February

Can I do your hair?" I look down at him, my eyebrows scrunched together. He rests his chin on my bare chest, mischief and hope gleaming in those golden eyes.

"I thought you liked my hair." I wrapped an arm around his tiny body and squeezed him slightly. I think one of the first things we talked about was the fact that he found that my dreads looked fashionable on my head. That I left Jamaicans "squealing." I still don't know what that means, nor will I ever know what that means.

"Well yeah, I love your hair," he runs his glass fingers over my head, "but have you never thought about, I dunno, brushing it out at least?" The last time I had normal hair was before I moved to America with my Dad. My mother liked to tell me I had hair made from Chinese women because of how silky it was. I don't know if it held up though, I've had my dreads in since senior year of high school.

"It would take forever, and I know you, and you don't have much patience. Besides, I just wanna lay in bed all day." I rolled on top of him, starfishing on his tiny frame. He starts giggling and slapping my back.

"Get offa me, you bear." He kicked his legs in between my legs, trying to reach my crotch. I placed my arms on either side of his head and pushed myself onto my elbows.

I narrowed my eyes and pursed my lips in fake annoyance. "That's racist."

He gave me his traditional dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes so far back into his head I got scared for a second they would never come back. "Oh ma lord, how is that racist??"

I scrunched my eyebrows together in thought before saying, "It just is, dummy."

He rolled his eyes again, a knowing smile following. He shook his head and gazed at me. For a moment, everything stopped. A small smile grew on my face, loving how he started running his fingers on my arm, tracing the muscles there. He grew this habit, tracing my muscles because he loved how it calmed me down.

He knew how to make me crumble to his touch, and he would abuse it constantly, but I didn't care. I found that it was better for me to crumble to his touch than for him to crumble to mine.

Because if he did, I would make him shatter.

"Now, will you let me do your hair?" he whispered, trailing his fingers up to my cheeks. Goddammit, he knew I couldn't say no. He abused my weakness, and now I am simply putty in his hands. If I'm being honest, I wanted to brush these things out for the longest time but didn't have the time, with running a BDSM club and all the strings attached to that. I knew and he knew this was our only lazy day, so why not let him use it?

I sigh contempt, but he knew what that meant. He smiled brightly and pressed a peck to my lips before squirming out of my hold. I lay back on the bed, watching him run to our bathroom in nothing but a shirt I got at some concert. I smiled at him cursing the shirt to prevent his mobility. I also smiled at the way his ass would bounce in that shirt, making it just as delicious. He sprinted back to me and grabbed my hand. "C'mon lazy ass, we have a lot to do."

I open my eyes to the mirror in front of me. Water droplets ran trails down my body, stopping at the towel loosely wrung around my waist. They went down the same path he would take. A ghost of a smile was on my face, but as soon as it was there, it was gone. Before I burst into another set of tears, I walked into our room and threw my towel somewhere in the room. I went into the mess I called our closet and pulled out a pair of jeans and a turtleneck. The jeans were a bit of a tight fit, but the turtleneck still fit me, considering the last time I wore it was our last date before...

Wiping away the single tear that fell down my face, I pulled down the sleeves of the turtleneck, a habit I picked up from February. I walked into our room and toward the mirror.

The mirror was right next to our balcony, so unfiltered sunlight gleamed against the mirror, reflecting directly into my eyes. I would've grimaced, but I got used to it. I looked at my shoulder-length hair, seeing it slowly start to dread. I grabbed his hairbrush and slowly ran it through.

I grimaced as he tugged on another dread. "You're not being the most gentle, you know that?"

"Didn't think I," he tugged on the dread, "needed to be." If he doesn't try to be gentle, I think I might break this brush in half. He shoots me another smile before attempting to be gentle. His definition of gentle was to slowly drag it through, which did nothing.

I was right. Going slowly didn't work. It only made it more painful. I decided to pick back up the pace, even as slow tears made their way down my face. When I got done, I turned on Carmen's hairdryer she left yesterday and did what she taught me. That girl always leaves her stuff here. I can already hear her reason, "Papa, you're alone and need some stuff to spice this place up."

I'm not alone, I'm depressed, Get it right.

Running it down my head, along with the brush, my hair remained silky. Merci beaucoup Maman. I turned it off and placed it on the dresser top.

I looked back up at myself. Age was slowly starting to set in, my laugh lines were deeper, my crow's feet were more defined. Yet, not a single grey hair touched my head. My hair tumbled down in thick black waves, brushing just past my shoulders. How at thirty-eight I can still manage to look twenty still surprises me. The tears still stained my face, running slowly down my cheeks and into my laugh lines. I didn't even feel them anymore, they just fell on their own. The sunlight filtered through, turning my blue eyes into a cloudless sky.

I walked next to my window and looked out, observing how the sun basked everything in its warmth. February, god, he was so wild. This boy could run for hours and only feel slightly tired. He lived like he would die the next day. He was forced to think that way, and that's what I loved about him. His eyes were always shinning, whether from joy or anger, hell even sadness. He had limited time on this Earth, and he lived it like he had eternity. I wish he did. At this moment, I wished silently that he would've given up on me two years ago in that club.

I felt our bed crumble underneath me as I laid down in it. God, I missed him. The grief took away my humanity the first time, now it has nothing to take. It all left as soon as February left. I couldn't even be there when he died.

I started to clean the house, anxious for his return. I don't know when he'll be home, but he said he was being discharged tomorrow and needed today to do some paperwork. I never felt this amount of joy for one human being to be home in a while. I even listened to his playlist, which mainly consisted of Lizzo and Brittney Spears. Just after I swept the kitchen for the millionth time, Niko burst through the door, sobbing.

No.

No.

NO.

I ran to him, trying to ask what's wrong, but all he said was,

"He's gone."

Gone?

No.

NO.

"What do you mean he's gone? He was supposed to get-"

"He died, Diz. He had a lung failure and was unable to breathe without the machines." I wrapped him up into my arms, trying to sort through it.

He's gone.

He's gone.

gone.

go

ne.

g

o

n

e.

The sun set over the window in the kitchen as I crumbled with Niko in my arms. He both hit the floor, but neither of us felt the pain. His nails dug into my arms as he cried, but I didn't feel it. Blood trickled down my arm, but

i

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i

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.

The world slowly ate me whole, drowning me in a starless darkness. Niko left my arms, and I felt unbearably cold. I couldn't feel the cold anymore, everything blurred around me. I could hear my sobs now, echoing across the abyss. They filled like a pool, bloody tears trapping me in a cage, but I let it constrict.

God, not February.

Anything but February.

I would give my lungs if it meant I had February.

I would give my heart if it meant I had February.

I would give my soul if it meant I had February.

I felt my body being ripped apart, broken fingers reaching into my chest and squeezing

squeezing

squeezing.

But I didn't feel it.

I couldn't feel it.

Thousands of butterflies swarmed around me, their wings were beating to the beat of my dying heart. I could hear my screams, my pleas, but they soon died as well. The butterflies left, the fingers left, leaving me in a sand-covered landscape. I open my eyes to see a beach, stretching far beyond my line of sight. Nobody was here.

So why was I here?

"You really need to stop berating yourself, Gale." I looked up and, lo and behold, Loriana was walking toward me, her bright green eyes flashing like emeralds. She was wearing her white dress with the red heels she wore with everything, the same clothes she wore when we walked down the beach in Santa Cruz. Her white hair was still in an uncontrollable tangle down her back, except it looked more...angelic.

She crouched down and looked me in my eyes. Lo shoots me her lopsided smirk and brushed back a few strands of my hair behind my ears. She reminded me of my mother, how she would always catechize me for letting my hair cover my face. She cocked her head to the side, her thumb caressing my cheek, just like February did.

"You brushed it out," she said softly, her sweet smile shining like diamonds.

"Yeah, I did. February did." My voice sounded so hoarse, so broken. I felt a pulsing feeling where my heart was, and I looked down to find my chest gaping, black and red blood forming vein-like trails out of my chest. Instead of a heart, black ooze dripped out.

"I've heard about this February. Can you tell me about him?" She stands up and offers me a hand of silk. I grabbed it, feeling how my hand smoothed out. She pulled me up with a grunt and dragged me down the all-too-familiar beach.

"Well, he was nice and funny and now gone." She whipped his head around and glared at me.

"That can't be all to him. Tell me more. We're like old ladies gossiping about our ex-husbands, even though you are my ex-husband...but whatever comparison is still there." The world shifted, and we were in our old apartment in Detroit. She pulled me onto our old bed, the familiar creak and shuffle of the centuries-old mattress. She folded her hands over her stomach and flipped her head over to me, green eyes sparkling in curiosity.

"Well, February cannot be explained because...that's who he is. He lived life like he would lose it. He broke me and rebuilt me over and over. But I couldn't stop him simply because I needed that. I needed to be broken to break me out of my stupor about you dying. He gave me my humanity, or whatever was left of it. I couldn't love him every day, but I made a promise to protect him and to give all I could. Now, he's gone, and I will never see him walk toward me in an ivory suit, or tease his grey hairs, or hell, hear him tease mine. I'll never get to die next to him because of the stupid cancer and the stupid rules of life that TOOK HIM AWAY FROM ME!" I rocketed up, anger rolling off me in waves. I felt the tears coming, but this time I wiped at them, for Lo's sake.

Lori brought up a hand and touched my chest where the hole was. "Dizzie Galvin Drews, stop this. Stop beating yourself up over stuff like this. My death was not your fault. February's death was not your fault. The more you do this, the deeper you fall. And I don't want you to sit here and rot like me." Her hands brushed away the blood, the hole slowly started to mend, my heart still not there. I felt no pain as Lori worked his magic.

"Please be better, for me, for February. I loved to hear that he helped you overcome your grief, but don't make him the cause of it. He lives on, wherever you are," she said, an ominous tone to her voice. The hole was patched, except there was no heart beating. It looked normal, but it didn't feel like normal.

"I may have never met him, but I know that he made you feel something I could never make you feel." She stood up and walked to our bedroom door. Like the first time, I didn't follow her, I just planted my hands on either side of my body.

"You loved him, with everything in you. He was able to fix something I broke, and whether you'll admit it or no, you know I always tell the truth. No matter how painful it is." Again, with that ominous tone in her voice. He opened the door and started to turn away.

"WAIT!" She turned back around and looked at me, a smile in her eyes. "Tell me this one thing."

"Of course." She leaned on the door frame, crossing her thin, pale arms across her chest. Lori's eyes had something in them, something she wasn't telling me. Something I hoped to know.

"Is February here?"

She looked at me for a second before hesitantly answering, "No. But he is here." She touched her chest and turned away, walking into the abyss.

"WAIT! LORIANA, WHAT DO YOU MEAN? WHAT DO YOU MEAN?" I cried out, tears already falling. What does she mean she isn't here but is here? Is he alive? Is he dead? I didn't even know anymore. Bloody tears pooled underneath me, forming an ocean swimming with gold. I fell into it, feeling the gold sear into my flesh, turning my dark sin into a muddled gold. The world slowed, a bright light shinning around me. I didn't feel any cold, just warmth. His all too familiar warmth. His hands mended what Lori couldn't, clearing away all of the blood from my face and my chest. His kisses cleared any of the doubts, and for a second, I felt complete. The world could've crushed me at any second, and all I would care about is his gentleness blessing me.

I opened my eyes again and found that the sun was setting. I wiped away the dry tears and launched off my bed, deciding it was an opportune time to head to the club. I touched my chest and found my heart was beating a slow, steady rhythm. I backed up against the backboard of my bed and sunk, my hand still on my chest. Even today, Lori's words confused me. But I set resolve into my heart, wherever February was, be it Heaven or where Lori is, he is safe. He has to be. Or else I might be breaking down Heaven's doors to get my baby back.

I sighed at my antics and picked myself off the floor. I walked through the empty apartment, looking at every picture I put up of February and I. From him sleeping to him simply being himself, they were all up there. I smiled at the memories and grabbed my keys out of the key basket in the kitchen. I walked to the front door and, before I could leave, turned back around to look at the place one more time.

"I love you Feb," I shouted into the empty apartment. I don't care if the neighbors question me. He needed to hear it, after a year of me never saying it. I want to hope he did. I turned back around and closed the door.