“Button—I just got some really… big news.” His eyes meet mine, waiting. I’m fidgeting. “I… My mom called and it’s all over the news.” I’m stalling—I know I am. He’s just waiting. If I don’t tellhim and he sees it himself, how will he survive it? “Ronnie. He shot himself in the head. At the house. He’s dead.”
There’s a small moment of shock on his face before it’s back to that blank, empty expression. There are tears in his eyes, but he does not let them fall.
“I’m so sorry. I know it’s hard on top of everything else.
What can I do? How can I help you?” He says nothing, does nothing. After a moment—I do the only thing I know how to do.
I scoop him up and take him to bed, pulling him against my side and holding on tight. He shoves his face into my neck, but he does not tangle his legs with mine. He does not wrap his arms around me.
???
It’s been two and a half months since the English Literature
Orientation party. Benjamin still won’t talk—barely acknowledges I’m there at all. He sits and scratches his wrists, taming the desire, the sadness. If Felix invites himself over, Benjamin locks himself in our bedroom until I assure him Fe left. No one else bothers to try anymore.
At night he lets me hold him and before bed he’ll shower. But that’s about as far as his activities go. As far as his affection will reach. I dress him in his pajamas and into his lounge clothes the next morning—I brush his hair and sometimes I even brush his teeth. There are some days where even that is too much for him to do alone.
And almost every single night without fail—he wakes up screaming for me—begging for me to help him. He’ll sob and sob—shaking like a leaf. That is the only time I get to hear his voice.
“Aaron—Aaron help me! Oh God—please make it stop—please come get me, Aaron…”
And I’m awake—grabbing him and pulling him to me.
“I’m here Button. I’ve got you—it’s over. I got you.”
And slowly he’ll calm and fall asleep once more.
This overwhelming guilt is eating away at me. Knowing that for the second time—under the same roof as me—Benjamin was traumatized. I hate myself for it. I’ll spend the rest of our lives making up for it. And he’ll get better, I know he will. I found a center not too far from Lancaster that takes in assault victims and helps them continue on afterward. To deal with the emotional pain. I know he won’t want to go. I know he’ll hate me. But maybe he’ll understand by the time he’s released. Or maybe he won’t—but he’ll be healing. Either way—I’ll visit him all the time.
I’m getting home from work, walking up to the apartment. I’m nervous to tell him about it but I can’t just lure him to the car and throw him out in front of the building.
The living room is empty as I’m walking through, which can only mean Benjamin’s lying in our bed. I head toward the back.
“Button—I’m home.” I push open the bedroom door and peer over at the bed. Empty. Huh? He doesn’t leave the house, so he has to be here somewhere. That really only leaves the bathroom and the kitchen.
I walk to the bathroom door and knock.
“Baby—you in there?” There is no light coming from under the door. Fear, dread, anxiety. All of it fills my body—my soul. I throw the door open, but the bathroom is empty too. I’m sprinting into the kitchen, my heart in my throat.Please. Please be in here.
The kitchen is vacant.Fuck.
What does this mean? Did he go on a walk? Pulling my phone out—I call his phone.
Looks like you couldn’t reach me—sorry. Leave me a message.Beep
When we FaceTimed at noon today, he was home. Quiet and absent-minded—but home. Where is he? What’s going on? I’m pacing the kitchen, gripping at my hair. Why would he just leave?
He refused to go outside for two months—it doesn’t make sense. Maybe he’s in the gym? Exercise gives endorphins so maybe he’s trying something different?
I see something sitting on the island in our kitchen and I feel it as my heart drops. As the barbed wire wraps itself around my neck. Thisfeeling of dread—this sense of sorrow settles over me and our empty apartment as I cry out softly. I think I know what that is.
On the counter sits the button. The necklace he never took off—not when I broke his heart—not when he was strung out—not the last time he was assaulted. Now it sits on our kitchen island, and I think it’s the first time he’s taken it off since he made it.
There’s a note next to it. A very small piece of paper with Benjamin’s small, neat handwriting sprawled onto it.
I love you—my little blue bird.
I’ll find you in the next life - Button
