Method(2)

Blake lost his ability to hide the minute he was found hanging in his office.

It strikes me that those gathering today are probably thinking much of the same and Blake isn’t the only thing they’re mourning. Cursing the sick parade, I’m barely able to keep my feet planted as rehearsed words are spoken at his graveside.

“…he was a believer in the good of humanity.” Sentiments ring hollow around the large circle of people wearing their Sunday best, designer sunglasses pressed firmly on their fixed noses to shield rolling eyes. It’s an idiotic and mocking statement in comparison to the way Blake made his exit. It’s far too apparent Blake didn’t believe in anything when he left. He had no fear of an easy departure, of the Christian God who swears his last sin is unforgivable. Hollywood was his God, and before he took the step off his desk, Blake, like the rest of us, knew our God had forsaken us all. We’ve memorized the gospel much like those that surround us, and we’ve learned every verse. We’ve prayed to the shrines and offered up our souls. Blake concluded there was no point, no way but out, while the rest of us scrambled for some semblance of normal.

“This is a fucking circus,” I grumble under my breath. Mila squeezes my palm in her hand in reply, pulling herself closer to me. Searching the crowd, I find Blake’s ex-wife, Amanda, her head lowered as she tries to remain unseen amongst the elite. Like the rest of us, she doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want to acknowledge what Blake’s done. I gather this from her posture alone. I stood by Blake’s side at their wedding six years ago as he wholly pledged himself to her. He’d believed in her. I’d never seen him so happy, and I never will again.

“Let’s go,” Mila whispers, tugging at my hand and ushering me through the crowd. My wife knows I can’t listen to another word. In no way should his estranged mother have been the one to make the arrangements. I hadn’t gotten my shit together in time to protest as much. It would be another on my list of regrets when it came to Blake. Though deep down, I knew. I’ve always known at some point I would lose him early. He was too volatile, too emotional, he needed too much validation, and he never grew out of it. He was far too weak against his pain. I hate that I think of him that way, but it’s the truth. His exit strategy is a good slap in the face for all of us in the land of make-believe.

Mila’s heels click on the sidewalk next to neon grass as she guides me toward our waiting car. I’m choking on a thousand words I want to scream back at those still huddled around the hole, the new home of my best friend, but I keep those words within and give Blake the last one.





Mila



My husband is bruising in his own skin, and I can’t take it. He’ll blame himself, he’ll blame his best friend, and maybe he’ll blame me a little too because our life was so far removed from Blake’s before he took his own. And maybe Lucas’s relationship with me is one of the reasons. I was always wary of Blake, of his personality. I was always fearful of the consequences of their entanglement as friends, and I’d spoken up on more than one occasion about my concerns. Studying Lucas, I realize that doesn’t matter at the moment. He’s still in shock. I want his pain because I’m not sure he knows how to sort through it. But I’m not sure what I feel either. This is my first funeral, I’ve never lost anyone close to me before Blake. I loved him for a lot of reasons. For who he was, and because he was the closest person to Lucas. I loved him for being for my husband what I couldn’t be at certain times, for knowing when I was in over my head and getting Lucas out of his own. I’m pissed at Blake for sticking him in that place now, without his guidance, without his help. The limousine door is open and waiting, and I slide inside. Lucas shrugs off his suit jacket before climbing in next to me.

“Home, please,” I instruct our driver, Paul, before I put the partition up. There’s a party, a celebration of life we’re all expected to attend, but I’m far too aware we’re both teetering on the brink. Of what? I’m unsure. No one will suffer Blake’s absence the way my husband will. Lucas just lost a soulmate. It’s a tough pill to swallow, but it’s the truth. And I’m a believer in having more than one kind of soulmate. I’m the lucky woman who gets to devour my husband’s beauty, his brilliance, his depth. He chose me and even after five years of marriage his choice is still a bit surreal. Our courtship is a poor man’s fairy tale and a little cliché but it’s still my favorite. I was the nobody one of Hollywood’s most eligible bachelors chose. The scrutiny cost me a little sanity, but he was worth it. At times, I’m still an ant beneath a magnifying glass. Except now, I know how to deflect.

But with this, today, I’m in unchartered territory.

For the last three days, I’ve been by his side, shoulders back and ready for whatever Lucas needs, but so far, he’s been ominously quiet, a thousand miles away while remaining close. The morning after we got the call, I woke to an empty bed and found Lucas dressed on our porch, sitting eerily silent. He was searching himself for answers, answers only Blake could provide, answers he may never get, and I don’t assume anything I have to say will heal him. He needs to hurt, he needs to experience the loss. I haven’t always been confident in us, especially in the beginning. That took time. We reached a healthy stride years ago, and ever since, I haven’t thought much about our ability to weather any shitstorm. For the first time since we got together, I’m at a loss, unsure if he can see me at all. Even when he’s the most involved with his career, his roles, the silence has never lasted this long. The palpable ache emitting from him at first stifles some of my courage before I summon my nerve, pulling up the confines of my skirt around my thighs to straddle him.