, exhausted with the rush of worry cooled by relief.
Howard's here. He's safe and he's here! Just standing at the end of the corridor, facing into Naboo's room, looking at who-knows-what and who cares? Howard's here.
"You had me so worried, you bumbaclark!" I call out to him. "I thought you'd thrown a wobbler and left us for good! Why wouldn't you answer your mobile? Did you just wanna wind me up or something?"
He doesn't turn around to face me. I'm instantly hurt. Maybe he's to ashamed. Maybe he only came back because he forgot something and didn't think he'd be found back here.
"Howard?" I ask, stepping tentatively towards him. I know something's wrong. When all your little hairs on the back of your neck stand up on end - that's a bad sign, ain't it? Oh no…maybe something did happen like with Old Gregg. "Howard, are you alright?! I found all your stuff in the stream and I thought…Howard, just speak to me! Tell me you're not hurt!"
Nothing. No response. Can't even stand to look at me. He just keeps on standing in the threshold of Naboo's open doorway. He's even standing in a weird way. Sort of…slanted. I look down and notice that his feet are hovering a few centre metres above the ground.
"Wow! How are you doing that? That's amazing!" I gasp, moving closer towards. I can't stay excited though, because he still won't turn around to face me. I'm getting really sick of this. "Howard! Say something! Stop being such a prat and just…LOOK AT ME!" I reach out the grab his arm.
He swings around.
I cry out, retching backwards and nearly stumbling over my feet. Because he literally swings around. Then I notice it.
It. As in the purple scarf that's the only thing supporting Howard's body and keeping him from falling. Holding his neck. Tied to some sort of beam in Naboo's ceiling. Keeping him hanging…hanged.
Fuck.
FUCK. No..no he can't have! No he hasn't! He…Oh, fuck, Howard!
"HOWARD!" I scream, rushing forward's to him again. The world is spinning, screaming, dying and it's all Howard. I need to get him down.
I push past his limp body in the doorway as if he were a set a beaded curtains, rushing for the small mauve chair he used to prop himself up in the first place. I set myself up on it and, putting Howard's arm around my neck, use my other hand to wrangle the tight noose off his neck. Once the scarf isn't supporting him, bastard gravity gets to work and he falls to the floor, taking me with him and breaking my fall as I land on his soft body. Thanks, Howard…
Howard.
I push myself up, hands on his shoulders, looking at his face. His eyes are still closed. Why hasn't he woken up? I got him down from the rope, surly that means he can breathe now. His chest isn't moving. I don't understand. He needs to wake up.
"Howard…" I breathe, putting my hands to his face, "Howard, it's alright! I got you down. C'mon, you're gonna be ok now. You can open your eyes…Howard? Howard, stop doing this…We've gotta go and open the shop or we're gonna get fired!"
I try slapping his face. That normally gets him out of a jazz trance. This can't be much different. I keep slapping harder and harder, needing him to sit up and shout at me to stop or even slap me back. Yeah. That's what needs to happen. He needs to open his eyes, sit up, and slap me. Then everything can be forgotten. Everything will be sorted. Everything will be alright.
"C'mon, Howard…Howard? Howard, get up. Howard - you've gotta wake up! You can't just lay here, Naboo's gonna wanna walk through to his room at some point…Naboo! I'll get Naboo, he'll be able to help…Or an ambulance? Oh God, Howard, what do I do? What do you need? TELL ME! I can't do anything right without you telling me so GET UP!"
I've stopped slapping him now and I'm shaking his shoulders, his limp head bopping as if to his idiot jazz music. Maybe that's what he needs. If jazz is like poison to me then it must be like a healing potion for him. Somehow I tear myself away from him. Just for a moment.
"Here. It'll be alright. I'll put some jazz on, yeah? That'll make you feel better. And then I'll call an ambulance. Everything's gonna be fine. You're gonna be all right." I say the words over and over to myself while I put Howard's 'Weather Report' c-d on the sterio (I don't know how to use his dusty record player). The Evil fills the room, creeping up my spine, but I don't care. Howard needs it.
I rush to the phone, my eyes always darting to Howard as I rush, my heart in my throat and beating ever harder as I start to notice just how raw that red mark is around his neck. Fuck. How long was he hanging there for? Can't have been that long. I wasn't out of the shop for that long. A couple of hours? Three? I call the operator and ask her to put me through to '999'. A voice clicks on and asks me for my address, number, what type of emergency etc. Why can't they just send a fucking ambulance?
The details spill out of my mouth the best they can, my words breaking with panic as I try and answer them correctly so they don't end up sending the ambulance somewhere else like Leroy's house. The woman taking the call tries to ask me more but I can't spend another second on the phone. Howard needs me. I tell them to just hurry up and slam it down on the receiver. I then scramble back down to Howard on the floor.
Keep him upright. Surly that's the best thing to do. He'll stay asleep if he keeps lying down.
"Howard, sit up. Howard…c'mon, Howard…" I groan, putting my hands under his armpits and hoisting his body up to prop him against the wall. "That's it. You're up now, you can open your eyes…Howard, you need to open your eyes! Please!"
His eyes remain closed. Marked forever with exhaustion. Tired of everything. Of me.
"Okay…ok, you need a little sleepy. That's alright…you've had a shocker. You can rest as long as you want. I-I'll run the shop all by myself and you can kip on the sofa until you're better. A-and I'll even make you some Horlicks, yeah?" I keep talking to him, sandwiching his right hand between both of mine. "I don't blame you though…ok? You've got nothing to ashamed of, Howard, s-so…you can wake up when you want. N-none of this is your fault. I mean…it is a little bit, o-obviously, 'cause you were a fucking idiot to try and do that. B-but it doesn't matter now. I got you down. You're gonna be ok. So…you can start breathing again if you want as well. P-please…or just squeeze my hand, yeah? You c-can do that, yeah? Howard?"
I squeeze his hand even tighter. So tight that I can almost convince myself that Howard is also trying to squeeze back but I'm squeezing to hard to notice. I don't let go. I don't let my eyes wander off his face. Even when everything starts to go blurry with the film of tears that form over my eyes.
"Howard…" It's a struggle to even whisper now with the sobs catching in my throat, a few hot, salty tears dripping into my mouth. "Howard, please…Don't do this to me. You can't…You can't leave me. I need you. I don't ha-…oh God, Howard! Howard!" I let go of his hand and wrap my arms around his neck.
He moves. I feel his body moving. My heart skips a beat.
"Howard? Howard!"
But he's only just sliding down with my weight to lie on his side. I fall with him, clinging to his shoulders and weep desperately into the crook of his neck. I push my head up to see his face the same as it was before. Eyes closed. Mouth slightly parted as if ready to breath a much missed bout of air. Did he struggle? Did he…choke?
"No…no, no, no! NO! NO!"
I bury my face back against him, clawing almost viciously at his shirt, my worry and panic boiling into fury. He can't do this to me…not again. Not like last time at the zoo. I lost him once already, I can't ever go through that again. I brought him back so he'd stay with me forever and always. Tears continue to spill down my cheeks as my cries turn into savage wails. He can't leave me again.
My arms slip around him. He's so cold. Howard's not meant to be cold. Even if he's cold on the inside, sometimes, on the outside he's meant to be warm and soft and strong. I hold him close. I have to warm him up again. I breathe on his dented neck and onto his hands, until breathing seems futile and I try kissing instead. Just like the story…you can cure someone from death by kissing them. It's simple. My lips travel carefully along him, my tongue tasting both my own tears and the flavour of all things Howard. Soon I'm at his mouth. I run my hand back against his curls and give his lips the softest, longest and most meaningful kiss I've ever given to anyone in my life. His lips are so cold. Blue.
Kiss me back. Please kiss me back. It's all I've ever wanted, god damn it. Don't let it be like this. Don't our first kiss be this one. Kiss me back.
I lift my head up, another set of tears trickling from the edge of my chin and onto Howard's face. I stroke his cheek with my hand. He's so beautiful when he's sleeping. He's always beautiful. I must have told him that…didn't I? No. Not in between the times I laughed at him and humiliated him.
"You're so gorgeous…" I caress gently; "…and I love you so much. You know I do. I told you before, didn't I? You thought I was just laughing at you. When really I was just so chuffed that anyone like you could really love me…oh God, Howard, look what I've done to you?… I didn't ever want for this to happen! I fucking love you!"
Sobs rattle through my body until I can barely stay upright. I let myself fall against Howard, curling up against him and pulling his arm around me to hold his hands back in mine. I can almost pretend he's holding me. I snuggle my head deep into his chest. The harder I press my ears then maybe I can hear his heartbeat. No. Deeper. I'm pressed right up against him now. There's nothing in chest. Howard's heart isn't so much as twitching. Howard's heart is broken. Snap.
I don't move. I stay cuddled up against his silent body, waiting. If he has gone…maybe he'll take me with him. Wherever he goes, I have to go to. That's how we work. He can't leave me on my own. I need him. He's my Howard. My Howard who I've killed. I don't deserve to call him 'mine'.
"You always take care of me, Howard…And I couldn't even save you like I promised I would...M'uselss! No matter what I've ever said before…I need you. I love you." I whisper to him, the sobs dying down but the tears still slipping. "So don't you dare leave me…Please, please! Don't leave me…don't leave me…don't leave me…"
A part of me wanted to lay there with him forever. Until I starved to death. Like a baby rabbit that couldn't live now that it's mother had had it's neck snapped by a fox's jaw and left to rot, and it just does the only thing it knows natural, to curl up against the one being who is their reason for living and wait to die as well. Every bit of sunshine in my body had burnt out. What's the point of the sun shining when it's whole world that it shines for has been taken away from them?
Arms soon appeared. Hands grabbed me and pulled me away from Howard. I'd tried to cling to him. I never wanted to leave him again. I wanted to keep him with me forever, just like it was always meant to be. But I'd worn myself out by sobbing so hard. The arms that went around me weren't those of a human - they were big, bulky and furry. Soft. Warm. Not as much as Howard though. Bollo had pulled me back and rocked me against him whilst Naboo had looked over Howard. I said that I'd rung for an ambulance. I saw Naboo checking the pulse in Howard's neck (I'd forgotten you could do that). I just wish his face wasn't so deadpan all the time. I couldn't tell if he was hopeful or…
Bollo's hand goes up to my head, holding me against his chest as if to protect me from the truth of what's just happened. But I keep my eyes on Naboo; "…He's gonna be ok, right?" I sniffle.
The tiny shaman checks the pulse in Howard's wrist instead. He holds his hand up, listens to his wrist, then lets go. As Howard's hand hit's the floor with a thud, my heart snaps and I burst into another round of tears, Bollo holding me closer to him.
"Vince," Naboo sighs, getting to his feet; "He's…gone."
Just like last time. Just like at the zoo. Only then…
"We can bring him back, yeah? Like last time." I squeak hopefully, struggling out of Bollo's embrace. He tries to hold my arms back, "Do it! Bring him back."
Naboo just looks at me; "Vince…it doesn't work like that. What happened last time was a special case. He was taken before his time."
"He's only thirty-two! You think this isn't 'before his time'? Bring him back!"
"Vince-"
"Bring him back!"
"I-I can't…"
"BRING. HIM. BACK!"
No matter how loud I screamed, no matter how hard I cried; it didn't change anything. For once, Vince Noir couldn't have what he wanted just by the click of his fingers or a pout of his lips.
Howard's gone.
Was gone. Is gone. Will always be gone for as long as I'm alive. And it's then, for the first time since I was born, that life doesn't sound like something worth sticking around for if there's no best friend in it. No one to work with. No one to laugh with. No one to fight with - about a relationship worth fighting for. Maybe that was it. It wasn't worth fighting for in the end. Not to Howard. He just gave up. Threw the towel in. Or purple flowing scarf.
Which, just so happened, to be my scarf. The same one he once told me never to wear in the van unless I wanted to end up like Isadora Duncan. He'd hung himself using my scarf. I wanted it to burn it afterwards. It had been used to take Howard away from me forever. Yet, at the same time, he'd been wearing it. Part of his smell, the faint old familiar musky scent, still hovered around me when I hugged that fabric to my face and cried heavily to relieve my never-ending grief.
And if I bleed, I'll bleed,
Knowing you don't care
And if I sleep just to dream of you
I'll wake without you there
That's what my punishment is. Never-ending grief. No acceptance. No forgiveness. No closure. Everyday I'll wake up, just as I did this morning, convincing myself that the last two days…two months…two years? None of it happened. It's still the morning after 'That Night' and I need to find my friend. Naboo will try and talk to me but I can't listen to anyone anymore. The only person who I ever really cared about and believed worth listening, and talking back with, was gone. I'd look for Howard. Remember the clothes. The clothes and belongings he dumped so as no one would have to bother sorting out his stuff. Then I'd go back to the place that, had I just gone back a couple of hours earlier, I could've tried to stop him. And I'll come onto the roof. Where I am now. I'll see him sitting beside the chimney. And I'll remember.
I'll remember everything. What he did. What I did. Where he's gone. Why he's gone. Every day, over and over again, because the thought of waking up without just the sweet false hope of seeing Howard again sounds worse than grief itself. It sounds worse than finding your best friend having hung himself with one of your own precious accessories and trying to bring him back to life whilst god-awful jazz played in your ears. No…the accessories weren't precious. Howard. Howard was precious. And I lost him. I let him leave me. I gave him the push - but not before tying that noose around his neck myself with all the god-awful things I'd done to him.
There's only one way to escape this cycle. Sitting on the roof, with a thirty foot drop beneath me, and a hard unforgiving pavement below…it could be over so quickly. Yes. Don't think I haven't thought about it. Don't think I haven't tried. Even tonight, as soon as I can't see Howard beside me anymore, I do it again. But, every time I do, Naboo somehow flies past in time on his rug and catches me. And tonight is no different. I flail against him, screaming at him to just let me die. Let me be with the person I love. He doesn't listen. No one does. That's just how Howard must have felt…only worse. Naboo just sedates me with a quick spell, then I wake up locked in my room, every sharp or rope-like object having been stashed away where I can't get to it. He's probably placed a charm upon the very room to stop me from using any means to try and end my miserable existence. Why he couldn't he have cast that upon the whole house for Howard?
Why couldn't we all have done more for Howard? Why did I hurt him? You don't hurt people you love. And I did. I don't care if no one believes me. I loved Howard. I'm just...stupid. And scared. And confused. Now look where it's got me? Naboo wants to keep me in this prison as much as Howard does. I deserve it. The same pain, the same hell, over and over again for eternity.
I huddle into the corner of my room, pulling my knees up to my chest and burying my face in my kneecaps. It's just my room now. All mine. My so-called friends just have me and there's no one to come between me and them or threaten to soil my reputation. This must have been what I wanted. Or else I would've done something to stop him. I would've taken back everything I said instead of hesitating like I did. If only I...
That night. I go to sleep before Howard. He's rushed off down the stairs and stayed down in the shop for the past two hours. I presume he's giving himself Chinese burns again. I want to go and stop him, the very thought of it making my stomach churn, but I don't. At first I'd try watching T.V, waiting for him to come back up after he'd cooled down so we could talk again, but I swear I can hear the straining of flesh and a flustered heated cry through the floorboards.
Why don't I go down to him?
I just go into our bedroom. I get dressed into my pyjamas, brush my teeth and snuggle down beneath my duvet to settle into an uneasy night's rest. When Howard finally approaches the doorway, I suddenly became terrified. But, for some reason, I stay pretending to be asleep. I shut my eyes tight and pull my blanket tight around me, like a little kid trying to make a useless attempt to protect himself from the bogey man.
Why don't I show him I was awake?
He stands there for a moment, at the foot of my bed. I can feel his eyes on me. Loathing me. I try my best to hide my shivering. I just want him to go to his bed and lye down. He doesn't. Instead, I feel my own mattress dip to the side. I start to shake but quickly control it. Howard is sitting on my bed. He doesn't say a word. He just keeps looking at me. Or, at least, I think he is. I keep myself turned in to face the wall, my heart in my mouth.
Why don't I just look at him?
He moves his hand and lays it softly upon my hair. I try not to tense up. Is he gonna snap my neck? Hurt me like he'd been unable to do in the living room? He then moves his hand again, just a little, to begin stroking my hair delicately. What the..? I don't complain. I'm paralyzed. Not just by fear, by how loving his touch is. It was so soothing. Warm tingles spread across my body. I can feel my eyelids drooping properly. No! I can't just fall asleep though. I need to tell him something. Oh God...I need to tell him now, before it's too late.
Why don't I just say it?
"Howard...I'm sorry! I am. I'm so, so, so sorry!" I cry out the words I should've said before, my cheeks streaked with tears once again. Words now not worth saying. Apologies past their sell-by date. He can't hear me. He's gone and I've lost every chance I had of saving him like I usually did. My job. Saving Howard. My job, my life and I failed it. I failed him. "I'm sorry, Howard! I should've said it before...I should never even have done any of the things I did to you...I'm so sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
Of course, Howard doesn't reply. How can he? All I get in reply is two simple words, spoken with my own callous tone, at the back of my head.
"Too little. Too late."
Even though I'm the sacrifice,
You won't try for me, not now
Though I'd die to know you love me,
I'm all alone
Isn't something missing?
Isn't someone missing me?
A/N: I know! I'm so sorry! I was in a really evil mood. Feel free to vent your fury through the wonder of the 'Review' button. Thanks for reading. xx