Saoirse
I meant to go straight up to my room.
But the moment I’m inside the house, I hate it. The walls are oppressive. The ceiling looms over me like it’ll crash at any moment.
Maybe I just feel the need to be with him again.
But since that’s not an option for me, I move to the opposite side of the house and choose another door that leads to a separate part of the garden.
The night has that breezy, uplifting, slippery quality about it. It doesn’t do anything to solve my problems or improve my mood. But where it can’t solve, it comforts.
I look up at the night sky and marvel at the wealth of stars twinkling overhead. One streaks past—a shooting star, offering wishes.
Unfortunately, I stopped wishing on stars a long time ago. Never did me much good anyway.
I look down instead at my arm, counting the individual scars that form their own constellation against my pale skin.
I used to wear them like a badge of honor. A testament to my bravery.
But now I see them for what they really are: a consequence of my cowardice.
I don’t know where I’m going, but I see a little fenced-in patch up ahead in the garden, so I wander in that direction. It’s as good a destination as any.
I’m at the low barrier when I hear a purring off to the side. Turning, I find a lithe tabby cat staring at me with big brown eyes.
“Hey,” I croon, crouching down and beckoning the feline forward. “Hey, buddy.”
I can tell from his silver whiskers and scarred nose that he’s a fierce old tomcat. But given his luxurious coat and the shiny collar around his neck, he clearly belongs to someone.
“Someone here?” I wonder, looking back at the house.
He bounds gracefully over the fence and looks back at me as though asking me to follow him.
“I was coming in anyway,” I chuckle, strangely comforted by his presence.
I follow him over the fence. Only when I’m on the inside do I notice the two gravestones staring straight at me.
I stiffen a little, wondering who’s been buried out here.
It’s a pretty little spot. Calm and peaceful. But it’s not very ceremonious. Matter of fact, it feels like the gravestones have been hidden away so that no one can see them.
Maybe that’s the point.
I move forward and squint down at the two stones. My body goes cold when I read the first name.
“Cillian O’Sullivan,” I breathe. “What the fu…?”
The second name doesn’t explain things any better.
“Sean O’Sullivan…”
I glance over at the cat, but his answers are only purrs, and if they have any meaning, it’s lost on me. I sink to my knees on the soft bed of grass in front of the two graves.
The ginger tabby pads over to me and butts his head against my hand. I pet him absentmindedly.
“Can you tell me what’s going on here, little fella?” I ask. “Because I sure as hell have no clue.”
He gives me another purr, so I scratch his neck harder. I still don’t know what he’s saying, what he’s trying to tell me. But it’s nice to just sit with another living being who isn’t trying to hurt my body, my heart, my soul.