Chapter5 – Polyhymnia (Sacred Hymn)

Hands clasped in deathly prayer
Lashes still and lips pale
Her hair is spilled across the silk
Never so fine, or clean, or straight

I had my arm around Roger's shoulders, and he had long since tired of attempting to look as though he wasn't crying. He had collapsed against my body and I was supporting him, trying to calm him down, but at the same time prepared to let him cry.

"I'm such a fucking asshole."

I know, Rog. Trust me, I know. I sighed. But it almost sounded romantic when he said it. He knew he was wrong then. It takes him a while to grasp things, but when he does his remorse is uncontrollable.

"April's gone." I know, Rog.

April looked beautiful. They'd washed all that horrible dye out of her hair and it was back to blonde. Her dress had short sleeves, but they'd draped her wrists in bracelets and of course they were folded over her stomach. No one could see the wounds or the tracks.

"Do you want to see her, Rog?" We were way at the back, I'd been up to the coffin, Roger had simply sat in the back and cried until I came to comfort him.

He shook his head. "I can't go there. I can't go to her." His body was shaking. "I don't deserve to."

I took his hand and started to lead him to the front. I got distracted by the tracks and stopped to stare at his arms for a moment.

"Mark?"

His eyes met mine and I smiled awkwardly. Nevermind that now.

Her body gone, her mind drifts on
Her dress is stiff, her form apparent
Underneath the folds of cloth

Roger stared down at April with a distinct expression of fatigue and despair.

"Love you, April." He said. "I'm sorry."

Before I could stop him he reached into the coffin and touched her hands. He looked back at me when I reached to pull his hands away.

'I'm alone', his eyes said.

"I'm with you, Rog." I told him, taking him back to our previous spot.

He looked back at the coffin.

'It's not the same.'

The air perfumed with lavender
To hide the scent of death

Roger was throwing things around the loft. I saved his guitar by locking it in my room. I watched him destroy most of our furniture and a lot of his belongings. He looked over at me with a helpless rage.

"I killed her! I killed her, Mark!"

"You didn't kill her, Rog."

"She killed herself because of me! Because of what I did to her!" He fell back against the wall and slid down until he was seated, then screamed into his hands. I jumped at the ferocity of his attack, then headed toward him awkwardly and kneeled at his side.

"Rog,"

"It's my fault."

"You need to stop."

"I killed her."

He wasn't listening and he was practically incoherent.

I left him and went to my room and pulled out the crate full of vinyl I had also saved from his room. I took one out and pulled the record out of its sleeve and went back into the main room. After I put it on the record player I sat back down next to Roger, who didn't even look up until the music started playing.

"I hate you." He said.

I had put my arm around him again. "I know. But see how much longer you mope listening to 'Crocodile Rock'."

He starts to laugh. It was uncontrollable and almost scary how it took hold of his body and he pulled away and stood up, laughing the whole time. He stopped a few moments later and looked back at me.

"I need help, Mark." He told me.