What If He Didn't Die?

Chapter 17: The Final Cue

(Flashback Contd...)

I sat down beside him. My head back on his shoulder held by his right hand.

He took in a deep breath while I felt a serious lack of any. The anticipation was killing me.

"My father." He started and I pulled my head off his shoulder but he again pushed it down. "My father wasn't a drunkard, not always, he-"

"Daniel, seriously you don't have to." I interrupted and pulled my head off his shoulder. "I don't have to know this. Please don't do this if you don't want to. I'm fine without knowing. Really. Don't just, don't hurt yourself like that." I blabbered, my eyes flickering like a dying flame.

Yes, of course, I wanted to get closer to him, to know him in and out. But never between all that, did I wish to do it out of force, never did I ever want to hurt him. From all that I had known of him, I knew, it had always been difficult for him to share even the smallest part of himself with anyone. And this was big. I just wanted him to only do it when he was ready.

"I want you to know, Easter Eggs." He said slowly and I couldn't retaliate anymore. I was hypnotized.

"He wasn't always a drunkard, dad, he was a great man, before my mother died." He used the D word again, for another person. And he said it casually, I almost wanted to believe it was no big deal. But it was, it had to be. Because it had changed him. Just like it had changed his father.

"After her," Daniel continued, "he was left devastated. He just loved her too much for his own good. He started to drink to drown his pain. He would come home every night completely drunk. That was where I picked the habit of keeping hangover kits ready. I was 14 then and I started hating him." He scoffed and continued. My head was now back on his shoulder.

"The drinking became more and more prominent. He drank when in pain, he drank when merry, he drank when he was hurt and when he was happy. He drank to regret his failure and to celebrate his successes. It became his habit. His addiction, his ritual."

"But every time he was done drinking, he'd cry with my mother's picture in his hand and that was when I realized, I never hated my dad, I only ever hated the alcohol." He took in another deep breath before continuing.

"Last year, I fought with him. We argued a lot. I refused to let him drink anymore. After a lot of arguments, he understood that I only wanted to save him because I barely had anyone, and he cut down on it."

"He only drank on particular occasions after that. We were back to being a happy little family until that one night messed it all." He added with a painful crack in his voice and stopped like he did not mean to stop but he just couldn't go on. As if his body and mind weren't allowing him to. His breathing was heavy and hazy, he was in pain and I could feel it flow into my veins as well.

This was my cue to leave. I'd known all I needed to know. He told me why he hated alcohol, I didn't need to know the rest. I shifted on his shoulder and his body felt my movement before mine did and before I could push myself away he caged my hand under his palm and interlinked our fingers.

We'd never done that before, which was why I couldn't help but notice how easily my fingers fit in his. Like they were a pair made for each other.

I couldn't commit the sin of pulling them apart.

So I stayed.

"One night he came home with a wrapped package. The packet had a bottle of some extremely expensive liquor. Way too much for what he could afford. He'd gotten a promotion that day." He added with a chuckle and I dared not release the breath I'd been holding. "I congratulated him and made him promise to only take a few drinks. He obeyed. He drank just a few glasses and kept the bottle safe for another time. It was like a trophy for him. He was proud and I was equally happy. He wasn't even drunk when we slept that night." He stated impatiently as if begging me to believe it.

"But the next morning, he didn't wake up. And he, never woke up again." My heart broke at those words, no scratch that, the pain I felt there couldn't be so small. Something else, more important broke inside of me and I had no idea what.

All this time I had been trying to picture it all as he narrated but being absolutely new to the concept of death, I couldn't imagine any of it. It was blank. Just dark and empty and yet extremely scary.

"It was difficult for me and unbelievable." Daniel resumed, unaware of the state of my broken something, "I kept shaking his limp body on his bed with all my force and tears kept rolling down my eyes. I'd never known I had that many tears in there." He chuckled lightly, again.

"Later when the investigation was done, it was found out that the liquor was expired and that was what killed him. The funny part is that the bottle said otherwise. He didn't just die, he was killed." He added with sudden anger in his voice. "My father was murdered, but that was it. He never got justice. I was later told that there was some miscommunication and he died of an overdose. I knew he never overdosed. So I investigated for myself." Daniel paused to sigh.

"The liquor company had funnily lost some of their stock in storage a year ago, when they found it, it had already expired. But they had to move it into the market, it would've been a huge loss to them if they'd decided to not sell them out. So they just removed the old expiry dates from the bottles and put them on people instead. A few lives for the millions of their profit were not too bad of a bargain apparently."

He said it all like it was a joke, a funny tragedy.

But to me, it did not sound so at all. The only thing it sounded like was a lie, a fucking piece of fiction. Because how could that be true?

The air in my lungs had frozen. The entire idea was horrible and beyond my belief of humanity. I had tears brimming in both my eyes but that was not yet the time for them to fall.

"There were many other such cases. Multiple people died. Complaints were lodged and dodged. But The Marron Inc. apparently was stronger, and more important than we victims. They falsified all the complaints and deaths. We worthless people had no chance against those Gods."

He stopped speaking and remained silent. Maybe he was waiting for me to speak. But I couldn't. I had stopped listening after Marron Inc. I didn't hear a single word beyond that. My head was only shouting words like death, murder, died, complaints, expiry date, profit and death, a million times over, death.

That finally was the time for those tears to fall.

He turned to me and I looked back into his eyes like I was never going to see them again. Like I didn't deserve to. I raised a hand to hold his face and pulled him closer to my face.

I kissed him.

I kissed him like there was no tomorrow, like there was no next minute, no next second. I tasted him, as much as I could. His mouth replied with the same passion. I wanted to feel him completely for one last time because I knew, I won't be even worth walking around him after tonight. I already was not. Not even in my own eyes.

How was that going to work for me? I had no fucking idea. But at the moment, I only cared about the present.

I was selfish, turns out, I had always been.

None of us stopped to breathe, breathing seemed unimportant and unnecessary. This feeling was the most lively feeling and I couldn't ditch it for a mere stroke of oxygen.

We pulled away after what felt like an eternity. He looked into my eyes and he frowned. Maybe, he could read it all and I decided to leave it to that. I stood up and started walking away.

He followed me and held my hand bringing me to a sudden, but that was only after a few minutes. I was already at the door of his little one-room apartment. I guess he was contemplating if he wanted to stop me to let me go.

"Easter-" he had said, almost a whisper.

I turned to him and looked him straight into the eye. My eyes were colder than his had ever been. He watched me with a confused expression and I realised, he still saw me as a pure innocent soul. It was a relief that felt like a sin. I wanted so badly to not ever change it, but who was I trying to kid?

"-Brown," I added. "Easter Brown." The realisation started to settle in his eyes. "Daughter of Jonathan Brown. The owner of The Marron Inc.."

His hand left my wrist and hung on his shoulder and his eyes looked transparent as if they couldn't decide what to think. But I had no time to stay there, looking into them.

I couldn't. So I left.