Work Text:
Rebecca:
It didn’t quite hit me that he was gone until this moment, as I stared up at the twinkling blanket of stars this midnight. Two hours ago, woke me up accidentally while he was packing his things. I didn’t cry, I didn’t protest, I just watched his back fade away as he walked down the hall of my apartment and opened the door. No kiss goodbye, no final cigarette out on the balcony. The yellow taxi drove out of view in my window, melted into the neon city streets, and like that, Billy was gone. I knew the reasons behind why he left, why he eventually had to go. But that didn’t mean I wanted it to happen.
He told me that I was the best thing that ever happened to him, and that was exactly why he left. To not drag me down, to not put a limit to what I could do in the future. But, when I always envision this scenario, I say something. Anything. Every time, in my dreams, when I pictured him leaving, we share a sweet and lengthy kiss, then share a final conversation. Our last rites. The legacy we’d leave for each other to revel in for the rest of our lives apart, because this was always inevitable, us parting ways. It’s not like my little letter to the raccoon police station in 1998 erased him from every criminal database. If the wrong person sees him, with me, we’re both finished. He left to keep me safe from a situation like that.
It’s not like I ever called him by his false name either. The amount of times his name spilled from my lips loud enough to carry through the walls were countless, and the times I’ve whispered it like sweet sugar into his ear endless. He was so real to me that it hurt, because he was so fake to the rest of society. To me, he was always Billy Coen, my angel, my darling and my anchor. I didn’t even know who he was to other people. A lonely office worker, maybe.
There’s no secret that his framing by the marines had kept him from living his life thoroughly, cut it short. He’ll never experience what it’s like to live without fear, and as much as I’d like to relate to what he went through so I can help him more, I never will be able to. All I can do is try and understand it, soothe his aches when I need to, comfort him when he doubles over with worry.
I don’t have to do that anymore, I guess.
But why is that such a painful thought?
What I loved the most about him was that he never made me do those things, he just let me. We didn’t hide things from one another, barely fought but always shared our opinions, and most importantly, I always felt safe with him. That meant so much to me especially after what happened on that train, in that facility. He used to look at me like he didn’t know what love was, like he’d never been cared for the way I cared for him.
We had this silent and mutual understanding of what our love was; It was tranquil but also could set the world on fire, the feelings were swelteringly powerful, but they were also tenderly warm. I suppose it was that kind of overflowing emotion between us that was eventually our downfall, we wanted so desperately to not hurt each other that it drove him away. We created a paradise not knowing how fragile it was. Our love was a double-edged sword.
He saved me, but how was I going to save him?
From the cruel punishment he’d suffer at the hand of God?
At the hand of the society that blamed him? Shunned him and ostracized him? Painted him to be a criminal?
I suppose I’ll dwell on that for years to come.
Sometimes words would never be enough, so touch was our preferred language. A feather light kiss to his neck, a caress of my cheek or a five-hour-long hand hold. His skin flush against mine as an apology for nothing, for something he made up in that dark mind of his. Billy was the type to go deep into his thoughts, get lost in the hypotheticals and not reality. I didn’t notice that when we first met, but it was something that became more apparent with every passing day, every long night we spent wrapped up underneath the covers together. However, every time he got lost in the dark, I was so ready to guide him back into the light. That’s why he always called me his angel, I was always watching out for him.
It feels so weird saying that.
‘ was ’.
It was mere hours ago that he was here, buried in the pillows next to me like every night.
You remember when I had said that I didn’t cry? That was a lie. A pathetic lie. I sobbed and I screamed until my throat was sore, as soon as he shut the door and left like a phantom I let out the loudest wail of my life. I’m sure he heard me, and that it broke him. I’m sure my neighbors heard it too. As I’m writing this, my tears are falling onto the pages and smudging the ink from my pen, blurring the words into a mirage of illegible mess. Dripping and falling down. I begged the moon to give him back to me, magically summon his big arms around me, his lips at my throat. It was of no use, and the moon didn’t make me feel any better. It and the sky only reminded me of the nights we spent looking up at the constellations.
Is the moon lonely too? Waiting for the sun to embrace it? Even though it knows it’ll be always impossible? I was always his sunshine, when did the roles reverse?
As I stand here under the moonlight, I can see his ashtray, sitting untouched on the arm of his plastic chair. It’s odd how numb I've become to that unhealthy habit of his, business as usual. Sometimes he’d try to give them up for me, because he knew it made me uncomfortable. But soon, remnants of ash on the terrace were signs of him still being there, that he was still alive. So I let go of my distaste toward them. One time we shared one in this same spot, just once. I coughed and he laughed at me. Such a warm memory. Funny how I used to be so jealous of his cigarettes because they got to touch his lips, be touched by his fingers, I wanted to be that blazing warmth on a cold day to him, a stress reliever. Oh how the universe finds a way of working things out.
Eighteen year old Rebecca of the past, please don’t ever forget your naivety, or your positive outlook on life. I wish I could tell you to never lose those things, but it’s too late for that. You’re forever a part of me that will remain lost in shattered memories. Turned to dust along with the mansion, then blew away in the wind to be carried away up into the heavens.
Honey, Dollface, Angel. I’ll never be able to hear those names without immediately thinking of him.
Billy, I know you’ll never read this passage tucked away in my journal, but I want you to know that I love you. I loved you from the moment I first met you, I loved you even when you didn’t love yourself, I loved you when you walked out through that door, and I still love you now. You’re far too entangled into my heart for me to ever stop loving you, and nobody could ever replace you. Too special and too perfect, too sweet and much too gorgeous.
My Billy, if we ever cross paths again, I don’t know what I could do to prevent myself from crying and dropping everything just to taste you again. God, I’d even kill just to look at you from afar. To have your eyes meet mine for our final epilogue. The last chapter, the last sentence, the last letter of our story.
My dear, my beloved, my one and only, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now other than mourn your presence. It’ll hurt knowing that I won’t be able to reach for you on the other side of my bed. And I know what you’d say to me right now, you’d call me an idiot and tell me that there’s more to life for me than loving you, and you’re probably right— but it sure doesn’t feel that way right now.
So until this hurt fades away, I’ll wake up missing you, I’ll write craving you, I’ll hold onto the pillows wishing they were you, I’ll look for you in everything, I’ll look for you in the grass and in the trees, in the ocean and in the clouds. I’ll cry wishing you were there to wipe away my tears, I’ll gaze into my own reflection wishing it was your eyes looking back instead of my own. I’ll go to work every day and try to find something worthwhile to do because I know that’s what you want for me.
You always carried me in your arms when I was half-asleep on the couch and too tired to walk to our bedroom, and would always tell me it wasn’t my fault that I was the lone survivor of Bravo Team. Who will do that for me now? When I was plagued with the most horrible guilt, you’d let me be vulnerable. You wouldn’t tell me to stop crying, you encouraged it, and that would only make me cry more. For somebody who was so strong and rough on the outside, you were so gentle and loving on the inside.
Is you leaving the end of my life or is it only the beginning of it? Does this open up new worlds for my life as a scientist? As a medic? As a survivor ? Billy, do you think that my thoughts will turn sweet like cherries as they used to be, or do you think they’ll forever stay bittersweet as they are in this moment? I don’t want this to make me bitter and unloveable, but at the same time I also don’t want this to make me too fragile and sensitive. Why is this so confusing? If you were still here I’m sure you’d have all the answers, because you always do. Fuck, why did you have to leave? My sadness is turning into anger so quickly and this is exactly what I didn’t want to happen. I don’t want to need you in the magnitude that I do and know I will. Why are the hands of fate so cruel? Why am I even writing this?? I wish I could say that I hate you but I can’t, because we both know that’s not true... I’m going to choose to reminisce.
I remember when you’d stand in what was once our living room in your blue denim jeans and nothing else and let me trace my fingers along your scars, your tattoo. You’d hold onto me so softly, like I was a butterfly as I kissed your old scars. I remember when you downloaded that Queen album onto my iPod for me, I thought it was magic. That song, Mother Love, I don’t know if I’ll be able to listen to it without thinking about me and you and what once was. Is it our song now? I’ve never had that with somebody before. A song. One that feels dedicated to me and a partner. “To know that my woman gives me sweet mother love”. Was that what I showed to you? A love as kind as a mothers? A love unconditional and nurturing? I loved you the only way I knew how to, how a woman loves: generously and self-destructively. You never told me much about your family, and now I’m wishing you did. Never will now. Cruel. Fate. I told you everything about mine.
You have that adorable smile that reaches all the way to your eyes, and oh how warm your eyes are. The perfect shade of gray that tells a million stories beyond my comprehension, and your hair is soft and long enough for me to run my fingers through, and pull on it when I need to. Your body is toned and comforting and your back was always something I could dig my nails into while we were intimate. Your jawline, your thick eyelashes and the curve of your waist. But that's not all I loved about you, I loved your heart most of all, and your unending patience for me. Your ability to love me through thick and thin. Your voice, how it could be so demanding and also so enthralling.
You left me your sweater, how am I only noticing this now? Draped over where you sat at the kitchen table. It still smells like you. I’m wearing it now, it’s far too big but I don’t care because I can hold it close and scrunch it up to my nose. You know me better than anybody else does or ever will. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I’m walking through the house now, noticing things. A bottle of perfume is gone from my dresser, that apple cinnamon scent you loved so much. Guess you anticipated that you’ll miss me just as much as you knew I’ll miss you.
I haven’t had to wear your dog tags in a long time. They’ve been sitting in my dresser collecting dust because you were always here with me at an arm's length. I didn’t need them. But now I’ll have to start wearing them again because you’re gone. Time loves to repeat itself, I find.
Eventually, I’m sure that I’ll be able to say goodbye to my remaining memories of you, and that one day I’ll be able to say my farewells to your dog tags as well. When I’m ready, I’ll throw them into the ocean, or off of a grassy clearing– What would stop me from swimming through the salt water or running down a hill to get them back though? So I’ll wait until I’m 100% ready. That could take months, or years, decades, maybe I’ll never be ready. But when that day does come, the sun will shine and the clouds will part, because I won’t be sad anymore. I’ll be able to look back at our time together and smile rather than frown, laugh rather than cry. I will know that my wounds from Raccoon have healed, but I have to thank you for bandaging them.
Until that day comes though, I’ll stay curled up in your sweater as I stain it with tears, and I’ll wait for you to come back,
Even though I know..
that will never happen.