Chapter 10--You Aren't Him

All I can think about is what happened.

There isn’t really much to think about, is there? He could come any day, any hour, any minute, and I wouldn’t know because I’m in this supermarket, miles away from Bo, Doisette, or anyone. I will only know if they’ve been hurt once I see them. It feels like all of my thoughts are disappearing except for the thought I want specifically to disappear. I cannot call upon them myself and all I can think about is the nightmare that started this week. This one singular thing is what makes me days feel like years but makes the lost time feel so fleeting. This is closest I’ll probably ever get to death. Every second I just think, “this is it,” and I’m not even the one dying, nor will I ever be.

I wish I could die in the way a human could. I could be taken to a hospital and everyone would surround me, waiting for me to pass—not in the sense that they want me to, but more like they want to be there for me. Or maybe they want me to be there for them. Even if there was no one there, I would have an IV monitoring me, a blanket draped on me, and a room with a pleasant view ensured to me. I wouldn’t be crazy for thinking I should be there because something would be there to justify it. And maybe I would be innocent enough for them to let me in.

There’s nobody in this aisle to see me cry. I’m one of the few people in this supermarket, anyway. I’ll cry a little, as long as I stay quiet. There’s no clerks to probe me into burdening them. I can lay my head low when I’m at the self-checkout kiosk.

I’m too tired to think of Bo, as selfish as that is. Once Peddito flew away, they fled back to our apartment and left us behind. I only learned he went back to the apartment once I came back home after hours of searching, a trail of water leading to their closed bedroom door. I can’t remember if they’ve left their room at all yet. I haven’t spoken to him; I can’t get over this awful feeling of impending doom. All I can think of is how close my friends are to dying and I still manage to think about myself.

I whimper, biting onto my sleeve in case I enter a spell of wailing.

I’m just plain awful.

Why am I even shopping? What am I buying food for? I really don’t need to eat; there’s no time to eat. Just go home. Bo doesn’t even need to eat.

There’s a box of crackers. They’re not the kind Bo really likes, but maybe a snack will help them lighten up a little. Maybe I’ll see their hand creek through the door’s opening. Maybe they’ll say a quiet “thank you”. Maybe there’ll be a response that gets returned.

It’s the least I could do.

I open the door to our apartment, expecting myself to have the strength to call out to Bo that I’m home, but nothing comes out of me. I take a moment to look at the box of crackers snug in one of the paper bags I’m carrying. I gotta do this.

I take a few steps into our apartment, trying to release the urge to holler out before finally making the move. I start out strong, “I’m—”

Bo’s door is open.

“Home…”

It’s dark in there. The door isn’t open wide enough for me to see if they’re in there. I creep towards the room, though my old boots can’t help but clop against the floor.

I hear my foot step in something wet.

That’s angel blood. It’s not… something’s not right about it. From what I’ve heard, it’s pure white and glows, and it’s doing that… but I never heard anything about there being deep chunks of red in it. Looks weirdly human for an angel.

There’s a trail leading to the balcony, and the door to it is opened as well. The blood gets heavier the closer it is to the—

Oh god.

I drop the groceries and make my way outside, almost freezing in place once I see the dirtied knife on the floor of the balcony. It’s raining outside, though it’s much, much lighter than it was last week. The trail stops at the railing and I quickly look below to see if Bo had fallen somewhere. Nothing. God, where is he?

I feel something warm drip onto my head.

They’re on the roof. I cautiously climb onto the roof, opening my wings in case I end up falling.

I make it up to the top well enough. I keep myself low as I walk across the slippery roof, seeing a yellow figure with light skin splayed across the roof. I approach the figure.

“Bo?”

The figure looks at me, their mouth wide and figure portly.

It’s her. I’m looking at her. I thought I would be able to run away, but here he is again. And I ran away from her like some kind of deadbeat.

I wish I could die, just like a human.

I fall onto my knees, slipping and entering all fours. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for leaving you,” I sob.

She weakly raises her head. “Please, leave me now,” he pleas. His voice is higher than usual.

I crawl a little closer to her. “No, no. It’s my fault. N-nobody else believed in you and I did. I’m supposed to believe in you.”

“I-it was good for you to leave. I’ve hurt you too much. You don’t deserve to be hurt by me and you never did.”

I get even closer. The wound on her chest is deep, the miserable gash still oozing out blood. I thrust my hands on her chest to put pressure on the wound.

He starts to cry. “Let me die. I’ve been so horrible to you, horrible to everyone. I can’t fathom how much I’ve hurt others. Nothing hurts more than to see them suffer in their own distinct way, lost and unrecoverable. It’s irreversible. Let me die so that they can at least find comfort in me no longer being around.”

“Thea…” I choke. “Can I at least die with you?”

“Please live. Live for yourself.”

My face falls onto his small torso as I am overcome with uncontrollable grief. My screams are muffled by his body. Something about his words are getting to me more than usual. They’re kinder, less sly than they usually are. He’s spoken tenderly to me before, but somehow I believe it here more than I did way back. Is this that soft side of him I used to see so long ago? The one I abandoned?

I can’t make myself do anything. Everything hurts. I can’t help him. I can’t help him help himself. It’s futile.

Think of something, anything.

I sniffle. “If you need to die… do you want a cigarette to make it a l-little more nice?”

“I can’t make myself smoke even if I tried. Just let me die painfully.”

I stop my sobbing. Something’s wrong. It doesn’t usually go this way.

I pull myself up to get a better look at them. It’s not really Bo. Their skin is too light, they don’t have their hair, their clothes are more yellow than white.

“You’re not the Noise.” I remark.

They pause. “It… it feels like I am.” There’s a weakness in their voice that deeply saddens me.

“How come?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a very good person. I’m scared of the bad things I’ve done. Lied, enabled… murdered.”

She did a lot… but she never murdered.

“Who did you murder?”

“The Noise. I murdered myself, but somehow I lived.”

I say nothing.

Nobody ever kills without a reason. As much as I loved him, I thought about killing him too. How deep was the hate I felt towards myself when I wanted that, begged for it even. For it all to stop would not be heaven, nor it would be hell. It would be something even better: death. It would be that unstoppable guarantee that could only save someone like me, like Bo, like the Noise.

But I suppose it didn’t save me or Bo. The only person who could’ve saved us from that situation was the Noise, but he never did it. He could’ve only saved us by not doing what he did. But he did it. And now he’s gone. And she had to go.

Something about these words fill me with love, some kind of unapologetic compassion stronger than I’ve ever felt with the Noise. To think an act done out of a great amount of rage could make me feel so tender. How could something so violent make me want to be kinder than ever?

There was such blatant misery in that answer, and it reflected my own. I am miserable and they are too. We are miserable.

He didn’t save us. I want to try saving us.

I look at them with gentle eyes. Ever since I’ve approached them, their brow has been contorted and anguished, straining itself as hard as it can to keep a dam of tears locked away.

“Do you need time to cry?” I softly ask them.

My response catches them off guard. I’m not sure if they’re confused or sedated. “I’ve cried enough. Cried a lot before you came.”

“Did it help?”

They sniffle. “I don’t know. But somehow I’m a bit more calm. Unstable, but calm.” They pause to think for a moment. “You’re the only one who’s said something like that to me. You should be careful. I’m very dangerous.”

I say nothing and rip off a piece of their cape. I take the piece and start wrapping it around the wound on their torso.

“The Noise could never say no to a cigarette,” I counter simply. “That’s very brave.”

Their eyes quickly water up and they crumple up their face to resist sobbing. They turn away with their eyes close softly whimpering. “Fair point.”

“Do you want to be someone else?”

They swallow their anguish, which stops them from crying but it makes them feel horrible. “Yeah… a little.”

I rustle through my jacket pocket and pull out my key-chain, clacking ceaselessly as usual. I shake it around a little to intensify its singing.

Their skin darkens and their clothes turn white. Their form gets a little more unstable as they use their arms to make themself sit up. Bo becomes wide-eyed.

“Oh my god! Noisette, I-I’m so sorry for whatever you got dragged into!” Bo sputters. “I’m so sorry… if it wasn’t for the Noise, I would’ve started talking—”

“You’re going through a lot, Bo. We all are. I’m just glad you’re alive.”

My words took them aback and made them grimace.

“W-what about you? You’re going through—”

“You’re bleeding, Bo.”

Their grimace grows deeper, their crumpled face turning towards their wrapped wound.

He gets audibly choked up. “I-I-I’m so sorry, that uhm—h-he gets out of hand easily. He’s really dangerous, and I c-can’t really excuse that. It’s just—”

“Do you know why you killed her?”

All those crevices leave his face once I ask that question, almost as if his entire body was reset. They’ve frozen. Was I too impulsive?

No, I’ll give it a little more time.

Their eyes glance at me, their body slightly quivering, their face using its frozen expression as a shield. It’s aimless, though. The corner of his mouth twitches, clawing its way out of the cage. Their face gains more depth, depth upon depth upon depth obscured by a thousand outlines, a stirring storm of unresolved tension, yet their eyes remain wide in attempt to be the apathetic sun.

“I… I…” They drone.

The tension becomes too much for them and they become fatigued and clumsy as they haphazardly crawl towards my lap.

“She…”

He stops midway in his attempt. They curl their body into the roof, heaving.

They suddenly fling their body upward. “SHE RAPED ME!” He shrieks, failing to overcome his spell. They enter a horrible fit of crying as I come closer to them. They repeat the statement ceaselessly, their face covered by their hands and their tail hugging their belly.

I pick them up and embrace them, caressing their tensed back.

He continues, somewhat more quietly now, “no, you don’t get it. He raped me while he was inside of you! I should’ve told you!” They scream once again, “I SHOULD’VE TOLD YOU HE RAPED YOU TOO THAT DAY!” He cowers into my chest, his voice muffled. “I couldn’t take it. I hated a job that I didn’t even have so much that I had to be violent to him back. And now I feel like I’m sicker than him.”

Somehow, this isn’t surprising. It’s a much smaller feeling, like turning the light on in an attic.

“She raped me everyday until I left her for good,” I bluntly, but not coldly, reply.

Bo finally returns the hug, their grip at first tight, then melts into softness. “It’s not fair. Why did it have to happen?”

Something about the question strikes me. I suppose I’ve asked it a lot myself.

He adds onto it, “We knew that he knew it was wrong. He knew that everything was wrong… but he never really considered it—not substantially, at least.”

“I don’t know,” I answer. “We can only think of so much. I guess she was just bad.”

They chuckle weakly. “Isn’t it horrible how simple the answer to that question is?”

I chuckle back. “Yes. Yes it is.”

We spend a long moment of silence embracing each other in the rain, lost in our comfort and the quiet whispers of the rain.

“Noisette!” Someone hollers.

The shouting startles Bo and me. We both crawl to the edge to see Doisette in the parking lot, peeking his head out of the window of a very old looking car. We both make a soft descent to the asphalt as he gets out of his car. We haven’t interacted with Doisette ever since the plan failed. I don’t even know if Doise has fully recovered yet.

“I’m sorry for deserting you earlier,” I apologize. “Have you been doing okay?”

“No,” he sighs. He looks wrecked by his own worry. “I can’t find Doise. He usually comes back at this point but he hasn’t. I don’t know if she ran away or hasn’t regenerated yet or—no, he isn’t dead, but I keep getting scared he is.”

Bo and I look at one another, trying to figure out how to respond. Bo looks more tired than me though, doubt he has the energy to take this on.

“I’m sure she’s okay. How can we help?”

“I don’t know,” he whimpers. “I couldn’t take it anymore and… came over here. Something about this situation feels like I can’t bounce back from it. I just feel like a scared kid again.”

I put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. We’ve all been through a lot lately. Maybe she hasn’t come home yet—let’s try looking for her, okay?”

He sniffles. “Thank you.”

Doisette’s been driving for a couple minutes now, checking a couple spots he and Doise have history with. I have to be slouched because my horns can’t fit in this stumpy car. I’d say he probably thinks I look crazy for doing that, but he’s definitely seen crazier. Bo’s small enough to share the front passenger seat with me.

“Where’s Fakey?” I ask.

“I don’t know. Fakey’s more like a stray cat can than a roommate. I haven’t seen it since Peddito attacked us.”

“So you’ve really been all alone lately, huh?”

“Sure does make you feel like the world’s dying around you.”

Bo speaks up to make an unusual comment. “Do you ever wish the world could just die?”

The comment makes Doisette’s tensed brow furrow even more. “M-more in the sense of me being able to kill the world or wishing the world could just kill me?”

“I was more thinking the latter, but either works.”

“Okay… Where’s this going?”

Bo gets slightly discouraged. “Well, I don’t know. You seem like you’re really holding back on something. You and I both know times are tough b-but, you don’t always got to be tough for those times, y-y’know?”

The road’s pretty barren, unremarkable even. Not another soul trudging along this road so far. Doisette gives no response to that question, keeping his watery eyes on the road. Suddenly, he catches a glimpse of the sun peeking through the thick clouds and forces the car to a halt. It only flings all of us so far since he wasn’t going so fast.

“I can’t do this shit no more,” Doisette confesses quietly, his face oddly blank. “I’m no doctor, no liberator, no scientist. I hate this world, hate what it’s become, what it was, what it will be. And even though I hate that so much, I’d hate to see it change.”

“How come?” I ask.

Now he really starts to tear up. “I don’t know!” He places his forehead against the wheel. “There’s something wrong with me. Radical punk turned finicky conservative, feeling like I should be the one wandering the road, as if I haven’t done it before and have no idea what it feels! E-even then, I ain’t the one bleeding out forever and ever—she is! I’m the one with the gun, with the car, with the job! And then a part of me is wishing to be that dying man on the road!?” He then devolves into sobbing.

I place a hand on Doisette’s shoulder to comfort him. Should I?

I look at Bo, looking for some kind of indicator on what to do. We exchange saddened looks, but I’m not sure what he’s getting from it. They then place their hand on Doisette’s shoulder as well. I’m noticing Bo’s warmth. Usually they feel more on the cold side than warm.

Doisette doesn’t exit his crumpled form, but he does look at us as he starts to chuckle. “We ain’t no warriors, either.”

“Can we at least be friends?” I ask, smiling gently despite the stress.

He becomes upright, tears pouring down his face as he looks at us. His frown deepens and he hugs me, taking Bo in as by-catch. I embrace him in return.

“Fuck, ma’am… you corny as hell. I’ll take it.” He answers.

Humans are colder than angels and demons. Feels weird to find it pleasant, especially with a day like this. No, don’t shame yourself. Take it in. Take in his smell, his voice. I wanna enjoy the presence of this friend of mine.

I open my eyes. The Doise is walking beside the car, eyes glued to the horizon.

“D-Doise!” Bo blurts, beating me to pointing it out.

Doisette sighs. “I don’t know if I can do this right now.”

“We’ll get him in the car for you,” I assure him.

Bo and I get out of the car. Doise has made it a yard or two past the car. He’s limping like a zombie.

It’s not until I get outside that I get a good look at him. Jesus Christ. I’ve never seen her like this, in the middle of recovery and all. The upper part of her body is as in tact as it usually is, but it just gets worse the lower it goes. Her whole body is being carried by root-like tendrils as a substitute for legs. Her intestines are clinging for dear life to some patches of flesh. He’s missing a portion of his bones, so he looks deflated too. The stench of pestilence is all-consuming. If I actually needed to breathe air, I feel like I would be suffocating right now.

Despite the awful sight, Bo leads the way. His head is turned away from me, but he seems unfazed.

“Doise! Where are you going?” Bo hollers.

She stops and turns to look at them.

“Let me die,” she creaks weakly, her voice unusual and hoarse.

“Y-you can’t, Doise. I’m sorry.”

She starts to get more upset. “Let me replicate it, please! I’m just a ghost. All I do is haunt all of you. If you stick around me, I’ll just keep hurting you.”

God, I don’t know if I can do this. I’m tired and overwhelmed. I’ll stick around just in case Bo needs help.

Bo thinks for a moment. “Well, Noisette and I can see ghosts, so we can’t help seeing you. None of us can’t really run away from this problem and… that’s really scary, isn’t it?”

Doise’s eyes soften. “I-it… it is—It must be even scarier for you two, h-having to see the face of such an awful person everyday.”

Bo’s face shifts to look a bit similar to the Doise’s face. And mine. And Doisette’s. Not by too much, but certainly noticeable.

“I’ll let you know a little bit of a secret—I’m awful too. I’ve… done some things I can’t forgive myself for. But,” Bo glances at me, “after rethinking some things, I think about why I did them.”

Bo pauses out of tension, but they seem to be waiting for a response from the Doise. None comes.

Bo continues, getting emotional. “I did them because I n-needed help. I tried to help myself, but I couldn’t. As much as I wonder how sick I was to do that junk, the answer is frustratingly simple: I needed help. And I think the mistakes you’ve made were done for the same reason.”

“N-no. I just can’t believe that,” she retorts. “I just feel evil; I must’ve d-done what I did because I’m just bad.”

“And doesn’t that hurt?”

She hesitates for a moment, tears pooling up in her cracked sockets and mixing with blood. “Y-yes.”

“Then you need help.”

As Doise tries to fight back her tears, I hear the car door open. Doisette rushes towards her.

“I’m so sorry! I haven’t been doing great myself, I got really emotional, I’m just—” Doisette stops, trying to figure out how to approach the situation. “It must feel awful out here, walkin’ to some oblivion.”

The Doise nods. Blood oozes from his nostrils.

“I know you wanna do the right thing, but you go through a lot, man. This is such a horrible demon to face.” He sniffles, “b-but… we’ve faced scary things before, and we aren’t teenagers no more. We got an apartment, we’re citizens, we got jobs!”

“Grandpa helped us with that. I did nothing.”

Doisette looks at us. “We can only do so much ourselves. We’re all forced to live such isolated lives that we forget our limits. Sure, your skin is rotting—but you’re a person, Daniel. You’re my lover.”

She can’t do it anymore. She shuffles to Doisette and the two embrace, with Doisette taking a moment to kiss the Doise’s fluffy hair.

“I’ll try to be good,” the Doise promises in between sobs.

“You’re doing good enough,” Doisette assures tenderly.

I join the hug and Bo follows suit. It’s funny how every else feels so different. Bo’s lukewarm, as per usual, Doisette’s cold, and Doise’s even colder, and I’m the coldest… as per usual. It all evens out to a flashing lukewarmness. That’s the type of thing that’s supposed to be frustrating, but somehow it isn’t hitting me. I can feel the cotton clothes on Bo, the sound of Doise scratching her fingers along the fibers of Doisette’s windbreaker, and I can certainly still smell the waft of death. This isn’t beaming joy nor anxiety—I guess this is neutrality. A nice neutrality. If my life ended here, I would be fine with it, but I would like to continue. Despite my exhaustion, I’d like to keep going just to know what clothes feel like. This is fine—that’s kinda wonderful.

I feel something hulking over us, but it doesn’t alarm me, for some reason. Is someone trying to drive down the road? God, we probably look really—

It’s Fakey! They stand in front of the group embrace, their face as ambiguous as ever. I break away from the embrace and give them a gentle look.

“Fakey! I was wondering where you were. Are you okay?”

“Ah… you have found her. I was trying to do that finding as well,” Fakey comments, sounding dejected.

I approached it and hugged one of their arms. “You found her too.”

I hear Fakey creak in attempt to make some kind of reply, but nothing comes out of it. It simply drifts into silence before placing its free hand on my back. I break out of the hug to drag them towards the rest of the group to get their fair share of consolidation.

“B-b-but, there’s some dissonance,” Fakey says. “The harpy is out there, the problem unsolved. Are we not going to continue our footing?”

Doisette looks up at Fakey. I notice Doise cling tighter to Doisette. “I don’t know, man,” Doisette answers. “This some tricky bullshit we’re dealing with. In a good world, we wouldn’t be the ones dealing with it, or we at least would’ve had a village to help carry the load. Too bad we gotta take the load.” He pauses, trying to overcome his nervousness. “And that probably means giving it a rest for a moment so we can get our bearings.”

“Heheh, the last thing I wanna think about today is giant evil human-headed birds,” Bo jokes.

“How about we head over to my cafe to take a little breather?” I suggest. “I’ll leave the shop closed so nobody else bothers us, of course.”

“You’re a good lady, Noisette,” Doisette replies. “A very, very good lady.”