Preppy, The Life & Death of Samuel Clearwater, Part TWO (King)(11)

I love that big mean bastard.

I stared down at the clothes on the bed. A pressed white shirt, khakis, matching pink and yellow suspenders, and bow tie. It was my usual pre Narnia attire. I ran my hand down the soft clean fabric but when I picked up the shirt from the pile I dropped it back onto the bed as if it stung my hand. I pushed the suspenders and bow tie off the pile and rummaged underneath, opting for a pair of grey sweatpants and plain white t-shirt on the bottom of the stack.

I made my way out into the living room, holding onto the railing as I slowly descended the steps, each one becoming easier and easier as my muscles adjusted to the feeling of walking and I remembered how to put one foot in front of the other again.

Voices speaking in hushed tones stopped me before I turned the corner.

“I don’t know why we lied to him, that was stupid,” Doe said.

I could hear the guilt in King’s voice when he responded. “What were we supposed to say? Yeah, Prep, you had a visitor while you were in a coma, and by the way, I don’t know who that girl is to you, but you woke up in a panic, almost strangled her to death, and you called her your wife. Also, you kind of freaked the f*ck out on Bear and we’re guessing it’s because he looks so much like his psycho old man so he’s decided not to come around so you don’t flip your shit and try to kill him again?”

My entire body stiffened.

She WAS here.

King sighed heavily. I peeked around the corner and his head was in his hands. Doe was rubbing his back, sitting on the armrest of the couch. The two kids were sitting at the table off to the side, picking the crust off their sandwiches and throwing them at one another.

“I know it’s hard, but we have to tell him the truth. He deserves that much. We’re his family. We can’t lie to him.”

“As his family it’s our job to protect him, so we can’t just dump all this shit onto shoulders at once either,” King said. “He’s already been through too f*cking much. I just wish I would have known where he was. He was so close the entire f*cking time. So f*cking close...” King’s voice trailed off.

I stepped out into the living room, ready to tell him that it wasn’t his fault and he shouldn’t blame himself for not knowing where I was when I real

She WAS really there.

Neither King nor Doe saw me limping into the room. King continued. “I mean, this shits, f*cked up. How the hell are we supposed to tell him that Grace died?”

It was the shock shooting through my system that made me walk right into the coffee table and make myself known.

“Shit,” King swore. He stood up and came toward me. I held up my hands and took a step back.

“We didn’t mean for you to find out...” He started, running a frustrated hand over his hair. “It’s my f*cking fault.”

“No, No,” I said, waving them off and trying to keep down the bile rising in my throat. My legs again grew shaky but I stood straighter, not wanting to make them feel worse by breaking down in front of them. “You guys have nothing to feel guilty about. Grace was sick right? For a long time. I mean, I kind of already figured,” I lied. I was positive Grace would outlive the cockroaches of the apocalypse. She could have been run over by a mac truck and I would’ve put money on the truck having more damage than her.

I turned back toward my room. Or what USED to be my room. “I’m just gonna go take a shower,” I said heading back up the stairs.

“Preppy, wait,” King called out but I kept going.

“He needs some time,” Doe said.

With each step back to my room the threat of losing my shit grew greater and greater. It wasn’t until I was behind the closed door when I let the tears fall.

And fall they did.

I cried for the loss of Grace, my mother in all ways except blood. The mother who never let me down. The woman who would let me have it when I’d done something she didn’t approve of, but who wasn’t judgmental. She loved me for me. She loved all my crazy.

She never tried to change me.

I never even got to say good-bye.

I eventually made my way into the shower, spending several minutes under the water long after it turned cold. When I finally dragged myself out I went to take a piss and caught a glimpse of my reflection out of the corner of my eye. I turned toward the mirror and faced someone I hadn’t seen in a very long f*cking time. Someone I used to like looking at.

A lot.

I wasn’t f*cking stupid. I knew that after the shit I’d been through that I wouldn’t exactly be GQ material.

But I also didn’t expect to be staring at a total f*cking stranger either.

I leaned in close to the mirror. I felt around my long knotted beard with my fingertips and almost lost my shit when they dropped into my severely sunken cheeks. The bones around my dark and hollowed eye sockets protruded out like a f*cking caveman. My once hazel eyes which now looked more like a muted shit-colored brown.

At least Grace won’t ever have to see me this way.

Even when my hair was at its longest, I’d always kept the top long and shaved the sides to show off the tattoos on both sides of my head. Post-torture, the parts that were normally short were grown out well past my shoulders, and for some reason looked much darker than the medium blond I remember it being.

I looked like a skinnier, demented version of Jesus Christ.

Walking death.