rings and I know I will be bruised but I don’t care. The last powerful thrust finds him empty and panting against my neck. I feel his hand above my head, pressed to the wet tile. He braces himself as I cling to his wet body, still connected. The water stops and he pushes through the dark and into the bedroom. We tumble to the bed, wet and exhausted. A delirious giggle trickles from my throat as he slides from my body and that pesky emptiness comes quickly rushing back. But before it can swallow me, I fall fast asleep, curled in a damp ball against Rhys’ chest.
My hair is a crazy nest when I wake having fallen asleep wet and unbrushed, while Rhys is unsuitably perfect, as always. I find as I get myself ready for what is to come, the pain is slowly replaced by a soothing numbness. I can find comfort in the numbness. I am familiar and comfortable with being numb. And in the numbness the rest of the horrible day passes in a quiet flash while I stand calmly in the middle, unaffected and untouched by what is going on around me. Rhys has taken it upon himself to handle everything, well, actually it turns out my grandmother had everything already planned and paid for. There is a little of that old fashioned, war time mentality. She has had a cemetery plot and her last wishes recorded since my grandfather died. She is to be buried next to him, across from my parents. There is no real money to speak of, just a couple thousand dollars in cash that she had hidden around her house. Most of her assets were swallowed up by her long term care these last few years. All that remains is the house and I am pretty sure I will have to sell it, but Rhys says I shouldn’t have to worry about that now.
***
The Town Car pulls along the dirt drive of the little cemetery that is perched atop of the hill just outside of town. Gravestones from as far back as the late eighteenth century sit on the hill, looking down on the new residents of their sleepy little mining town. The day is cold and gray, a fitting send off, for both of us. A new, fresh grave sits just off the dirt drive. Rhys offers me his hand and we walk across the grass, between rows and rows of souls, hopefully at rest, before Rhys releases me into the arms of Father Don, my grandmother’s favorite priest. I feel myself being passed around, as I move from embrace to embrace; the little old ladies that she used to play bridge with, the women she worked with at her church, and few remaining people around town that she actually grew up with. There were more people than I expected. I take my place at the head of the grave, safely wrapped in Rhys protective arms and Father Don begins to pray. Every face is so sad and pity filled, their eyes unable to focus away from me, the sad girl who has no family to speak of.
Rhys tenses, almost imperceptibly, pulling me just a little closer. I look up from my personal hell to see Collin slowly making his way towards us, holding a bouquet of neon daisies, wearing dark slacks, a wrinkled white shirt and a smug sparkle in his falsely sympathetic eyes. I don’t even care that he is here. Looking into his face, I feel nothing. A comforting lack of emotion, he is nothing to me anymore. Rhys kisses the top of my head and is quickly gone. Quietly winding his way through the crowd, he meets Collin on the other side and pulls him away. I pull my eyes from them and turn to watch a butterfly skip across the tops of the gravestones in the next row. Clearly she is confused, or she would not be here. This place is no place for butterflies, but I watch her, focus on her slight movement as she flutters from stone to stone looking for sweet nectar. I focus on the butterfly and tune everything else out.
My hair is a crazy nest when I wake having fallen asleep wet and unbrushed, while Rhys is unsuitably perfect, as always. I find as I get myself ready for what is to come, the pain is slowly replaced by a soothing numbness. I can find comfort in the numbness. I am familiar and comfortable with being numb. And in the numbness the rest of the horrible day passes in a quiet flash while I stand calmly in the middle, unaffected and untouched by what is going on around me. Rhys has taken it upon himself to handle everything, well, actually it turns out my grandmother had everything already planned and paid for. There is a little of that old fashioned, war time mentality. She has had a cemetery plot and her last wishes recorded since my grandfather died. She is to be buried next to him, across from my parents. There is no real money to speak of, just a couple thousand dollars in cash that she had hidden around her house. Most of her assets were swallowed up by her long term care these last few years. All that remains is the house and I am pretty sure I will have to sell it, but Rhys says I shouldn’t have to worry about that now.
***
The Town Car pulls along the dirt drive of the little cemetery that is perched atop of the hill just outside of town. Gravestones from as far back as the late eighteenth century sit on the hill, looking down on the new residents of their sleepy little mining town. The day is cold and gray, a fitting send off, for both of us. A new, fresh grave sits just off the dirt drive. Rhys offers me his hand and we walk across the grass, between rows and rows of souls, hopefully at rest, before Rhys releases me into the arms of Father Don, my grandmother’s favorite priest. I feel myself being passed around, as I move from embrace to embrace; the little old ladies that she used to play bridge with, the women she worked with at her church, and few remaining people around town that she actually grew up with. There were more people than I expected. I take my place at the head of the grave, safely wrapped in Rhys protective arms and Father Don begins to pray. Every face is so sad and pity filled, their eyes unable to focus away from me, the sad girl who has no family to speak of.
Rhys tenses, almost imperceptibly, pulling me just a little closer. I look up from my personal hell to see Collin slowly making his way towards us, holding a bouquet of neon daisies, wearing dark slacks, a wrinkled white shirt and a smug sparkle in his falsely sympathetic eyes. I don’t even care that he is here. Looking into his face, I feel nothing. A comforting lack of emotion, he is nothing to me anymore. Rhys kisses the top of my head and is quickly gone. Quietly winding his way through the crowd, he meets Collin on the other side and pulls him away. I pull my eyes from them and turn to watch a butterfly skip across the tops of the gravestones in the next row. Clearly she is confused, or she would not be here. This place is no place for butterflies, but I watch her, focus on her slight movement as she flutters from stone to stone looking for sweet nectar. I focus on the butterfly and tune everything else out.
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