Butterfly Keeper // h.s. au

Epilogue

I wish that my beating heart matched his. I hold his palm and wait for the skin to heat up to my touch and for his fingers to form to the mold of my hand. They don't.

I wish that my face was placid and uncaring like his. I watch for the flutter of ocean glass eyes to creak open and meet the clear sky that waits to embrace the texture of his face. They don't.

I wish that my empty, wounded, spirit could follow his, wherever it may be.

It can't.

What an irony it is, that the waves calm and the skies clear the moment the heart in my arms shattered into oblivion and the blood vessels all burst and seeped out in dark and rich color all across his chest. Maybe this could be the universe finally breathing, as the air doesn't have to hold it's breath anymore and the skies don't have to weep for something they can't fix. That's the beauty in being too late, in accepting that it's over. You can finally let go.

I look down at the silent boy in my arms, and gently tuck a strand of oily hair behind his ear. My thumb traces over the small spots fallen from my eyes onto his chin, his nose, his cheeks to collect them on the pad of my digit. His skin is still damp though; it's covered in dirt, blood and salt. It's cold and lifeless like a stretch of concrete. A body is nothing without life.

I can hear chopper wings slashing through my mourning thoughts, reminding me that there isn't time for this. I'm grieving on dubious minutes that should be used wisely. And the longer I stare at this precious face filled of porcelain and so much vulnerability, the more dead it will only become.

A breeze blows through my hair, turning my head back as I survey the ship with the jittery flicker of my eyes. Louis lies unconscious with a small pool of blood surrounding his shoulder. Guns lie on their sides with barrels pointed at each other from the rickety splinter of the deck. A tool box sits knocked over with bolts and hammers spilling from it's inside like an animal with it's guts exposed. And the small row boat swings gently in the zephyr as it taps out tunes against the side of the boat. It's a sudden and swift realization that strikes me, I know what has to be done.

I lye the form in my arms down gently against the deck with my malnurtured limbs shaking under the weight of the body. His hair pools out around his head as I do so, curls making little half circles across the wood. I step away from him anxiously, my legs barely keeping me up while I grasp the railing for support. It feels scary to leave him there alone, like he'll wake and cry out for me at any moment with tears bursting through his mint glass lenses. Will I be able to do what I know must be done after all?

I cannot gracefully drop next to Louis, so I land on my knees and wonder if I've cracked my bones in half. But the pain doesn't hurt like it used to anymore. Not when there's something darker pulling inside of me.

I take the dull knife from the band of my waist and rip through the bottom of my shirt. The knife gets tossed carelessly to the side as I hold the fabric inside my fist, my eyes running over Louis' wound and preparing myself mentally to patch it up. I gently lift the arm connected to his wounded shoulder while the waves lightly waver me back and forth and pull the jacket from his limb. He doesn't wake or suck in a pained breath like I half feared he would as wrap the cloth around the small, blood painted, hole. It's quick and easy, even up to the last cringe worthy knot of the fabric right over the puncture.

I press my unsteady fingers to the large vein on his neck in an action meant to reassure myself of his life, of the heart that remains beating within. And it's there, through the faint tap against my skin. The pulse of a warrior it would seem, a true fighter. I cup my hand to his cheek for a fleeting moment and then force myself to my feet, grabbing the knife and staggering over to the starboard. The sun disappears back under the cover of some gray and white painted clouds, making their slow descent across the murky blue sky. It causes the chill to rise again in small goosebumps all over my exposed stomach, but it doesn't slow me down in sawing at the ropes holding the small boat to the side of the ship.