(Darkness)
(During the time the logo plays, "The Windmills of Your Mind" by Noel Harrison plays its first verse, sung by a yet unseen man)
(In quick succession, we see images flash by, moments from Cavendish's life, past and present, in a logo: Cavendish being born (Round), His Father looking on disapprovingly as he spends time with Oliver (Like A Circle), Cavendish helping his mother make dinner (In A Spiral), Cavendish almost kissing Oliver on the tree branch (Like A Wheel), Cavendish's Father punching him and telling him to be a man (Within A Wheel) , Cavendish losing Oliver (Never Ending), Cavendish joining B.O.T.T (Or Beginning), Cavendish refusing to kill a criminal (On An Ever), Cavendish shaking hands with Dakota (Spinning Reel), Cavendish and Dakota constantly failing (Like A Snowball), Cavendish and Dakota being there for each other over the years (Down A Mountain), Dakota saving Cavendish's life multiple times (Or A Carnival Balloon), Cavendish suspecting Milo of being an enemy agent (Like A Carousel That's Turnin', Running Rings Around The Moon), Cavendish and Dakota fighting the evil circles (Diameter Part 3) (Like A Clock), Cavendish and Dakota fighting King Pistachion and Derek (Whose Hands Are Sweeping Past The Minutes Of Its Face), Cavendish getting exiled (And The World Is Like An Apple), Cavendish deserting Dakota to fight the aliens and getting frozen (Whirling Silently In Space), Cavendish and Dakota getting together with a kiss by Cavendish on Dakota's cheek (Homosexual Part 1) (Like), Cavendish and Dakota playing cards (The), picnicking and laughing thanks to the television (Circles), Cavendish becoming moody and resentful and selfish again (Bowling For You and This Date Must Be Perfect!) (That You Find) and Cavendish, despite trying, pushing Dakota and everyone else away… Alone. Forever. (This Date Must Be Perfect) (In The Windmills Of Your Mind…))
(Finally, the images part, and the words form a logo:
The Milo Murphy's Law Wiki Guy AU Presents:
Balthazar Cavendish VS The World
(The person steps out of the darkness, the lights revealing that it is Danville's main street, and that he is Serendipitacely, the number one Dakavendish shipper)
He makes his teary exit, and replacing him is Balthazar Cavendish.
Now 45 years old, Cavendish is somehow worse off in every way: He's more egotistical, he refuses to give and receive love, and he's buried it so deep that he has no idea that he's doing it all to make his father proud.
In short, he's a dumpster fire with legs.
Which is honestly an insult to actual dumpster fires with legs, they're way better at handling this kind of stuff.
Cavendish sighs, his stomach wincing as he catches the scent of freshly baked bread from the local bakery.
He clutches his aching gut, and a shiver runs down his spine as he can't help but wonder why someone who doesn't care about being alone is starving himself.
Blinking his eyes, trying to somehow remember the date, Cavendish walks down the echoing pavement, totally and utterly alone.
By choice, it would seem.
Finally managing to string two coherent thoughts together, Cavendish's eyes widen, if for a moment, when he realizes that he hasn't eaten almost anything in five days, having mostly sustained himself on stale crackers and the occasion glass of water.
One did not need to be a doctor to tell this, though; The signs were all there.
Whether it was his even thinner figure (what was once a stick was beginning to resemble a twig), his bag filled eyes (Cavendish sometimes counted 8, sometimes 15. To be fair, his mind was quite… Achey Breaky not workey), or his depressed and spiteful demaener (clearly evidenced by tripping on a bowl of spaghetti, which he then shot with his gun multiple times), even the least observant readers in the world could tell that barely anything had gone into his mouth in a while.
But Cavendish could tell you why he was malnourished, once he unstuck his dry, cracked lips of course: Dakota.
Well, not Dakota persay. More like his presence.
And again, a shiver ran down his rusty spine, causing Cavendish to shiver audibly, alerting the attention of 2 pairs of curious eyes.
Cavendish turned to note the unexpected guests: A boy and a girl named Alex and Anna.
The former was adorned with an orange T-Shirt, a lighter long sleeved shirt and jean shorts, all nestled under dark brown hair that barely reached his forehead.
The latter, a tall African American with a checkered under shirt and a purple dress, all neatly organized under a slightly messy collection of black hair, tied up with a literal bow.
The two children seemed to be staring in concern, but to Cavendish, any attention that wasn't positive was an attack on his life.
He had enough shit to carry, what with his guilt, or not, or yes, or not…
"Argh!", he yelled out in frustration, desperately wanting to forget what a prick he was to Dakota…
"No, I wasn't a prick, I wasn't! I just… I don't need to…", Cavendish started to fight with himself, before realizing that he was doing this in front of complete strangers.
Flushing from embarrassment and frustration, Cavendish, wanting nothing more than to forget, turned to the children.
He hoped he could get them off his back with a half apology (since he didn't really care, but he also did, but… Enough!)
"Look, I'm sorry I shout…"
But Cavendish had worsened the cracks in his lips for no reason: They were gone.
Like, completely, without a trace.
As if they were ghosts in his mind, faint memories that were there to remind him that…
Cavendish blocked his ears, trying to ignore.
SO desperately trying to ignore.
Looking up, he suddenly found himself in Josh's Convenience store.
This was odd.
Oh, not going to the store: He had planned to do that.
But the store was another block away!
Had he…
Had he walked all the way there?
Or was he dreaming?
"No…", Cavendish sighed regretfully, taking a shopping cart and filing in. "If I was, Dakota would be here."
Before he could continue, he kicked himself in the leg, trying to violently force the guilt out of the forefronts of his mind.
After all, there was NOTHING to be guilty for!
He hadn't done anything to ruin his relationship with Dakota!
…At least, he didn't think he did.
Seeds of doubt sprouted again as Cavendish ran it all over in his mind for what must have been the millionth time: He had taken Dakota out on a date 5 days ago ("Heh. More like 5 centuries ago.", he coldly chuckled), in the attempt to fix something Cavendish didn't think needed fixing.
And somehow, along the way, Cavendish had ruined everything.
Dakota had claimed that night that he had "checked himself out". That he had "Stopped giving and receiving love" and that he "always had to be right", alongside other baseless charges.
And at first, Cavendish had refused to believe them.
After all, he is BALTHAZAR CAVENDISH!
Time Traveller First Class!
Conqueror of the Pistachions and the Aliens!
Protector of the 20th century!
And a full grown man, big boy trousers and all!
Why, he even went to the bank all on his very own!
He should be proud!
…Then why was there this nagging feeling that something was amiss?
That, heaven forbid!... Dakota had a point.
Cavendish closed his eyes in pain, trying to quiet the two voices that had been wrestling in his mind for the past 5 days, but neither would budge in their mental wrestling match of doom.
"…Odd analogy. Clearly my mind isn't functioning.", thought Cavendish, or, at least, he tried: It was hard to think when two loud voices kept claiming that you were both the best man ever and the worst person in the world.
Fingers slightly shaking on the fading red paint of the cart handle, its squeaky wheels rattling on the floor in monotonus fashion, Cavendish passed aisle after aisle, aimless and distant, his mind a million miles away from the grocery store.
Soup aisle.
Clothes aisle.
You are the reason your life sucks aisle.
"That's new. Wonder if the beefaroni is on sale there.", Cavendish thought, not realizing the obvious fact in front of him: OF COURSE the beefaroni isn't on sale.
Josh is a real curmudgeon.
Oh, and there is no such aisle.
But his fleeting sanity was far less important than distracting himself from his guilt.
Taking a deep breath and puffing up his chest, which hurt, Cavendish tried his best to muscle through the pain.
As Dad would say, Cavendish just needed to emotionally distance himself from the problem, and Voila! It would stop being a problem!
Closing his eyes and breathing heavily, his ribs immediately colliding with his chest, Cavendish tried to ignore now two different kinds of pain and focus on what is important: Himself.
"Yes, Balthazar, this seems bad now, but it is good for you in the long run.", a gruff, old voice whispered in his ear. "Now that you dumped that pathetic pansy "man" where he belongs, you can finally focus on making me proud!"
Cavendish felt an overpowering urge from deep within him to do this, which confused him to no end: He hated his father with a vengeance.
Why the hell was that monsters opinion so important to him?
To be fair, though, it wasn't Cavendish exactly who was thinking these thoughts; They were being whispered to him in his left ear by a very Dakota looking spirit.
"Balthy, you and I both know that you're suffering. If you keep denying it, you'll only hurt yourself even more! Look at you!", the spirit pointed at the nearly lifeless belly and noodle arms that could barely muster a movement. "You're malnourished, and badly!"
"Pish posh!", Cavendish's Father objected, stepping out of Cavendish's right ear. "The boy is just adjusting to a better life without you! Without others!"
He leaned in to Cavendish, enticing him with his words of temptation. "Think about it, boy! No more distractions or obstacles on the road to being a hero! You will be respected, like you always wanted!"
Cavendish DID like the sound of that, his smile quite telling.
But the REAL Cavendish wasn't going down without a fight: The trauma of that night with Dakota was still fresh, and the wound could still burn his soul with consequences and regret.
"WAKE UP!", Spirit Dakota screamed in Cavendish's ear, making Cavendish karate chop a mountain of a man.
Grinning sheepishly, Cavendish tipped his hat at the surely illegal amount of deltoids and pectorals in front of him.
"Morning…", he greeted, waving slowly, bracing for the…
BANG!
There it is!
Cavendish was sent flying into the fruit stand, an apricot in every ear and a banana in his mouth.
"How mature of you.", Cavendish sarcastically chided the author, who shrugged.
"Stay away from the literal and figurative fruits, boy!", his Father ordered, and despite his cold stare, Cavendish found he legs working anyway, slowly moving off of the stand and…
"No! Don't deny your true self, Balthy! It's not too late to make things right!"
Cavendish was getting sick and tired of this, and he blocked his ears, but to no avail.
"He's done nothing wrong!"
"Yes. He. Has!"
"Stay off of him, you pathetic child! Balthazar MUST be a man!"
"You wouldn't know what a man is if he chopped off your legs and made a one man comedy show with them!"
"Oh, I do know someone like that! His show is rather successful and he's got a weekly podcast! I don't listen to it because I always pretend like I'll make the time for it!"
"In all fairness, I think everyone kind of does that, so that's not on you!"
"QUIET!", Cavendish shouted out, earning more odd stares.
"What are you looking at?!", Cavendish lashed out, holding a pineapple in the most threatening way someone could, which was no way. "Can't a man have a reasonable discussion with the little people inside his earholes?!"
"The nerve of some people…", Cavendish muttered, shaking the guvas off of his socks.
Straightening his hat, which had a pear, a mango and an orange on top, Cavendish gave very stern looks to the two avatars of his personality.
"Listen, guys, I respect your attempts to help, but I don't even know what I did!"
He marched back to the cart, slipping on the wet floor and smashing his back on said surface, earning a yelp of pain.
Gritting his teeth, he growled an explanation to his plea of silence. "All I know is that Dakota left me for some reason, and I can't tell if I am in the right or the wrong, which scares me, since… Since I have to be right!"
Suddenly, Cavendish could hear himself.
Was he always talking like this?
Was he really THAT insecure? That hungry for admiration?
Cavendish shut his eyes tightly, trying to silence his hyperactive brain. "Please… I just want a break…"
He almost felt tears sting his eyes, as he prayed for a reprieve. "Please… Just be quiet for a moment."
And for a moment, it was quiet, as Cavendish's eyes lay on a donut box being offered in the pastry section.
…Wait, wasn't he in the fruit aisle?
While he was confused by his sudden teleportation, Cavendish wanted to forget his troubles, so he shrugged them off and fixated his attention on the delicious donuts in front of him.
Despite having no appetite for 5 whole days, Cavendish found himself drooling over the desirable delicacy in front of him: Creamy, honey glazed sprinkled goodies, oft layered in chocolate or jelly, a thick coat of sweet paradise on the kneaded dough that had been handled by stranger's hands.
"Wow…", Cavendish exclaimed as his stomach growled with need. "Even that disgusting thought won't ruin my appetite."
Licking his dry, cut lips, prompting a small surge of pain to travel his nerve ends, Cavendish hesitantly grabbed the box, taking one particularly scrumptious looking donut out.
The shine in his eyes reflected off the donut, the angelic singing of a choir adding atmosphere to the room.
Cavendish, confused, turned around to see an actual choir.
"…Could you knock it off? I can't focus with all this racket!", Cavendish ordered, and the choir grumpily left.
This was all rather confusing, especially for the other shoppers, who were slowly disappearing: There was no choir in the store at all.
But Cavendish did not have time for such trivial matters as the slow and terrifying disintegration of his sanity: He had a donut to eat!
He wiggled his fingers, the donut fitting on his ring finger like, well, a ring, and he opened his mouth.
"Finally, something else on my mind!", he exclaimed out loud, again ignoring social norms, and he happily began to devour…
Alex:
Round... Like A Circle…
Anna:
In A Spiral…
The donut, which had once been a donut, at least, in Cavendish's mind, was now somehow two human faces, specifically those two kids from before, Alex and Anna.
The duo's arrival also heralded the arrival of music, specifically "The Windmills of Your Mind" by Harrison Wells.
Now, while Cavendish was sort of falling apart from the seams, he still had enough of his mental capacities left to recognize that two children faces sitting in his hand and singing songs from the 60's was most definitely odd.
So, like a normal person, he let out a blood curdling scream and jumped away from the… Whatever that was in his hand.
Eyes darting around madly, hoping no one saw him, Cavendish looked back at the four eyes which shouldn't be there on the floor.
Carefully, he found a stick and prodded the two kids, but they said nothing.
He repeated the action a few more times, but still no answer.
Throwing away the stick, and thus shattering a window, Cavendish sighed in relief, wiping his brow.
"Must be my mind playing tricks on me.", he chuckled to himself in his thoughts.
"Oh, it is playing tricks on you. We're here to clear the fog from your eyes.", Alex and Anna responded.
"Poppycock! There is no fog in my eyes!", Cavendish retorted defensively, not noticing the literal fog in his eyes.
But he did notice that the kids were suddenly talking.
"Wait, who are you even?", Cavendish accused, staring them in the eye inquistionally. "Enemy spies? Evil monsters? My landlord?"
Alex and Anna exchanged worried glances before resuming their staring contest with Cavendish, whose eyes were bulging with suspicion. "Mr. Cavendish, we are products of your mind. We also saw you like 5 minutes ago outside. You told us to go away."
Cavendish blinked in confusion, failing to understand. "But… I've never seen you in my life! Are you sure you're not mistaken?"
Alex and Anna nodded grimly.
Cavendish sat down, hands on his knees, a nervous look on his face. Assuming he wasn't going mad (a sucker bet, sure, but he was a beggar, not a chooser), Cavendish was being told the truth: He had somehow forgotten something that had only just happened.
"But how?", Cavendish asked no one in particular.
"Well, you see…"
"And also, why am I imagining all this? I asked for a break!", Cavendish demanded, annoyed.
"…Well, if you'd just…"
"And also, like, what did I even do? Poor Dakota can't pass a minute without me groveling all over him…"
"Sir, if you just stop…"
"And why were you singing?!", Cavendish asked, waving his hands in the air. "Also, you only sang one line! Quite lazy, if I do say so my…"
"SHUT UP!", Alex and Anna screamed in demonic voices, making Cavendish cower in fright.
Sighing, the two heads returned to the ground and rolled over to his already outstretched palm, the hand lifting itself towards Cavendish without him even asking it to.
"We are, in a sense, your true self. You wronged Dakota…"
"Not… Exactly…" Cavendish choked out.
"You ignored the ones you love…"
"Well, everyone's a critic.", Cavendish pouted, crossing his arms.
"And in trying to please your Father, you lost yourself."
"Puhlease! Of all the accusations, that may be your silliest! I hate my Father! I loathe him! Why, once, I even said that he's downright… Mean. And that took a lot of willpower!", Cavendish defended himself, not noticing that he was, if anything, incriminating himself.
Alex and Anna looked at each other with tired glances.
"Ok, so now we know that he's totally in denial.", Alex said.
"We sort of already knew that.", Anna retorted, cocking an eyebrow.
"Well, I just wanted to confirm it! The paperwork has to be filled, Anna!", Alex chided, a scolding tone to his complaint.
"Oh, please! You and I both know that the only reason you've ever lifted a pen is because of May down in accounting.", Anna playfully mocked, making Alex huff.
"You try ignoring her! She's a rare desert flower, and I'm… The guy who picks those things. Who does that?", Alex asked.
Anna shrugged, and they both looked at Cavendish, who tapped his chin in thought.
"An anthropologist? A biologist, perhaps?", he offered.
"Maybe…", Alex muttered, and suddenly, he and Anna rolled away.
"Hey, wait, I can Bing search it for you!", Cavendish hastily called after them, following the rolling heads down the store floors.
"Cavendish, we must return to the matter at hand: You are broken and in need of repair. Self repair. Only you can fix yourself."
They suddenly materialized into a picture, a picture of Cavendish's first date with Dakota, a year ago in The Breakfast Burrito Place.
A pang of sadness struck his heart, and Cavendish couldn't help but glance with melancholly at the happy image.
How had it all gone wrong?
What did he do to ruin it all?
But no!
Cavendish refused to be wrong!
He had to be right!
He had to!
Cavendish scoffed, flexing an inexistent muscle. "Nonsense! I'm in perfect shape, both physically and mentally! Why, just yesterday I thought I heard a dog bark "Dakota! Dakota!" and I only cried for the rest of the day!"
"Your point being?", Anna asked doubtfully.
"I stopped crying once I went to sleep!", Cavendish offered helpfully.
Alex and Anna sighed. "Cavendish, you need help, whether you like it or not!"
Cavendish, steaming, shouted back. "Never! Never in million years! I am a man! And a man needs no help from no one!"
"Good!", Alex cheered.
"Now help yourself!", Anna offered.
"Fine, I will!", Cavendish countered and he walked off. "Stupid talking children's heads! Why, of course I can help myself! I definitely will! After all, I am totally broken, and those foolish brats can't see that!"
"Oh, yes, we are morons!", Alex called out.
Cavendish nodded determinedly and he lifted another donut from the box which was magically next to him.
"Nope, not a donut, go to the wheel!", Anna guided, and Cavendish did as she said.
"They'll see! I'll confront the reasons why I hurt Dakota!", Cavendish proudly exclaimed, before suddenly realizing…
"Wait, wait, I don't want…", he tried to stop it but it was too late.
Brandon:
Like A Wheel…
Britanny:
Within A Wheel…
"Too late…", Cavendish frowned, and he glanced at the wheel with two kids faces, this time a short, overweight kid with a pompadour, the other a smiling girl with a curly ponytail.
Viewing them with nothing but contempt, Cavendish asked a question he did not really want to be answered.
"Let me guess: You're here to show me what a terrible person I am.", was the dry question that parted his parched lips.
"Oh, no, not terrible! Just misguided!", Brandon and Britanny enthusiastically replied, their faces filling the space in the wheel.
Cavendish smiled lightly. "Oh, well, that IS better."
Only to then frown again. "Hey, wait, who says I'm misguided? I'm just doing what I'm supposed to do to be a man!"
"Oh no, we can't hear you, we're turning into a picture!", Brandon and Britanny shouted with glee, spiraling and swirling like a toilet flush as they slowly turned into a picture.
"No, wait, don't turn into a picture, please!", Cavendish pleaded, his hands clasped together.
Brandon and Britanny's heads suddenly returned. "Would you rather it was a video?"
Cavendish considered the option carefully. "Well, that depends: Can you make it a video?"
"Yes, but it takes up a lot of budget.", They admitted and Cavendish shook his head.
"Well, we can't just blow the budget on something so inconsequential! Make it a picture!"
"Yes sir!", they saluted and turned into a picture, just in time for Cavendish to realize what he had done.
"Wait, wait, I don't… Oh, bollocks.", Cavendish cussed as the picture fell in the palm of his hand.
Looking down, he was met with another joyful memory: His first kiss with Dakota.
He couldn't help but sigh fondly, caressing the image by making circles with his thumb.
He could still feel the tenderness of the kiss he had delivered to Dakota's cheek back then, how positively giddy it felt to just show him the love he so clearly deserved.
For a moment, it was just him and the memory, and no one else.
For a moment, Cavendish once again felt the love he had for Dakota, true love, love that made him almost feel scared it was so deep.
So of course he had to go and ruin it.
As his eyes continued to gaze upon the image, he suddenly noticed the color draining from it, dripping away and off of the picture like a leaky faucet.
Startled, Cavendish threw the image away, and, finding some of that leaking color on his person, he began to shake it off.
This, however, led to another discovery: He was also losing color!
His hat and head had already been coated grey by the time he noticed, and even then it was too late: The rest of Cavendish had lost its color, and as he picked up the picture, so did the memory.
What was worse was that it wasn't just the color that turned grey.
Cavendish couldn't explain it, but for some reason, as he held the picture again, all those wonderful and awe inspiring feelings he had had, all those pleasant memories now suddenly felt empty and meaningless.
As did he.
Cavendish blinked in confusion as he sat on the cold, shiny grocery store floor, he himself now feeling empty and meaningless, lost in a cold and cruel world.
But was it thrust upon him…
Or was this nightmare one he thrust upon himself?
Whatever it was, Cavendish was disturbed: Surely all those feelings and memories weren't false, right?
He MUST have felt them once, or else he wouldn't have dated Dakota at all!
Was… Was it all fake?
Were his feelings for Dakota, for Milo, for Melissa and Zack and Amanda and Sara and Doof and the rest real or imaginary?
"They are fake, don't you see!", his Father returned, once again turning him against them all. "I've told you once I've told you a hundred times, you need to be a man!"
He cupped Cavendish's jaw, sending an all too familiar (yet somehow also foregin) feeling chill to Cavendish's spine.
"And a man does not need anyone! He only needs himself! You are strong on your own!", his Father ordered, and for a moment, Cavendish wanted to heed said words.
But the battle had only just begun.
"Stop poisoning him!", Dakota leapt out of nowhere and flung his sword at Cavendish Sr's. "Balthy does care! Why would he feel empty and meaningless?"
"You are confusing empty with independent! You are not meaningless, you've finally found meaning in this wretched world!", Cavendish Sr. fought back, the two figments of Cavendish's imagination doing battle in front of his eyes.
Cavendish closed his eyes, wishing to avoid the unavoidable.
"Please! I feel bad as it is! I can't handle more guilt!", Cavendish begged, wishing to find out he was right all along, and he didn't break any relationship.
But fate had other plans.
Carol:
Never Ending…
"What's never ending? Please stop singing in fragments, it's very confusing…"
But Cavendish couldn't finish the sentence: An all too familiar George Michael ballad was blaring across the now empty grocery store, haunting him yet again.
George Michael:
I'm Never Gonna Dance Again
Guilty Feet Have Got No Rhythm
Though It's Easy To Pretend
I Know You're Not A Fool
Should've Known Better Than To Cheat A Friend
And Waste The Chance That I'd Been Given
So I'm Never Gonna Dance Again
The Way I Danced With You
Cavendish felt the tears threaten to burst the dams in his eyes, and he quickly blocked them with his hands.
He couldn't cry!
He could never cry!
He…
"I need to run away from here!", he cried, as flashes of memories came back.
He had treated him so terribly!
He had been so negligent, so critical, so downright cruel, never truly giving him love!
"No, no, no! I can't be wrong! I have to be right! I have to!", Cavendish shouted as his legs carried him off and away from the grocery store.
He needed to rest! Yes, rest!
This was all just some bad dream, just a bad dream and nothing else!
He just needed to wake up, and all this shame and guilt would be replaced with what he should feel: Relief and pride.
No longer would he be tied down by that poof, that fairy!
He'd be himself again!
A man standing alone at the gates of destiny, loving only himself, as he should!
Even though his entire soul screamed in pain from daring to hurt the only ones who had ever loved him, Cavendish drowned it out with praise from his Father.
"Atta boy, Balthazar! Now, open your eyes and you'll see your future!"
But instead of the future, the past stood before Cavendish, urging him to confront it.
Carl:
Or Beginning…
The words reverberated across the establishment, the one Cavendish had dreaded entering since the events of the disastrous date: The Breakfast Burrito Place.
Therein lied the place where Cavendish and Dakota had had their first date.
Here, past the processed meat and pungent cushions, lay memories, laughter and joy shared and stored within the walls of plaster.
It was the place where it all started…
And where Cavendish unknowingly set forth the end of it all.
It was Dakota's favorite place…
And, once upon a time, it had been Cavendish's for that very reason.
Cavendish almost smiled tearfully, he could feel Dakota's spirit in the place: His playful laugh, his purposefully dumb jokes, his soft hand caressing his, the twinkle in his eyes…
His warm kisses, which made the cold nights way more bearable…
Another shiver, another sigh, another denial.
He had to run away from here, before he'd discover some awful truths.
The very idea that he might be the reason behind all his failure scared Cavendish to no end!
He had to have been right, otherwise he'd have spent 35 years doing it all for the wrong reasons, no?
No.
He couldn't face this.
Even the intense urge to do Dakota right paled in comparison to Cavendish's all encompassing need to not hate himself.
So, instead of sitting down in the place that carried painfully happy memories, Cavendish would run back to the couch and pretend to be happy.
Depression, unfortunately, was a lot more welcoming than the truth.
"And probably more obedient to a health code", Cavendish half joked as he began to dart out of the establishment, but Alex, Anna, Brandon, Britanny, Carol and Carl blocked his path, refusing to let him leave.
"Out of my way! There's a dusty corner in my dark apartment that beckons!", Cavendish declared, and he jumped at the human wall, only to rebound back.
"Cavendish, don't you see that we are your consiconce, screaming out for redemption?", they said, but Cavendish ignored.
"Stop! Please stop! I can't be responsible for this, I can't!", Cavendish yelled, almost begging, fear etched in his words as he slammed the floor with his fists.
The kids were quite taken aback by this, some flinching as Cavendish kept shouting.
"I don't want to face it! I don't want to find out why! I don't care what I did! I just want to rest!", he screamed, tears running down his face and blood curdling inside.
He wept and wept, shaking and shivering, fearing it all.
"I… I just want to be good. I can't bear to find out that I was the bad guy all along.", Cavendish admitted, calming down for a second, but still fidgeting like mad.
Looks of sympathy reflected in the faces of the kids as Cavendish continued to sob, a little quieter now.
They were, after all, products of his guilty mind. They only wanted to help.
Alex, the first of the pack, slowly inched towards Cavendish, a hesitant hand reaching towards the grown man's back, like a baby trying to pet a big dog that had just gnarled its teeth.
Cavendish flinched for a moment from the contact, afraid of its meaning.
"Don't make me feel better! I…"
Cavendish stopped, stuttering, confused as to why he'd not want support.
Or, well, he did know.
But…
But…
"Oh, it doesn't make sense! How can I want love and yet also fear it? How can I hate and look up to my father? How can I say that I didn't do anything to Dakota…"
Cavendish bowed his head, sweat now suddenly running down his face as it joined together with the tears to blur his vision.
"…When I feel so guilty?"
Right now, in the very confused, tired and scared mind of Balthazar Cavendish, many desires overlapped and engulfed others.
So many conflicting motivations raced for the finish line of his heart, trying to grab his utmost attention.
A part of Cavendish just wanted to lie down and never wake up.
But another part, a strong, passionate part that slowly rose up from his chest into his mind began to take form.
Maybe he didn't do anything.
Maybe he really was innocent.
But Dakota would never have left for no reason.
Scary as it was, Cavendish began to realize: He must have done something.
…But what?
Sighing morosely, Cavendish looked up at the now very concerned group of kids surrounding him, all of them carrying familiar yet simultaneously unfamiliar faces.
"…I'm truly sorry."
He tried to avoid their stares, his soul was being pierced enough as it is.
"I want this over as much as you do. I just want to stop feeling like such a… Such a…"
"Jackass?", Alex offered.
"Well, not exactly the word I'd use…"
"Asshole?", Anna suggested.
Cavendish frowned, miffed. "All right, fine, maybe an asshole, but what I was trying to say was…"
"Bastard?", Brandon piped up.
"Full of shit shit head?", Britanny tried.
"Cucumber colored cock with a half burnt hyronomus bosch poem for a heart?", Carol chimed in.
"KunckleheadMcSpazzmatron?", Carl referenced.
"All right, enough!", Cavendish protested, his voice loud and annoyed.
He crossed his arms and blew a strand of hair off of his forehead. "Seriously, was that necessary?"
"Oh, very!", Alex joked, and the rest laughed.
"Ugh, whatever!", Cavendish grunted, almost sounding like a teenage girl named Ashley who only wears DESIGNER GUCCI, not that fake crap they sell at The Gap, girlfriend! BURN!
Taking a deep breath, his nostrils flaring but not angrily, Cavendish looked back at the kids with a mix of fear and hope.
"…Look… I honestly, cross my heart and hope to die…"
"No you don't."
"Of course not, I was born FABUOLOUS! Ahem…", Cavendish cleared his throat, returning to the subject. "I honestly don't know what I did, or why I did whatever I did."
He looked down, ashamed. "I have the most terrible feeling that I did something, and I would rather read contract law books, bathe in Donald Trump's sweat and have my soul ripped out of my chest every 5 seconds than admit for a moment that I am wrong… But…"
He looked up, determinedly, ignoring his Father's screams from the depths of his mind. "I want to know. At least for Dakota, I want to know."
Yes, even then, his love for Dakota overpowered all.
Perhaps there was hope.
Suddenly, he felt his head split almost in two as the war waged inside him heated up.
Letting out a scream of anguish, he began to pound the floor, hot tears of pain running down his face. "Please, hurry!", he shouted out, seething and suffering. "Please! I… I can only muster so much courage for so long!"
The kids, now truly sympathetic for Cavendish, stepped forwards, presenting their hands, waiting for him to take one.
Cavendish looked up, confused. Was this part of the deal?
Realizing that he had missed the point, Anna spoke up, taking the lead over her more experienced partner. "In order for someone to heal, he must be ready to listen. To accept that maybe, just maybe, he's at fault. Can you do that?"
Her words were quiet, peaceful and Cavendish, tears running down his face, shivered.
Could he?
He hesitated, his hand shaking violently, the mere action of taking Anna's hand and accepting blame too frightening to even consider.
But…
"…Dakota needs me.", Cavendish thought, and, just barely succeeding, he grasped the hand, sort of ready to accept responsibility.
Anna smiled and patted his writhing palm with her other hand, making Cavendish, for just a moment, feel warm, and even…
Safe.
"Heh…", he lightly chuckled, feeling ease for the first time in days. "…It's pretty easy. Is that all I have to do? Not sure why I made such a fuss out of…"
And then Anna clicked her tongue and Cavendish got sucked in to her hands.
His body squished and melted, turning into liquid Cavendish (half the price for a solid Cavendish) and as he got slurped into Anna's hands, he let out a scream of terror and panic.
Casey (OS):
On An Ever…
Chelsea (OS):
Spinning Reel…
"I REGRET ALL MY DECISIONS!", Cavendish shrieked, his eyes bulging out in fright as he found himself in…