Still Beating

My first day back to work the following week is a train wreck.

I’m a Heavy Construction Equipment Operator for the roads, which basically means I need to be lucid and clear-headed as fuck. I operate tractor trailers, bulldozers, cranes, and a variety of other big ass vehicles to patch concrete, repair highways and bridges, and haul toxic materials around. The heavens decided to rain down an ice storm today in honor of my first day back, so I had triple the anxiety. It was nearly impossible to stay focused as I tried to remember controls and protocols, while also having to fake-smile my way through the day and answer a thousand questions pertaining to my close encounter with a serial killer.

But I survived.

The weather is clearing up as I pull off my hard hat and hop into the rental car provided by my insurance company. It’s a shitty Honda, but it’ll do for now. I let out the sigh it feels like I’ve been holding in all day and collapse into the driver’s seat, drained and exhausted. I’m also fidgety and edgy from my alcohol detox. I haven’t touched a drop of liquor since the double date from hell over a week ago at The Oar.

I’m trying. I’m really fucking trying.

As I’m about to put the car in drive, my phone starts to ring, and Cora’s name and number pop up on my Bluetooth screen. I squint my eyes to make sure I’m seeing correctly and that impaired vision isn’t a side effect of the withdrawals. Cora and I haven’t spoken much over the last week, aside from a few casual text messages and some Facebook engagement. She filled me in on her first days back to work teaching at the school, and I told her about my upcoming start date, which was today. Basics. Normalcy.

Nothing that would indicate we barely escaped death two months ago, and certainly no reference to our emotional encounter in her car when she told me to leave her the hell alone because I was killing her.

Even though she took it back, I’m still giving her space.

For her, and for me.

I click accept, thinking she’s calling to inquire about my first day back. “Hello?”

I can make out the faint sound of sniffles on the other end of the line. “Dean?”

“Cora?” My heart goes into overdrive, my chest flooding with thousands of harrowing scenarios. “Are you okay?”

“I-I’m sorry to call you. I know it’s your first day back to work, and I was just going to leave you a voicemail, but…” She tries to catch her breath, small sobs breaking through. “It’s Blizzard.”

I blink, absorbing her words.

Oh, shit.

“Blizzard? What happened?”

“She had a seizure or something. It was bad, Dean—we couldn’t snap her out of it. I’m at the emergency clinic and they say she’s totally unresponsive.” Cora starts crying, hiccupping through her words. “They said we need to consider euthanasia.”

Fuck. This can’t be happening. I pinch the bridge of my nose, then trail my fingers through my hair, tugging at the roots. “Shit, Corabelle. Tell me which hospital and I’m on my way.”

“Are you sure? I know you’re working…”

“My shift is up. I want to be there.”

Her sigh of relief kisses me through the Bluetooth. “We’re at Care.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

I disconnect the call and drive at least ten over the speed limit, my mind reeling, until I careen into the lot and park like a jackass, taking up two spaces. I run through the main entrance and find Cora and her parents huddled together in the waiting room. Cora stands as soon as she spots me coming towards her and we’re yanked together like magnets, pulling each other into a tearful embrace. I smile at the Lawsons over Cora’s shoulder. Derek has his hand on Bridget’s knee, while Bridget blows her nose into a tissue.This is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“I’m so sorry, Cora,” I whisper against her ear, feeling the way she tightens her hold around my midsection in response. “How much time do we have?”

“They’re waiting for us in the… room,” Cora sniffs, pulling back to glance at me through red-rimmed eyes. She swipes at the tears along her cheekbone. “Mandy’s at work. She said it was too hard to be here. Mom and Dad are going to wait out here, but… did you want to come in with me? To say goodbye?”

“Of course.”

I don’t hesitate. We rescued this dog together, and I’ll be damned if I’m not with Cora when Blizzard takes her last breath.

Goddamn.

Cora gives a tight nod, then alerts one of the staff that we’re ready to go in. I follow her, a solemn silence settling between us. It’s a quiet, peaceful room, adorned with electronic candles and soft music. Blizzard is lying very still on a dog bed in the center of the floor, her fluffy chest heaving ever so slowly with each breath. I feel my emotions get stuck in my throat when I lay eyes on the dog that has felt like my own for the last ten years. I’d dog-sit her when the Lawsons took family vacations. I’d take her to the dog park with Mandy and Cora, watching her chase tennis balls and make new friends. Blizzard always greeted me first when I’d walk through the front door with Mandy, collapsing onto my feet and rolling over for belly rubs. She always sat beside me at the dinner table, waiting for the snack I’d inevitably offer her, and she always wagged her tail in adoration as I sang karaoke in the Lawson’s living room.

Her tail never seemed quite as enthusiastic when everyone else sang.

The technician talks us through the process in a kind voice, letting us know to take as much time as we need. There’s a button we need to press when we’re ready.

When we’re ready to let her go.

Cora kneels beside her dog, resting a shaky palm against Blizzard’s ivory fur. I kneel down next to her, doing the same, our shoulders melding together as our own respective memories sail through us.

“She was acting funny the night Mandy and I were getting ready for her birthday party. Bumping into things, walking in circles, panting more than usual,” Cora whispers, our fingers brushing together as we stroke Blizzard’s tummy. “Do you think she was sick and waited for us to come home?”

Cora looks up at me with big eyes as tears track down her rosy cheeks. I swallow, holding back my own grief, trying to be strong. “Yes. She couldn’t go without saying goodbye to her favorite people.”

Cora links her index finger with my pinky, resting her head against my shoulder as her body trembles with fresh tears. I snake my other arm around her, bringing her as close as I can, then twist my head to plant a kiss against her hair.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she murmurs, wiping her tears away with her sleeve.

“I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

I relish in the small, hoarse laugh that escapes her as her finger squeezes mine.

I press the button a few minutes later and the veterinarian steps inside with her cart. It’s a cart of death. The doctor explains what’s going to happen, that it will be peaceful and painless, that the medicine will stop Blizzard’s heart and she will fade away.

I can’t help but feel like that’s a perfect way to go.

It’s an emotional few minutes as we watch the dog’s chest rise and ebb until she releases her final breath, surrounded by her rescuers—surrounded by love.

Fuck, I think I might lose it.

The doctor issues us her condolences and begins to drag the cart out of the room. “Blizzard was a wonderful family member, Miss Lawson. I’m very sorry for your loss. I’ll let you and your boyfriend say your final goodbyes now. Feel free to step out whenever you’re ready. There’s no rush.”

Boyfriend. I suppose we do look like two grieving lovers, pressed up against each other, fingers intertwined. Cora doesn’t correct the mistake as the door clicks closed.

When an eerie silence fills the room and I glance down at Blizzard, lifeless and unmoving, something in my heart clenches. My bones physically ache and my lungs fill with impossible grief. I lean back against the wooden bench behind me, inhaling a few shuddering breaths, and then I let go. I press my palm over my face as tears sting my eyes, spilling out, depositing into the cracks of my fingers. Cora immediately scoots backwards on the floor, sliding up beside me and leaning in. She wraps both arms around me and presses her cheek to my chest, holding me as I cry my fucking heart out over this fluffy little friend I’m going to miss the hell out of, and so much more.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” I breathe out, hating the way my voice splits and wavers as I scrub a hand over my face.

“You loved her,” Cora whispers against my neon work vest, her fingers clutching the shirt underneath. “It’s nothing to be sorry about.”

She raises her head to look at me and our eyes lock together, something heavy and potent and commanding passing between our souls. Cora touches the pads of her fingertips to the side of my face, that is still damp with my grief. I grit my teeth together, unsure of how to process the moment or the strange, bewitching energy hovering in the air. I stare at her, taking in her runny makeup, glossy eyes, and pink mouth. Her cheekbones are flushed with sadness and her hair is a mess, sticking up like she just got zapped by something.

Maybe she did.

Cora leans up on her knees, then ever so softly, without warning, presses her lips against my mouth… just barely. It’s a feather-light kiss.

A flutter, a buzz—like hummingbird wings. Beautiful and curious.

She pulls back, her eyes widening slightly, a frown creasing her brow like she’s dazed and bewildered. Her tongue pokes out to wet her lips and she breaks eye contact, falling back to the floor and clearing her throat. “Sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

I draw my knees up to my chest and scratch at my shaggy hair, running my palm down the back of my neck. We’re friends, in a way—I think—and that’s what friends do sometimes during life’s shitty, heartbreaking moments.

Right?

I glance down at Cora, who is leaning against the bench beside me, her eyes closed and her lips pressed together as if she’s replaying how they felt against mine. I let my fingers dance their way over to her hand and I lace them through hers, grateful she doesn’t pull away from me. Her hand squeezes mine as I look back to Blizzard, so peaceful and loved, and say, “It’s nothing to be sorry about.”

I offer to drive Cora back home as the snow starts to fall.

It’s Martin Luther King Day, so she didn’t have to work today. She was grading papers at her parents’ house when Blizzard had a prolonged seizure she wasn’t able to recover from.

I asked her before we left the hospital, just to be certain, “Are you sure you don’t want to go with your parents? I don’t want you to be alone when you’re so upset.”

Cora shook her head. “I won’t be alone,” she said.

I took that to mean she wanted me to stay with her a while, so when we pull into her driveway, I follow her inside. The snow is falling hard now, having only been coming down in soft flurries when we pulled out of the parking lot. Fat snowflakes blanket our hair and jackets as we make our way up the snowy pathway to her front door.

I pause in my tracks before going inside, glancing up at the sky, blinking at the sheet of white raining down on my face. I can’t help a smile from breaking through my somber haze. “It’s a blizzard.”

Cora falters on her porch step, twisting around to look at me with the widest, most enchanted eyes I’ve ever seen. She steps down to join me on the walkway, holding out her arms and looking up with me. “Oh, my God. Do you think…?” Her voice trails off and she starts to laugh. She laughs. Delirious laughter pours out of her as she spins around in circles, her nose pointed towards the heavens. “It’s her, Dean. She’s saying goodbye.”

I think my goddamn heart might explode.

I suck in my emotions, blowing them back out into the chilly air. I’m not sure what’s got me more choked up—Blizzard’s parting gift to us or watching the way Cora is floating around and around in clumsy circles, sheathed in white, looking utterly enraptured and lost in the moment.

Healing.

She looks like healing.

We find our way inside and strip out of our soggy winter wear, collapsing onto the couch, mentally and emotionally drained. Blizzard always used to sit right between us on the couch—always. It became a running joke that she was trying to prevent us from killing each other.

Now I wonder if she was trying to tell us something.

I shake the thoughts away and lean my head back against the cushions, my eyes closing on instinct as the long, tiring day takes its toll. I almost completely pass out when I feel a hand squeezing my knee.

“Go lie down. You look exhausted.”

I make a ‘hmmph’ sound which is code for, ‘that sounds great, but I don’t want to move’. Cora seems to decipher the noise and starts tugging on my legs, stretching them out until I’m sprawled out, taking up the full length of the sofa. Fleece envelopes me and I tuck the blanket around me, noting the faint aroma of daffodils as I tug it up to my chin. I start to drift away when I feel her lips against my cheek, just as light as before. A tickle, a whisper, a fleeting kiss.

Healing.

She feels like healing.

A scream forces me upright on the couch, disoriented and bleary-eyed, as I try to figure out where the fuck I am.

Mint walls, a coral couch, a shag rug beneath my feet.

Daffodils.

Cora.

I’m on Cora’s couch.

Cora is screaming.

I jump to my feet and sprint down the hallway to her dimly lit bedroom, where I find her tossing and turning, kicking at the covers, gripping the bed post between both fists behind her head.

She screams again. “No! Please, no…”

Her eyes are closed, squeezed tight, but I know she can see.

She sees all the same horrors I see when I close my eyes at night.

I rush to her bedside and cautiously slide myself onto the mattress, careful not to startle her. “Cora… Corabelle, you’re dreaming.” I slip my arm around her waist and pull her close, whispering into her ear, “Come back to me.”

She’s still writhing on the bed, her expression pained and terrified, so I try again.

“Cora…”

She whacks me across the jaw.

“Fuck,” I mutter, massaging the side of my face as Cora whips herself into a sitting position.

Cora’s eyes fly open, her chest heaving with strained breaths. “Dean? Dean… oh, my God…” She grabs my face between her hands and starts peppering kisses along my tingling jawline. “I’m so sorry. I was dreaming. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Cora slings her arms around my neck, pulling me as close as she possibly can, and sobs against my shoulder. “Are you real?” she cries, tilting her head until her warm lips are pressed to the side of my neck.

I freeze for a moment, a shiver sweeping through me. I’m unsure of what to do or say or how to console her, but instinct takes over, and I lower her back onto the bed, cradling her in my arms as I situate myself beside her. “I’m real. You’re real. Everything’s okay, Corabelle. It was just a dream.”

Her arms are still linked around my neck and her tears are still flowing. “I feel like I need to keep touching you… it was so vivid…” Cora slides her hands up and down my back, then over my chest, much like she had done the first time I released her from her chains. “Did I hurt you?”

I shake my head, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. “I’m fine.”

“God, Dean… I’m so sorry. I’m such an idiot.”

Her face is cupped between my palms in an instant as I force her eyes on mine. “You are not an idiot. You’re the strongest fuckin’ person I know.”

Cora’s chin quivers as I swipe her stray tears away with my thumbs. “I’m not strong. I’m falling apart.”

“You’re strong as hell. You amaze me.” How can she not see what I see? How can she not know? “Don’t you ever say that again, you hear me?”

She sniffs, still trembling, still misty-eyed and vulnerable. “I feel like it was all my fault. On top of all the flashbacks and nightmares and madness, I have this coil of guilt in the pit of my stomach. You shouldn’t have been there, Dean.” Cora sucks in a fractured breath, her leg sliding up over mine. “I shouldn’t have called you that night…”

I frown, thrown by her admission. Rattled by the absurdity of it. “That’s crazy talk. I was the one who set it in motion. That bastard asked if you were my girl and I should have fucking lied. I should have said, ‘Hell fucking yes, she’s my girl’ because I’d be lucky as shit to have you.”

She stares at me with the most astonished look swirling in her emerald eyes, and her lips part, her gaze slipping to my mouth for the tiniest second.

“Cora, listen to me,” I say, still holding her face in my hands, still clinging to her like it’s the very last time. “Those were the worst three weeks of my entire goddamn life and they will haunt me forever.” I swallow. “But I’m glad I was there. And I’d do it all again, a thousand times over, just to keep you from going through that shit alone. I’m glad I was there with you.”

A gasp-like whimper escapes her. I’ve never seen her look at me like this before.

I close my eyes, dropping my forehead to hers. “And don’t ask me what that means, Corabelle, because I don’t have a goddamn clue. All I know is that I’d kill that son-of-a-bitch over and over again just to keep you safe—hell, I’d kill a hundred men if I thought that would chase away your nightmares and bring you peace. And I know how fucked that sounds, trust me, I know, but I can’t let you go another minute feeling guilty or responsible or weak. You’re a warrior.”

Jesus Christ, I’m spouting out these raw, unfiltered truths like I’m delirious, drugged—out of my mind drunk.

But I’ve never felt more sober or clear-headed.

Or terrified.

Cora is gaping at me, speechless.

“Ah, shit… say something, Cora.” Our foreheads are still melded together, our noses touching. I feel her peppermint breath against my mouth as I close my eyes, waiting for her to tell me that I’m the idiot.

Cora is silent for a long time. The woman who has always been quick to bite back, sling her insults at me, use her words as ammo, is uncharacteristically quiet. Her hands are on my chest, one right atop my heart, and they fist the material of my shirt as her leg entwines with mine. Our bodies are close, too close, our groins almost touching, and my hands are cupping her jaw like she is something to be cherished.

Why isn’t she talking?

Cora finally intakes a long, unsteady breath, then inches down the bed until her face is smooshed against the front of my chest. “Sing to me.”

For a moment, I’m brought back to that basement. I travel back to those dark November nights when I could hardly see her through the black hole between us. It killed me that I couldn’t touch her. I couldn’t reach out and grab her or hold her in my arms, bring her comfort, or whisper into her ear that it was going to be okay.

My voice was all she had.

I sing Hey Jude as I cradle the back of her head with one hand, feeling her tiny hairs tickle my chin with every breathy note. We fall asleep curled up together, clinging to one another, heartbeats aligned, but this time there are no sleeping pills. There is no alcohol. There are no vices or excuses or things to blame except ourselves and the confusing feelings that have burrowed inside our hearts.

And while there are still so many questions swimming around my brain, I finally feel like I have an answer to one of them.

I know what I have to do.