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belladonnaandulriched · 3 years

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beautiful tragedy | chapter seven: pane of glass

Joey’s point of view

I wake up to the sound of Millie purring right next to my ear. I roll my head over to see her curled up on the bed itself, not the pillow, but she's laying there, all curled up like a cinnamon bun.

I have to make my way out to California but I'm afraid. I'm paranoid. There's the money I have... and then there's the rest of the money I don't know if or when it's coming.

I also don't know what to do about Millie, either.

My stomach is utterly killing me: it's like I got sucker punched there during a hockey game. It's hollow. It's painful. It's like the hollow inside of a tree, just eating away at me and sending me into primeval mode.

What the hell is wrong with me? I got food in the kitchen... if I don't eat it, it'll spoil. That's it. If I don't it, it'll go bad. Not because I have to feed my sorry ass: but because I don't want to throw the little money I have left over into a pile and torch it.

I lay my hand on top of the blanket, right above my stomach. It literally aches me to the point of making me feel sick. It feels so delicate and weak there.

I roll my head over again for a look at Millie again. Her eyes are pinched shut and yet her purr is unmistakable.

I roll over onto my left hip and I reach up to pet her head. She purrs even louder and her eyes open at me: she stretches out a paw at me. Those claws shoot out from their places: as sharp as razors.

“Hey, baby,” I whisper to her. “Millie—li'l Millie.” She yawns and shows me those pointy teeth and the inside of her mouth. She then opens her eyes even more and brings her gaze right at me. She stares at me for like a minute before she makes a noise that sounds like the precursor to a meow in her throat.

“What?” I ask her in a breathy voice. I hear the rain hammering down on the room overhead, but she's fixated on me. “What is it, babe?”

She then stands to all four paws and stretches her back—she looks like a cat at Halloween. She then stretches out both of her front paws at me and slinks over to my middle, and curls up next to me right there. She presses tight against my body, up against my stomach, and lays her head down on her paws. She's warm, so warm that it comforts me.

It's like she knows. She knows the pain I feel in my belly, in my heart, in my body... in everything. She's using the warmth of her body to soothe me.

I sigh through my nose and I reach down to pet her head again. She's still purring—quite loudly, I might add.

It's hard to believe I can be seen as beautiful or even so much as cute or handsome by someone else, another pair of eyes—be it from Lars or from his girlfriend for that matter. But this little kitty cat here, this four legged friend and my best friend at the moment, is helping me because I let her into my place and I gave her something to eat.

I pet the soft smooth black fur on her body some more and then I wonder if she's hungry herself.

I roll onto my back once again and this time I follow it with a literal roll out of my bed. I'm greeted by the cold in my room there on my bare legs. I can never sleep with the damn furnace on because I get too hot: so all too often when I wake up on these cold rainy mornings, it gets so cold in my room. In this whole place, actually.

A painful twitch hits me right in the side of my belly, right near my hip bone. I bow my head and bring my hands to waist to ease the pain.

I feel her fur on my back. I turn my head to look at Millie, right into those golden eyes. She knows.

I swallow and I feel a hard sensation inside of my throat.

“Hi, baby—c'mere,” I tell her; I lift my arm so she can rub on me some more. She sets her paws on my thigh and presses her head against my stomach. I pet her head and she tilts it back to show me that little cat mouth upturned in a smile and her little black nose. She then looks at me with that purr so loud and full in my ears.

“Want some breakfast?” I offer her, and she makes that little noise in her throat again, complete with a little rise of her head. “Okay, c'mon—I gotta get up, babe.”

And she moves her paws from my thigh so as to let me climb to my feet.

She follows me out of my room and into the kitchen—I still have one hand resting on my stomach to ease the feeling. But I use both hands to give her her food. She sits there near the entrance of the kitchen with her front paws together and her tail wrapped around her.

“Here, babe,” I tell her as I set the dish down in front of her, and she squats down to it.

I'm the bad guy. The bad dude and the mother fucker without a whim or a will. What the hell is wrong with me.

I need to check to see if that check came into my account. I need to get dressed anyway.

I stride out of the room and back into my room to get dressed and put on my boots given I know the rain has done a number outside.

Once I'm laced up and ready to put on my coat, she had scarfed up the entirety of the canned food I gave her. She licks her paw and rubs it over the top of her head.

“I'll be right back, okay?” I tell her and she looks up at me with those golden eyes gleaming at me. “I'll be back. I promise.”

She then returns to washing, which gives me the cue to leave.

There's a full on lake forming on the sidewalk as I make my way towards the street. I pull the collar up to my face but it's useless given the crown of my head is already soaking wet from the rain. My stomach hurts so bad that it's a miracle I can even walk.

I catch the sound of a couple up the block arguing. It doesn't help that the front door of their house is standing wide open and the woman is demanding that he close it because of the rain.

Ugh. I hope that's not me one day.

The door closes as soon as I reach the corner. I feel sick to my stomach, but I need to know if I got the money yet.

The front window from that house breaks open and a television comes flying out—I think back to the last time I partied with Anthrax, on New Year's Eve for Scott's birthday down in the City, and by some madness, Scott hurled a television out the hotel window.

But at least there the window was open: this thing broke the glass so much that shards sail in my direction. I dodge away and almost fall ass over teakettle into a mud puddle. But I catch myself and watch the man all but stumble out of his place and to his car. Poor guy looks like the marriage was taking its toll on him: he's all gray and out of shape.

I really hope that's not me one day.

But he stops and gazes on at me.

“You alright, man?” he calls out to me.

“Yeah, just wasn't expectin' that,” I confess to him; even though I caught myself, I feel my flagging energy catching up with me.

“Tell me about it—I'm gettin' the hell outta here and from that crazy old bat.” I watch him climb into his car parked at the curb and speed away. Meanwhile, I'm left standing there with my knees quivering and feeling unsure if the woman is going to come out of that place and attack me, too.

My knees buckle and I stagger down onto the grass. The soft wet earth hugs my knees, but it almost feels like I'm dying. I'm going to return to the earth, the little Injun boy I am.

Something catches my eye. I look down to my right. That shard of broken glass jutting out from the ground. It's soaking wet from the lake effect rain, and yet I'm able to look at my own reflection.

I look at myself, at my own face, those brown eyes, that gaunt face looking pale from hunger—I'm twenty eight years old and yet I look as though I had been alive for over a thousand years. I should be as brown as a bean as my mom would say, and yet I look like I've seen a ghost. A young buck down on his luck. More than down on his luck. A slave to his own poor stomach and the fumes in his pocket.

Alive for a thousand years and yet... I also feel so young. A part of me still thinks I'm a teenager and I should be back over at my parents' house.

“Fuck it, man, I need sump'n to eat...”

A strand of hair falls onto my face. It's wet but it feels dry. Sure, my hair is coarse, but it has never been so dry before. I think back to when Lars was here and my hair was starting to dry out.

Oh dear God. Lars!

I pick myself and hobble back to my place. Millie's still in her place on the kitchen by the time I stagger inside and catch myself on the back of the couch. She looks up at me with her eyes wide and alert. I'm breathing heavy. I'm in pain.

“What do you think I should eat?” I ask her like she's a person. She sits there, that little pear shaped black cat silhouette on my kitchen floor. My knees are still quivering: my ankles feel like they're about to give out.

“Let's see, I'm shaking...” I wonder aloud. I keep my eyes locked on Millie as she continues to sit there. Millie. A few letters away from milk. I'm glad I didn't give her any of my milk in my fridge, come to think of it.

Wait a minute.

I think back to when I played hockey for a living: my old coach always told me that when I've got the shakes, I should drink a glass of milk. I stumble into the kitchen, past her, and pick out a cup from the cupboard. I pour myself one and drink it down in one fell swoop, and with both hands on either side of the cup's base.

I set it down on the counter and look over at her.

“Well, I feel better now,” I tell her, “still hungry, but I don't feel like I'm gonna puke, though.”

She gives me another round of purring, followed by a soft meow. I knit my eyebrows together.

“Hang on a second, you got water?” I crane my neck to that little water dish I let her have, and sure enough, she's got plenty of water. “Yeah, you do.”

She meows again, and she's looking at the cup on the counter.

“You want some?” I ask her. She sits there, purring.

“Yes?”

She doesn't reply.

“You want me to have more?”

And she meows at me. Again. She knows.

“Okay,” I tell her in a soft voice. “Okay, baby—I'll have more.”

I pour myself another cup full and I drink it more slowly: I reach halfway and I feel her against my legs.

I sink down to the opposite side of the floor with the cup still in one hand: I lean back against the cupboard door and she continues to rub on me and purr very loudly. At one point, she lays on her side and shows me the extra soft fur on her belly. I pet her there and she purrs even louder. She trusts me!

“Yeah, you're my friend right now, aren't you,” I say to her; I use my free hand for another swig from the cup. I pet her a little more on the belly and then she clambers to her feet almost out of the blue.

“What? What? What's wrong?” Her eyes are big and her pupils are like big black holes. Her tail and her ears are fully erect. “What is it?”

She then hurries out of there to check it out, and in turn leaves me alone there on the kitchen floor. I look on the other side, at the sight of those faded stains there underneath the knife drawer. Lars cut himself in here, right across from me. I brought him home with me; it only makes sense for him to return the favor.

I hope Lars can fly me out to California because I need to get away from here for a while. I need to get away from myself.

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