// god ;; new arcade fire song ;; ; ;; h it my DRUG \\
EDD POV
He's dead. That's what they kept saying. I couldn't believe it, though, not like this; not when there was so much unsolved. So I guess that's what you call denial.
When I got news he was missing, I was in the grocery store buying ice cream. My phone chimed and buzzed painfully loud in my pocket, and I pulled it out in a rush, taking no time in answering. I should have savored it, the ignorance, the general normalcy. I mean, no, things were not fine leading up to then, but everything went from awful to spiraling; which is leaps and bounds worse than awful.
The voice over the speaker told me about what had become of him. There weren't any answers, only the fact he had been reported missing, and a long, regretful, sigh before the line cut out. Tears busted in my eyes, and I was left to my phone's homescreen, mouth agape due to a loss of words, holding the glass door open to a freezer full of ice cream.
The most important, big, things always seem to happen in the most ordinary places. Maybe it's the cancel it out into a false sense of equilibrium you get from receiving it, or just to make it more difficult to react. For example: Your friend's death in 6th period biology. A marriage proposal during your afternoon walks with your golden retriever. The reported disappearance of your best friend in a partially filled grocery store at 12:51 AM.
The universe doesn't care where you are. In fact, it doesn't even care who you are, it just acts, and watches with keen eyes as to how you respond. My response was catastrophic, but not atypical.
I left the basket filled with ice cream on the floor, didn't bother to close the freezer door, and ran out without buying anything. The frosty midnight air bit my cheeks, nose, and eyes as I went, and my breath showed white in the cold. I tried to casually speed walk, but soon I was running, sprinting, back to my car. I opened the door, got inside, and slammed the door shut. The bang echoed through the near empty parking lot, and ringed endlessly in my ears. The sobs came momentarily, first there was nothing, but hit fast, sending my into a shaking, crying, mess. It lasted for what seemed to be forever.
I drove home, my knuckles white against the steering wheel, and heart pounding. The tears were still wet across my cheeks, and my gut felt like fire. Usually, the rides back from the store are short, but it felt like eternity, despite no traffic.
Tom was already asleep, of course, when I got back. I couldn't bring myself to sleep in the same bed as him, and hadn't for the past day or so. The throw pillows on the couch were my new cuddle buds.
I was fine. I was not fine. But fine. Fine in that jittery way that makes your whole body flicker. That brink of having a meltdown at all times fine, but just barely managing to stay afloat fine. A fine that pushes it all deep, deep, deep, down in your gut, until a week or more passes and you just can't take it anymore. It's a type of fine that explodes, yes, but in a controlled manner. It's a self orchestrated fine. It's manageable. And that's the best kind- apart from the denotation.
Despite the overwhelming everything, I slept. I let the waves of emotion rock me to sleep as I clinged to a throw pillow, and pretended it was Tom. I tried to imagine what it felt like to have his arms wrapped around me in a warm embrace, and, for a moment, I found I couldn't remember.
-
Weeks passed. Tom refused to talk to me, he even knew what happened, but I think his reason for doing so morphed in some way because of it. Before he was missing, Tom would shoot me the occasional quiet glare, but now it seemed he was pained to even look at me. I don't blame him. I didn't like to look at me, either. My eyes had gone bloodshot, and heavy, dark, circles hung underneath them. My hair never seemed to behave, I hadn't shaved in ages, and my movements were sluggish.
Whenever I went out to be away from him, the townsfolk would either stare silently or whisper when they thought I was out of earshot. Because of this, I ceased going to work, or going out at all, really. Instead, I churned in my self-pity, sat on the couch and stared at nothing.
My favorite pastime was to convince myself that, surely, he couldn't be dead. There's no way, right? "Being here one moment, and gone the next, that's not possible," I'd think. So I settled to find him, even if it could get me killed.
-
"Tom," My voice was a ghost from atrophy. He didn't respond, only stiffened, and did his best to ignore me.
"Tom, please, look at me," I begged. The tears wanted to build up in my eyes, but there were none left. Instead, an extra painful jab hit my stomach. His expression faltered.
"I can't," He finally responded, a hiss in his tone.
The pain clawed its way up into my throat. It tore up my vocal chords and my windpipe without a sound. I could barely breathe.
"I'm going to find him," I croaked, "I'll bring him home."
"He's dea-"
"No. No, don't say it. He's not, I swear, he- he can't-"
I choked, my eyes burning, but no tears came still. Tom frowning, the same pain bursting in his eyes like exploding water balloons, but he didn't move.
So I left.
-
The morning was freezing.
I rushed out of the house just minutes after I'd spoken with Tom, not wasting a second. I used the same boat Red Fish used for their night shifts, opposed to their other, much larger, boat they used during the day. I tried rowing, even if I was almost completely sure I was doing it wrong. I didn't care.
Once I got off into a rhythm, I found I had no plan at all. The water gently rocked the boat as I called out into nothing to no avail. Eventually, I gave up, and leaned back onto the wooden planks, allowing myself to close my eyes. The waves lapped up against the sides of the boat in a pattern that lulled me into semi consciousness.
I didn't remember falling asleep, but I must have, because it was pitch black when I opened my eyes. A subtle humming came from above me, following a melancholy tune. I sat up too quickly, causing me a painful head rush. The humming stopped.
"Edd?" A familiar Norwegian accent rung in my ears, and my eyes snapped towards it.
And there he was.
His hair glistened wet in the moonlight, as did his eyes and bare skin. He was partially in the boat, his arms crossed over the side. I grinned at a faint line on his hand he'd acquired from my stove, and leaned towards him, my own arms extending as his did as well. We were moments from the most meaningful embrace of my life, when cold fingers clawed at my neck, and pulled me backwards into the ocean.
Tord's expression before I hit the water was terror, and he dove in right after me. He was too late, though, whatever it was had dug its teeth into my throat, preparing to rip it out. He slammed into it, forcing it off of me, and dragged me to the surface.
My hand clasped my neck as I choked on my blood, wheezing it up in the process. Tord lifted me into the boat, and basically jumped in after me. I nearly screamed at what I saw, but no sound came from my lips except endless coughing.
His legs had been replaced by a glittering red tail. It didn't seem natural, though, it started too low on his hip, and almost looked like it was grafted on. I averted my attention to his eyes, which were pouring tears down his cheeks. He couldn't look at me the same way Tom couldn't, either.
I stumbled over to him, light headed and numb; a foggy whiteness quickly enveloping my eyes. He wrapped his arms around me, sobbing into my hair, holding me tighter than anyone had before. The other creature watched from a few feet away in the water, apathy written on his face, and I buried my face in his chest to distract me from it.
And then, like magic, the pain subsided.