The Last Handful of Clover - Book 1: The Hereafter

1.20 The Empty Mirror

June 6, 7:10 am

Richard could almost pretend like everything was normal.

Watching Keith open his eyes was like any other morning in their lives, except that there was no blaring alarm clock on Richard's side of the bed. Except that the pillow under his head felt like a river-worn stone. Except that Keith's hand in his own was no warmer than that of a mannequin. And except for that fact that when Keith's eyes opened and fell upon his lover, there was no sudden warm smile of recognition—no opening of his arms to pull him close.

Even with all of that, Richard could almost have pretended that this was just another normal morning in their home. Perhaps a Saturday, when they had planned to go hiking in the Wasatch, or maybe a winter morning when they would catch a matinee, followed by a romantic dinner.

The illusion was broken by Keith's eyes. They did not brighten the way they should have. They just stared, unfocused and empty, through Richard to the far wall. Richard thought he saw just a glint of confusion in those eyes, before the same cloak of pain covered them that Richard had witnessed the night before.

That look was too much for Richard, and he turned away. Sitting up on the bed, he turned his back on Keith, trying to regain his composure. When he looked back, he was surprised to see that Keith had taken his pillow and buried his face in it. The pillow that had seemed like a stone to him was soft and pliable against Keith's face, and he breathed deeply of Richard's scent.

It's probably the lavender beard oil, Richard thought. A little ghost of himself he had left behind.

Forcing himself to turn away, Richard arose from the bed, his legs weak and shaky. He crossed to the window and looked out through the venetian blinds. The sun on his face felt like the first real thing he had encountered since this nightmare had begun.

How strange that everything in this world feels so unreal, so artificial, Richard thought. And yet the sun on my face feels like it always has—so full of warmth and life.

Eyes closed, Richard allowed the sun to penetrate his skin and the warmth slowly stilled his racing mind.

Keith, behind him, seemed so silent. Richard would have heard him if he had gotten up from their bed. Turning back, Richard saw Keith had taken his journal out of the drawer, and was thumbing through the pages. He still had that same blank look on his face, like he didn't understand what he was looking at. But at least he was sitting up and moving.

Richard wanted to grab him and shake him, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. And he wasn't sure what he would say if he did. If he was strong enough, perhaps he'd tell Keith to throw off this grief, and that he had a long life still ahead of him.

Richard knew he was not that strong.

Keith put the journal down on the nightstand. It was a tiny gesture, but more than anything else, the fact that he had not placed the notebook back in the drawer told Richard that Keith had accepted he was really gone. Keith had never hidden the fact that he wrote in his journal, but he had also never offered to read anything to Richard, and keeping it tucked away was his way of keeping that part of his life private. Richard had been curious, but never enough to violate Keith's privacy.

All at once, Keith was up, out of bed, and heading toward the bathroom. Richard noticed he had slept last night in his t-shirt and gray boxers; being too exhausted, Richard supposed, to fully undress. His lover disappeared into the bathroom, but left the door open. He couldn't see Keith from where he stood at the window, but he saw the t-shirt and boxers drop to the floor, and heard Keith turn on the shower.

Everything in Richard told him he should join Keith in that shower. But was he strong enough yet to bear seeing his lover's naked body? Would seeing him in the shower just be too much of a reminder of the intimacy they had lost? And if he were to join him in that shower, what would the water do to him? Instinctively, he knew it would cut through him like a thousand needles.