"So… Let me get this straight…"
Taking a big bite out of her breakfast burrito, the voice with an Ohio accent and a spring in its step continued the cross examination.
"You woke up today feeling worse than ever…"
"Somehow, I know!"
"Uh huh. Then you dozed off in front of this restaurant after seeing weird background characters…", the fork pointing at his face was covered in crumbs, and an odd want to wash it fled away as soon as it came.
"Yes… As weird as that sounds."
A ceiling fan kept spinning on and on, not really affecting anything, but spinning all the same.
"And if we're talking weird, you then had a dream of sorts where said background characters sang "Windmills of Your Mind" while making you realize that you mistreated Mr. Dakota and those kids who came a few days ago, but what you don't understand is why you did all this."
"Precisely!"
A silence followed as the two ate, until Denise, the main employee at "The Breakfast Burrito Place", finally broke it: "That is whack, Balthy. That is freaky."
Cavendish sighed, frustrated. "I agreed to you analyzing me because I am desperate, but PLEASE don't call me Balthy."
Only two people were allowed to say that…
And he had driven them both away…
Denise nodded as she swallowed a bite of her burrito and stood up, circling the tiny Janitor's closet.
"All right, but surely we can find a larger place than this! I can barely hear myself think!"
"Likewise.", Cavendish thought dryly. He may have been more willing to ask for help, but that Cavendish frustration was definitely not gone yet.
"Ooh! Maybe we could take it to the comfy seats! Lots of air AND lots of atmosphere! How do you like your Youtube Mixes? Incredibly specific or 2010's oooh baby?", Denise asked, perhaps a bit too enthusiastic for someone tasked with analyzing the trainwreck that was Balthazar Cavendish.
Cavendish shook his head, crumbs flying off his moustache and onto the Kowala grey carpeted floor. "Baby steps, Denise! I've managed to tell myself that I'm doing something wrong for the first time in forever, but I don't think I'm ready for a public cross analysis!"
Cavendish's eyes darted suspiciously from side to side. "Besides, it's "Kiddie Time" and I will NOT talk to Bernardo the Burrito Addict Beaver! He's a real gossip!"
Denise laughed, and Cavendish noticed for the first time the dimples on her cheeks that bounced with every chortle.
A beautiful detail, hidden in the cracks, lost now forever to time.
How many of those had he missed?
A mangled napkin sailed past his hat, and Cavendish decided to redirect the conversation.
"So, refocusing our talk, I need to know why I've stooped so low. I…"
He swallowed his spit. This was hard, but not just because of his pride. He…
He was supposed to have been better than this.
…He should have been better than this.
But he wasn't.
And they all had paid for that.
Because of him.
"…I just… I just want to know why I'm not the hero I wanted to be…"
Cavendish suddenly stopped and uttered a sentence he didn't expect at all: "Are those animal puppets for 3-6 year olds that are sold at any local toy store?"
"…Maybe…", Denise said, as she finished equipping her hands with animal puppets for 3-6 year olds that are sold at an local toy store.
"I was expecting this to be a lot more serious.", Cavendish said, his moustache twitching in disapproval.
"So were the readers.", Denise shattered the fourth wall.
"What?"
"Nothing!"
Cavendish sighed. "Very well, if it means I can make it up to Dakota and the kids, I will do whatever I must do. And that is?"
Denise offered two puppets, a cow and a horse.
"Ridiculous! Preposterous! Absolutely illogical!"
Silence.
"…I want the cow."
Once she handed the bovine over, Denise took out a few flash cards and spread them on her lap, which was difficult due to the puppets she had on her hands. After dropping them a few times, she finally managed to get started. "Now, I prepared a little script for us while you spent the first few minutes on the fetal position, so why don't we…"
"The cow goes 'Moo!' 'Moo!', I say!"
Denise cleared he throat. "Mr. Cavendish?"
Cavendish looked up, curious as to why she called. "Yes?"
Denise pointed at the flash cards. "I believe you wanted me to explain to you why you act like a douchbag."
"True, but wouldn't it be easier to forget it all?", Cavendish asked hopefully, some of that pride and fear still present.
Denise raised a humorous eyebrow and Cavendish sighed wearily. "I'm sorry… It's just…"
"You're afraid… It's only natural.", Denise said with a comforting smile.
Cavendish, however, was not smiling.
"…I'm not supposed to be afraid. I'm…"
Cavendish felt it.
The pain.
The disappointment.
The failure.
"…I'm supposed to be better than this."
"Why?", Denise asked, talking with her dog puppet. "Why, Mr. Cavendish?"
Cavendish, with little amusement, took notice of the doggo.
"I must say, this is extremely distracting."
"Aww, don't be like that! Here, how about a kiss from Mr. Horse?"
Cavendish cringed. Mr. Horse and his flowing sexy locks reminded him of someone…
"I'd rather not…"
"Why?", the doggo asked, curling up to his chin.
"Because… Because!", Cavendish angrily answered, turning his back and frowning.
He then regretted this. "Great… Now I'm acting like a dick to the animal puppets. Does my cruelty know no end?", he wailed dramatically, shaking his fists in the air at god…
Or himself…
Denise laughed and took off the puppets. "No need to be SO dramatic, Mr. Cavendish! I'm sure we can find a way to get you to open up!"
She took out some ink blotched papers. "How about some ink blot drawings?"
"Pass. That stuff is hooey and won't possibly reveal anything true about me!", Cavendish complained, and Denise out down the blot that clearly said "Bi angst, child abuse, forgiveness issues and toxic masculinity".
Denise shrugged and took out a joke book. "Perhaps a few jokes will open you up? How's this: "There once was a man from Peru, who fell asleep in a canoe. He dreamt of Venus and played with his…"
Cavendish took the book and burned it with a flamethrower. "I think our rating is adult enough without that, don't you think?", he gasped, anxious.
Denise sighed. "All I've got left is Art Therapy, but I really doubt that will work."
"Well, who knows? It's worth a shot!", Cavendish proposed willingly. He really DID want to solve things.
Denise, shrugging, took out a giant painting of two men kissing while an older gentleman looks along disapprovingly and a crowd boos.
Cavendish scratched his chin thoughtfully.
"I feel guilt, resentment, fear, pain, desire, disappointment, wishes of glory and an aversion to relationships of any kind."
He shook his head sadly. "I've got nothing."
Denise threw the painting away and sighed. "I guess we won't find out…"
But Denise was no easy quitter, and she mentally kicked herself. "Seriously? Is this who you are? Mr. Cavendish, Mr. Dakota, their kids, the city… Everyone is counting on you! Just for once, give something back!"
Taking Cavendish's hands, Denise smiled her intoxicating smile as she gazed at him with hopeful eyes.
"Mr. Cavendish, I am NOT giving up on you! We will find a way for you to open yourself!"
"How?", Cavendish asked, in despair. It seemed that even when he was trying to do the right thing, it all went wrong.
Denise spun her chair and sat with the back to her, inquisitive eyes. "We'll find out by answering the really important questions! Why are you doing all this? Why did you sink so low? Why are you such a dirtbag?"
Cavendish groaned. "The jokes aren't helping!"
Denise shook her head, laughing. "They won't if you don't lighten up!"
Cavendish scoffed, failing to believe this woman. He had to be taken absolutely seriously so that he could stop taking himself so seriously! "Lighten up! Ridiculous! I'm angsting!"
Denise booped his nose, annoying him. "Boo hoo. Should I call "My Chemical Romance"?"
Cavendish jumped up and down excitedly. "You can do that?"
Denise blinked in surprise and Cavendish sheepishly sat down. "Before Dakota, they were the only ones who understood me."
"Spouting out clichés?", Denise asked, in fake disapproval.
Cavendish sighed wearily, his sadness returning. "Better than spouting out terrible insults."
Denise's expression softened and she patted his back. "Look… I want to help. I really do! But I'm going to need more details from you."
She looked down, in an understanding way. Her smile replaced with an all too knowing look. "Hard as it is… I'm going to need you to look into your past."
Cavendish nodded, but…
He wasn't sure if he could.
It wasn't that he didn't want to solve all this: He was thankfully past that.
But knowing he had to do it didn't make it any easier.
Remember: He had spent 35 years of his life on a self made pedestal. Stepping down was harder than it sounded.
Plus, Cavendish was still unsure if he deserved being understood.
Maybe he deserved nothing more than to lie down on his apartment floor and count the seconds pass and pass and pass and pass…
Eyes darting up to the ceiling fan, Cavendish suddenly realized how sweaty he was getting.
Eyes observing his palms, Cavendish suddenly realized how wrong he was. How different he was.
Eyes focused at Denise, Cavendish suddenly realized how much he hated himself.
"….I… I don't know if I can."
He tried to hide the tears. He couldn't… He couldn't show weakness. He had to be the good boy! He had to!
"I… I don't know if I should."
"Mr. Cavendish…", Denise started, reaching a hand out.
Cavendish recoiled at first, and he still felt odd as he felt a touch that wasn't violent. "I don't think you are terrible. I don't think that you've lost your second chance. You'd need to give yourself a second chance first, and you haven't."
Could he?
She smiled encouragingly. "I believe that deep down, beneath that prickly and pompous exterior, there is a good, kind, gentle man, one who loves and cares for his friends and family."
She schlepped out her phone and scrolled down some pics. "Sure, you've been grouchy, but look at these!"
Sticking out from her phone were picture after picture of Cavendish, pictures that felt both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.
Cavendish's eyes darted quickly as they captured pictures of laughter, of happiness, of love.
There he was, high fiving Melissa.
There he was, patting Milo's head.
There he was, kissing…
Cavendish's moustache twitched in disbelief, but his eyes told a different story: That deep down, Cavendish wanted to believe that.
Believe that he could forgive himself.
Believe that he was capable of love.
Believe that… He wasn't the bad guy.
"You're better than you think you are!", Denise stated, as she withdrew the phone and smiled brightly, her teeth sparkling.
Denise then frowned, melancholy painting her face and the scene grey. "But I can't help you if you refuse to help yourself."
Cavendish's clammy hands clasped together despite the stickiness and he tried to start the conversation, his need to make it up to Dakota stronger than his fears…
For now…
"My past?"
Could he talk about it?
It was just…
"Well…"
A voice resounded in his ears. "You mustn't show weakness, boy! You must persevere! You are a man… And men do NOT ask for help!"
It was so powerful…
It all felt wrong…
"No… I must tell you…", Cavendish choked out, his fists clenching and his eyes shut as he shivered.
Denise was confused and she raised a concerned pair of eyebrows. "Mr. Cavendish? Are you ok?"
Cavendish struggled and gritted his teeth, losing the battle. "I… I can't! I… I've said too much! I… I must be a good boy! A good man!"
Denise was now getting a little scared. "Should I… Call someone? Like a doctor?"
Cavendish stood up, his plate still in his hand.
"I… I CAN'T! I… I have to go!"
Cavendish started to leave, the voice getting louder and more disapproving.
The belt buckle lashed and the fist collided and Oliver left and Dakota left and he was the reason he wasn't good enough, as a man or as a pansy he was not good enough he was not good enough he was not…
Denise jumped out of her seat and put her hand on his shoulder, visibly concerned and sympathetic. "Balthy, please let me help you!"
But that was too much. Cavendish snapped and threw his plate on the floor. "I AM NOT BALTHY! BALTHY IS DEAD!"
The plate shattered and the shards of glass sailed all over the place, one particularly sharp piece approaching Cavendish's pupil.
As it flew towards him in slow motion, Cavendish could see himself: Enraged, violent, mean.
He was doing it again.
He was failing them all again.
And for the briefest moment, for a fiery, instant second, he wanted that shard to enter his eye and free him from himself.
But Denise wasn't that merciful.
"GOT YA!"
Panting hard, Denise caught the shard without cutting herself for a second, and Cavendish bit back the urge to die and instead focused on regretting his existence once more.
"I'm… I'm so sorry, that was… That was terrible of me!", he apologized, truthfully, genuinely.
He slumped his head down, feeling a million daggers stab his back, hurting him like he could only wish he could.
He just couldn't stop, could he?
But to Cavendish's surprise, Denise was not angry.
In fact, she was downright sympathetic.
"Don't worry, B… Mr. Cavendish. I know it was just a moment of weakness."
She laughed as she collected the other shards, Cavendish soon joining when he realized he was being rude. "Why, if I had a nickel for every time I…"
Denise then stopped herself, and before Cavendish could inquire further, she changed the subject. "Ahem, well, what I want to know is why you can't tell me about your past?"
She quickly defended herself, waving her hands around. "Not that I don't understand, I just want to know the exact reason!"
Cavendish sighed, as he dropped the shards into a nearby wastebasket filled with grease stained napkins and a few broken plastic forks.
"It's… It's complicated. I… I… I just… I'm not…"
He let out a cry of frustration as his words turned into cement once more, burring his face in his hands, letting out a whimper of exhaustion. "I sound insane! Why can't I do one simple thing for them?!"
Denise smiled softly, suppressing a chuckles. He wouldn't take too kindly to that!
"We all sound insane, Mr. Cavendish. I guess that's why we can empathize with each other: In a way, we're all similar. We're all imperfect."
"He isn't.", Cavendish interjected, and he sat straight up, eyes burning, tears almost flooding. "Dakota has always been the gentlest and kindest man I've met. He risks his life daily for complete strangers, he's saved the universe from a multitude of monsters and he broke every rule in the book to make sure that I can be here now, lamenting my mistreatment of him."
Cavendish growled at himself, wanting to tear his hair out. "How could I have done it? How could I have treated him like that?"
Sighing, Cavendish leaned back on his chair.
The ceiling fan kept spinning.
And spinning.
And spinning.
Cavendish clicked his tongue, as the sounds of silverware clatter and fried beans and scrumptious munching drowned out.
Even the pen scratches on Denise's notebook disappeared.
All Cavendish could hear was his slow, eerily quiet heartbeat, and the spinning rims of the fan.
"…Look at those rims…", he muttered, just loudly enough for Denise to notice.
Cavendish's breathing turned slow and calm as he monologued. "Spinning… Ever spinning…"
His voice was almost hoarse, the quiet almost unsettling.
Cavendish usually liked to assert his points, but now he was just…
Talking.
Sharing his pain.
And Denise would not miss a single second of it!
"It's been here… How many years? 5? 1O? 15?"
A shiver and the pause ends.
"It's old. Creaky. Tired. It's probably stopped functioning a long time ago. Dust covers its edges, cobwebs hang from its bottom and every so often it makes this terrible buzzing noise that sends your ears into kingdom come."
He almost smiled at the fan, but it was a smile of sadness. Of envy.
"But look at it: Not once has it slacked or betrayed its function. It has stuck here regardless. It suffered, and suffered and suffered over and over again…"
He sighed.
"And despite the pain, despite the seemingly insurmountable challenge, it has done what it had to do."
A tear build up, but Cavendish wiped it.
He would not be weak.
Clearing his throat, he looked at Denise with regret and guilt all over his face.
"Why couldn't I do that? Why couldn't I just do the easiest thing in the world… And love Vinnie Dakota? And my kids?"
Sitting in his chair, Cavendish felt alien once more.
He had been gifted with people who loved and cherished him.
All he had to do was return the affection and all would be ok.
Why had it been so hard? Why had it been so daunting?
And why couldn't he find out why he had acted like this?
"It doesn't make sense… I fucked up. I ruined everything. It's my fault."
"Harsh but undoubtedly true.", Denise remarked, and Cavendish adopted a wry smile.
"As was that agreement…"
He resumed his serious rant. "How come… How come I don't know?"
He began to pace around the room. "Logic dictates that I don't love them. But I know I care for them! I wouldn't be feeling guilty if I didn't!"
"Precisely! You may have failed them, but I know that you love them!"
Cavendish folded his arms. "What makes you think that? I've barely shown it, if at all."
"Well, let's see: You came to me, a trained psychiatrist, despite your all encompassing fragile ego, because you believe that you've ruined everything. Is that not love?"
Cavendish shook his head darkly. "It's not enough."
"True… But it's a start."
"But what if it's too late? What if I've already lost my second chance?"
Cavendish leaned on the wall, as he was starting to feel dizzy. "I just… I just wish I knew!"
A comforting hand on his shoulder later and Cavendish now knew that the other seat was empty too.
"There must be a detail you're forgetting. Are you sure you told me everything about the dream?"
At first, Cavendish wanted to snap back. Why, of course he had! It was pretty hard to forget! DID YOU SEE HOW MANY PAGES IT WAS?
Almost like the author was compensating for something…
Ahem. Moving on.
But…
A sudden flash sent Cavendish shivering. A feeling he had been trying to sink down resurfaced, and it nearly came hurtling back.
He instinctively felt one of his scars on his arm and Denise noticed it for the first time.
"Those seem awfully old…", she muttered, trying to hide the shock in her tone.
Cavendish gulped. He turned away and his tone got… Distracted and jumpy.
"I was a careless boy. Fell around a lot. Quite foolish… I should have been more careful…"
Why was he denying it?
Denise bit her bottom lip.
"…Old scars can heal.", she said, perhaps with too much assurance.
"I find your science quite faulty."
He had one mind to just leave. He wasn't prepared to face that.
…Why wasn't he?
Did he deserve it?
"You know… Revealing your problem to someone makes it easier to solve it. It's a tried and tested method."
She caressed his shoulder, and he relaxed under her touch. "I won't hurt you…", she said, quietly.
"Why? I deserved it."
Denise gasped. "What on earth do you mean, Mr. Cavendish?"
Cavendish sighed, as he felt the truth slowly come out. In a way… He wanted her to hate him, like he did. He wanted to make her see that he deserved it all.
Every last scar.
"Balthy was a fool. Balthy almost kissed that boy… And he was mercifully killed off."
A dark chuckle befell him. "Good riddance."
Denise didn't understand. In fact, she was a lot more experienced in fast food than in psychology.
But Mr. Cavendish was her friend. She had to help! Not just for him, but for Mr. Dakota, and those kids!
She had to help, because it is what's right.
"Ba… Mr. Cavendish…"
"What?", he asked, weakly, his eyes closed, his body closing into itself.
She pressed on, despite some hesitation.
"How did you get those scars?"
Cavendish tried to ignore. "…I don't want to say."
"Why? You said you deserved it. Surely… Surely if you are so proud of them, you can tell me whose handiwork it is."
Denise was quite impressed with her bravery. She was never this daring!
Perhaps it was the situation. One half of the heroes for hire needed help… After all they had given, perhaps it was time they got something in return.
Cavendish hated it, but her logic was stronger than his.
Why not just say it? He knew it was what he deserved.
Resigned to his fate, he began to spill.
"I was a problem child. I wasn't good enough. I wasn't ready… Ready for the cruel and unforgiving world ahead."
Cavendish tugged at his waistcoat, considering taking it off.
"…My father did what he had to do. I'm happy he punished me. I was pathetic."
He narrowed his eyes. His mind was made up. He deserved it, so he should own it, no?
He began to take off his coat, head getting stuck in the neck part for a moment.
"Now look at me…"
Revealed to the world, they glistened in the dim light of the closet, and Denise, despite herself, allowed a small gasp of shock as Cavendish's scar filled back and chest came out.
"Now I'm hideous inside and out."
Cuts and bruises, belt marks, and long winding scars covered his entire body. Some stretched from the top of his back to the bottom, and some were small contained spots of pain.
A burn mark or two could also be spotted near his chest.
"Cigerrete. He kept those for special occasions.", he answered the unspoken question.
In a weird way, these marks highlighted the ones that were always there to see: His lips now seemed scratched, his face now had obvious wound lines and his eyes were more sunken.
Feeling the gaze on him, Cavendish now felt ashamed and embarrassed: How could he have revealed so much?
It was most improper!
Besides, he wasn't supposed to show weakness!
Yet here he was, showing all that!
He felt so small and puny and disgusting!
"I… I shouldn't have done that…"
Cavendish turned away, hasty, afraid of further humiliation.
"I deserved it. I… I should have been better…"
Suddenly, he felt an odd sensation and turned his head around.
To his shock and surprise, he found Denise hugging him from behind!
"No… No you didn't.", she declared, with utmost certainty.
Cavendish shook his head, refusing to look at her. To look at anyone.
"Yes I did. These were reminders. That I should behave. That I should be better."
Denise was about to interject but then Cavendish added the truly shocking statement.
"I shouldn't complain. Every child is supposed to go through this anyway. It almost helped me, but for some reason, I ended up screwing it all up. I wasn't the man my father wanted me to be."
Denise turned Cavendish around, trying to detect the hint of a dark joke in his eyes, but he was telling the truth.
Shocked to her core, Denise dared to ask, knowing that she just might ruin his life by doing so. "Mr. Cavendish… Are you saying that all children are supposed to be beaten up?
Cavendish answered again, unsure as why she was confused. "Why, yes! I… Isn't that how it works?"
It was pretty obvious to him!
Seemed a rather silly question, if you asked him.
Denise looked absolutely crushed by all this, and Cavendish continued to misunderstand. "I don't follow. You also went through this, surely you remember!"
Cavendish's confusion only grew tenfold as Denise, who realized she had to make a big gesture to wake up her… Friend.
Yes. Her friend.
So, Denise, deciding to cross the threshold and save her friend showed her wound free arms.
Cavendish blinked in confusion, failing to understand.
"I… I don't get this. Where are…"
"I don't have any, Cavendish.", she said, weakly, softly, almost apologetic. Perhaps she could alleviate the blow. "Most people… The lucky ones… They don't get abused anymore."
Cavendish swallowed his spit, and his knees felt weak. His eyes darted madly all over the place and his heart pounded like a drum. It couldn't be. It… It couldn't be!
But the more he looked at Denise, the less sure he became.
Half a question came out of his lips, never completing. "…No…"
Denise nodded sadly.
The room began to spin faster than even the ceiling fan and Cavendish began to see spots.
"Mr. Cavendish, settle down! Here, let me hold you!", Denise shouted out, as the former time traveller nearly collapsed onto his therapist, his skin quite pale.
Denise began freaking out. She was a therapist/fast food cashier, not a doctor, damn it!
"Oh my god, oh my god…", she cried as she tried to fan Cavendish with a ketchup stained menu. "Please don't die, please don't die…"
Cavendish, who wasn't fainting but was definitely feeling faint, choked out some words. "I… No…"
Once she was sure that he wasn't going to faint, Denise tried to help Cavendish up to his feet, and in no time he was back on his feet.
But his mind was elsewhere.
"Denise… It… It can't be…"
Denise shook her head as he laid back on the wall, looking distraught, looking totally lost.
"I'm so sorry…", she trailed off as Cavendish looked at his hands.
Looked at their wounds.
His wounds.
Wounds he hadn't earned.
Wounds that…
"35 years…", Cavendish whispered, as he stumbled towards the chair.
Denise followed him closely, but she didn't follow his train of thought. "35 years?"
Cavendish nodded slowly as he sat down, a thousand miles and more than a hundred years away.
"…35 years… I tried to be the son he wanted… The man he wanted…"
Cavendish gulped, and he felt sick.
"For 35 years… I tried to make him proud. And… And…"
Cavendish felt tears threatening to come out, and he tried to stop them.
He covered his face, feeling shame, guilt, and utter regret.
"And by doing so, I ruined my life… Dakota's life… My friends and family's lives…"
He looked down and felt his scars.
Scars that would never heal.
And now reminded him not of improvement…
But of destruction.
His destruction.
"…All my life… Has been for nothing…"
Denise, who was also sitting down, held Cavendish's arms. "Mr. Cavendish, that's not true…"
"Yes it is!", he shouted, before stopping himself.
Taking some cleansing breaths, he resumed his point.
"Yes… It is…"
He hugged himself, a shiver running down his spine once more.
"I hurt the people I love… For someone who abused me… And now…"
Cavendish thought of it all.
The assholery.
The cold shoulders.
The checking out.
The fights.
…
He grimaced, the hole in his heart growing wider.
"…How can I ever forgive myself? How can I ever fix things?"
Denise sighed, sharing a sympathetic glance. "I know how you feel."
"You do?", Cavendish asked, surprising himself when he decided to ask how instead of disagree immediately.
Denise gulped. This story was hard to live with, let alone share.
But considering all Cavendish had shared today…
Shared with her…
She felt obligated to.
Denise closed her eyes, afraid to face Cavendish, and she slowly explained.
"You're not the only one with a problematic past."
Taking out her wallet, Denise extracted a small square photo of herself in an orange jumpsuit.
Barbed wire, guards, watchtowers…
Cavendish looked up wordlessly.
"…My father… And my older brothers… They suffered a lot. Police would check on them…"
"For no good reason.", She added with deep and silent rage.
Denise sighed. "I… I got tired of seeing them in danger for something they couldn't control…"
She almost chuckled. "And so… I lost control. And I ended up… Making the ignorant right."
She held his hand. "You became your dad… And I became my stereotype."
She then smiled, encouragingly. "But look at me now! I'm a changed woman! Out for 3 years now, and slowly getting back into society!"
Cavendish, who had been silent the entire time, didn't know what to say. "I'm… I'm so sorry, Denise."
Denise shook her head. "Don't be. I forgave myself. I'm past it."
She took a deep breath with her nose, closing her eyes, feeling the air around her. "I am… At peace."
Cavendish observed her with much sadness. Perhaps even envy. Why could he not do that? Was he truly that terrible?
He had hurt Dakota.
He had hurt the ones he loved.
Could he ever be at peace?
Could he ever live with himself?
"…I wish I could do that too."
Silence, as his breathing slowly reigned.
"…Why not?"
"…I just…"
Cavendish wanted to.
"I…"
He wanted to fix it all.
But…
Could he?
Should he?
Was there any hope?
Or would he just hurt them again?
"I… I want to. But…"
He bowed his head in shame.
"I don't know if I can, Denise."
He looked up, pain in his eyes.
"I don't know."
Suddenly, his eyes turned pleading, almost hopeful. "But… But maybe you can help me learn that!"
Denise sighed and scotched close to him, her answer not positive. "Mr. Cavendish… I can help with many things."
A hand collected his, caressing the scars. "But… But only YOU can forgive yourself."
Cavendish sighed, now fully understanding the situation.
The obstacle in his way was, as ever, himself.
And this time, it might be too big of a hurdle.
In one way, Cavendish was almost impressed: He had gone from seeing no fault in himself to seeing only faults in himself.
But it looked like he still had a long way to go.
And he just might not make it.
If only he had realized sooner…
If only he deserved another chance…
Wrecking his mind, Cavendish prayed for an answer.
But try as he might, he couldn't find a reason for Dakota to come back.
Cavendish wasn't sure he could fix his own heart…
How the hell was he going to fix Dakota's?
Not since childhood had Cavendish felt so alone.
And even Denise's hug didn't help as his cries, ones that once he would never have dared show next to another person, echoed across the closet.