Julius Caesar - Chapter 65

Chapter 65






FOUR MONTHS LATER

------------------------------

Reading Augustus' letter was like putting full stops and commas to all the run-on sentences of emotion and actions that made no sense after his death.

I questioned myself. I questioned my sanity. I wondered if this was really how my response should've been (but no one can control that, right?) If Augustus had accepted his death before it even happened, why wasn't I accepting it? If he had let go of the world, why was I forcing the thought of him back here? If his last wish before he died came true, why wasn't I happy for his relief from this world? Why the fuck was I so selfish?

Yes, I was selfish (I know you think otherwise and that it's 'normal' in the first few months, but Sharon- no. I was so selfish). I was selfish because while I was mourning a person who must've been in a 'better-fucking-place', I failed to notice those who were mourning me with the same ache in their hearts. Or maybe even a stronger one because they haven't lost me to death. No. Worse. They've lost me to this dark, unholy world.

I failed to notice that I was the reason behind more people's pain.

And really, Sharon, all those people were Samantha. A friend. A mother. A sister. A lover.

So that night when she held my hand while I read his letter, that night when I teared up (mind you, they were tears of joy because that letter was literally a piece of Augustus' mind), I managed to look straight in her eyes and do things I thought I'd take forever to do.

Wait, wait. I know you must be curious so I'll type that part differently like you told me to do. This is the day after the day I read the letter in. It was the day when things started making some sense.

(---It was early in the evening. The sun had just gone down and the sky was a light shade of plum. It poorly illuminated the living area, but Samantha and I were both unbothered by it.

I was lying down on the sofa, back on the armrest, holding Samantha's back to me as she nestled herself between my legs with a cup of hot chocolate. I had Augustus' letter folded up in one hand while my other hand settled on her abdomen.

I had already read the letter and was in a trance, my mind running off in many dimensions. All my thoughts revolved around how all my ends were left unmet after Augustus died. How a mess my life had become. How I had changed from a feared person to a petrified, empty shell. I remembered his words, his promise that everything would be okay without him, not better, but...okay. But, in reality, my life defined chaos and catastrophe with a little, white flower called Samantha thriving amidst it, holding it together at its weakest.

And through it all, I would imagine what Father would've thought of my grief. A pathetic, emotion-consumed 'boy', he'd say. I'd imagine him yell at me my 'purpose'. I grimaced at the thought and threatened myself not to even shed a tear for it. It was all too disgusting and worthless.


It was then when I realized I needed motivation. And the thought of being a father was enough. Then, I realized that there was a lot that needs to be done, ends that need to meet and wishes that need to be granted.

Yes, I had to stitch my ripped heart so it would back beat normally and blot away the blurriness that clouded the beauty in front of me (not so much beauty, but I'd reminded myself to just take a peek at Samantha).

I shifted beneath Samantha and felt her sigh disappointedly because I was trying to get up. When she moved, I got to my feet and she craned her neck, watching me with parted lips with her no longer steaming cup between her hands, not knowing what to expect.

Oh, I'd given her so much trouble.

"Caesar-?" she whispered my name and I smiled slightly so she'd calm down. She was ready to start panicking.

I backed away from her and she got up, alerted. I pressed another smile, shook my head slowly, held her by the shoulders and pecked her forehead. I wanted her relaxed. Didn't she know? Everything would be okay.

She stood staring at me helplessly as I left the house with the keys (no-one should come in here, except for me. Just a precaution until we leave this damned place).

I was back in about three-four hours. I unlocked the door and Samantha rushed out of the kitchen into the brightly lit living area, wiping her wet hands on her pyjama pants. She immediately smiled and heaved out a sigh of relief.

"I thought you weren't going to come back. I mean, I don't know what's in the letter, you know," she rambled on, pushing some hair strands from her piercing blue eyes. "But then I remembered that you took the keys and was like he's definitely coming back. I mean, he wouldn't possibly lock me here-" she laughed nervously and I approached her slowly.

She narrowed her eyes at me jokingly. "Why does it look like you're up to something?"

I raised my eyebrows and my lips twitched. I wanted to smile, but I thought it would ruin it.

I then held her hands in mine as I tried maintaining eye contact. It was so difficult because I was so nervous. My heart was galloping in my chest, but I reminded myself that it was now or never.

And so I got down on one knee and Samantha's hands flew from my weak grasp to her mouth. I couldn't help smiling now.

"What are you doing?" She asked shocked and I smiled, looking down.

"Oh, oh, oh my God-" she kept repeating as my shaky hands reached for the royal-blue ring box in my jacket's pocket. It tumbled out of my shaky hand and skidded across the living area's floor. I cringed while Samantha laughed her heart out.

I looked up at her, slightly embarrassed, but the tears that flowed down her cheeks were enough to make my heart explode and to get me on my feet.

I reached for the box and walked back to her, shaking it between my thumb and index finger with a playful smile. She was grinning like I meant the world to her.

She means the world to me.

I got to my knees again and with steady hands opened the box and pushed it toward her.

"Classic proposal, huh?" She commented and I shook my head (nope, it was faulty through and through). She then squinted at the contents of the box before she laughed again, her hands clasped together next to her heart.

I had written a note saying- 'Marry me?'

She then looked down in my eyes with the sincerest look ever and said- "Yes, love. I'd marry you a million times if I could."

I grinned so widely even though I knew that she'd definitely agree on marrying me. Nevertheless, there was a spark of fear that she wouldn't because I was less psychologically capable. But who was I kidding? This is Samantha.

I swiftly got to my feet and towered over her as I removed the ring from the box. She was watching my movements carefully with so many tears in her deep-blue eyes. I then took out the ring -a silver ring with a beautiful diamond, reached for her cold left hand and slipped it on her slender ring finger.

"Julius, God-" she muffled her sobs with her right hand as I let go of her hand.

I was so engrossed in being so in love with her reaction that I'd forgotten the necklace I chose for her. I quickly reached for my back pocket and retrieved a long, crimson box. She looked at it and sniffed, her hair obscuring her vision.

"Oh no," she murmured, shaking her head and crying more. I pushed her hair strands back and she looked up at me, her lips quivering. "Caesar, this is- this is- so-so-"

But I had already retrieved the necklace, chucking the box on the sofa. The little diamonds embroidering the 'S' glistened beautifully like her teary eyes. I stepped closer to her, feeling her warm breath on my neck. I was going to lean in her ear and whisper 'lift your hair', but then stopped, the words stuck in my throat.

But she did it anyway without anything and I clasped the necklace around her now red neck. I then backed away and watched her, ready to be entertained again by her just being herself.

"'S' for Samantha?" She had asked me, touching the pendant as I tilted my head.

And for Sam Smith. But I didn't say it of course.

"This is crazy!" She exclaimed, her face red and wet with excitement and her lips pink from biting. "This is crazy beautiful! I love you, Ca-"

But then I tilted her face up and kissed her softly and passionately, closing my eyes and actually drinking her in. She tasted of chocolate and strawberry and I wanted more and more. She managed to speed my heartbeat in the most enigmatic, beautiful way.

She broke the kiss with a sigh, eyes closed as if praying. She then snapped her eyes open and looked at me like I've sinned.

Well, I have. Being with Samantha Orville must be a sin. The eighth greatest sin.

"I told you I can't kiss you when I'm crying. Numb lips, shaky hands and all-" She sniffed, embarrassed, and my mind went all the way back to the day when she was straddling me, half-naked, when we were saying our 'goodbyes'.

I smiled as the memory faded away into the present, twice as beautiful, still tearing up Samantha.

I then straightened up, took her hand and dragged her toward the door.

"Hey, wait-" she protested a little. "I look terrible," she said miserably, yet light-heartedly as I unlocked the front door.

She was crazy if she thought she looked terrible.

I switched on the lights on the porch and then gave her space next to me so she could see what was in front of the door. She gasped, perhaps absorbing all the oxygen available because her reaction did make me kinda breathless.

I had brought every single type of flower I could get my hands on and arranged them in front of the door because I remembered her undying love for flowers. The porch was more like a flower garden now.

She had sobbed, saying that- 'my God, Caesar that is too much. Too beautiful. Oh my God, I'm in love!' She then went around touching petals, crouching in front of the plants and pushing them around with so much excitement and energy in her step. She did that while I watched her in bedazzlement as I leaned against the doorcase, smiling at her.

The last time I'd seen her that happy was when we were in the woods and I was teaching her how to shoot a gun. Little things make her really happy. Which makes me really happy too. Happy that I was the reason her eyes were dancing and her steps were singing.

When she was done touching them all, she turned to me with the widest, toothiest grin and brightest, sapphire-blue eyes. My heart skipped a beat and I straightened up.

She then almost jumped at me from excitement, hugging me so tight. I staggered back a bit under her weight, but then steadied myself and held her tight and safe. I grinned like an idiot, reminding myself of the first time we met.

She buried her face in my chest and mumbled about how I'm such an amazing 'fiance'. And about how she couldn't believe I got all those flowers. Because- 'Perennials, Caesar? Perennials?! How did you even find those? God, I'm gonna faint.'

I felt like laughing, but somehow the laugh was lodged right in my chest, serving as a reminder of what I've lost. Not wanting to ruin this moment for her, I gulped the laugh away, took a deep breath and smiled slightly.

It felt good doing this, making her happy and springy. And in a week or so, we would be married and even happier. But in order to feel fair about letting her marry me, I decided I needed some help.'"---)

When Samantha found out I was looking for a good psychologist, she immediately found you- a psychologist with experience and all that good shit.

The first thing I thought about was your name. I didn't like it. That might offend you, but you told me to write in detail how I felt. And that was just it.

I thought, how can one trust a 'Sharon'?

But you looked quite genuine and that slightly made me worry that you'd mistreat me when you know who I really was. I was scared that instead of helping to get rid of the pains, you'd make them worse for me by judging me. After all, you have the knowledge of the psyche and that's a lot to say (you'd exactly know how to depress me more if you wanted to).

Maybe it's because I'd never really been to a psychologist before.

When you first saw me, Sharon, you were surprised that a person like me, a skilled murderer or whatever, would end up succumbing to something 'like this'. It was like you'd never seen anything like me.

But then it intrigued you so much, you decided to make me your 'personal project'. You'd always make me a priority and meet up with me whenever you were free. You'd talk to me, hours and hours about life. About how it's a cycle of destiny, fate and mortality. How people go at the time they're destined to go after they'd lived their fate through and through.

You told me that you thought that me losing Audrey and a baby was supposed to have made it easier because I'd experienced the death of loved ones before. But truth is, Sharon, no death is like the other. You lose different people who tapped a certain good in you. And I guess my brother was so good at that. I was a much better person with him. I was softer, empathetic.

I got softer.

And I don't like it very much, but I can't help it. I can't help crying when I reread his letter that I will attach its copy down here. I can't help feeling marvellous when I feel my baby's kicks. I became a whole new person who welcomed surges of emotion.

Samantha must've told you about how I was a 'good bean'. That I killed with a good purpose, just so you wouldn't kick me out the moment you saw me and read out 'MURDERER' on my forehead.

It's honestly okay if you didn't believe her. I don't either because Samantha would go too far to help me get better. Like telling me that it was what Father said. Like Father would ever actually speak to her. Funny because he was an arse.

It has been five months of not seeing him, Father, and it didn't feel as great as I thought it would. Because I wanted revenge. And this time, my revenge would just be hearing him tell me the whole truth. To let him relive all those terrible days while looking at his mentally ailing son. I wanted him to feel guilty to have been the reason behind losing both his sons in one go.

And then, Sharon, I'd leave. Forever. I'd take Samantha and leave all that death and grief behind. Start a new life that wouldn't dare pollute any of our hearts by more darkness. It was enough.

You want to know something, Sharon? I'm not so sure your theory would work. I've been writing for months on those papers. Writing the 'turning point of my life'. Writing it because you thought that this was how I confronted my 'fear' of words. You think that this is how I'll get to speak again. But so far, the words still get stuck in my throat and my laughter stand in my chest, taunting me, screaming at me- ′Is this really it? Don't you remember what happened?′

And I'd be back to square one.

But you think that I'm getting better. And maybe you're right. I wasn't crying as much anymore. I didn't wish to die every second of my life. Yeah, that might be progress.

And maybe it's because when Samantha and I got married (three months ago) in a small church, with literally no-one, but you to attend the wedding (Samantha refused to invite her mother or anyone who lied to her as a matter of fact), I started feeling responsible. I knew what marriage meant and there was no way I would want it to be like Father's and Mother's.

I realized that I was going to make a family. And it made me want to heal faster and faster. That stood true until the nightmares and occasional panic attacks intervened. Because when that happened, I felt hopeless and I'd find myself sitting up in the middle of the night, staring at a sleeping Samantha and questioning myself if I was really capable of this.

But God, I'd see her protruding abdomen and think that four more months and I'd be a father. I'd be everything my father never was to me. I wanted my child to be proud when he remembers me.

But I'm a murderer, Sharon- the reason behind many people's death. How will I achieve that dream? What will my child think of me when he ages and unravels the truth (oh, no truth remains unravelled)? Will he be the same as Augustus when he knew of Father? Will he simply lose interest in me?

Those thoughts, Sharon, get me on my knees in the middle of the night, in front of the toilet to empty my insides. And when I had any of those episodes, I'd run to the farthest bathroom because Samantha was no longer the heavy sleeper she was and she got easily tired these days. She had to rest well.

And yet, somehow, she usually ends up crouching next to me and the toilet seat, on the hard, tiled floor. It was like her heart feels my turmoil. It was a guilty pleasure having her so I could clutch onto her, calm down and sleep with her again.

It got really difficult at times. Just clutching on to reality and the harsh truth.

I tried to spice up our days because it got too depressing sometimes. I'd take Samantha on the Ferris wheel, watch lots of movies with her, cook her 'my' pancakes (and end up burning the edges because it had been a long time since I did them) and of course, fulfil Augustus' wishes with her.

But even if it got depressing at times, we found complete solace in each other's presence. It didn't matter if the world was weeping at our losses because when I hold her, intertwine our fingers and look in her eyes it all goes away. All the deafening chaos simply silences.

She spends a lot of time talking to me about how she hadn't thought of what to do ever since she graduated from university. Then with cheeks aflame, eyes ablaze, she'd tell me she always wanted to own a flower shop. She said she had enough money to own a place, but she was waiting until she gave birth (we decided not to know the baby's sex) to look for a 'lively, exposed' place. I'd listen to her with a small smile as my mind got its pencils sharpened for a plan. A plan involving going for an afternoon walk every day.

Since I still hadn't got all together, yet, I couldn't really think of what I wanted to do. But it was okay, I had enough money to support me, Samantha and our child until I figured it out.

So yeah, Sharon, besides vigorously exercising early in the morning (like you told me to do to keep my mind busy), making Samantha and I some pancakes, having my afternoon walks to look for a place to buy for my wife's flower shop and just spending hours hearing Samantha talk about the baby and our 'bright' future, I did nothing.

And it was okay. I was content by it.

---

Augustus' Letter (like I promised you, Sharon, because you genuinely loved him too when you read about him)

(---Okay. This will be long, Julio, so you just gotta really keep up with my bullshit like you always do. And this letter will be like, in the movies- 'MY LAST WORDS'. Although those aren't really my last words because before I died I must've said other phenomenal shit, ya know? Not to be a pessimist or anything, but I like to take my precautions. I wouldn't like to leave this damned world without giving you a piece of my mind. And heart too. (Yah, yah, emotional, I know.

Bloody bully.

Emotional abuser.

Fucking elephant buttocks.

Okay, I'll stop, I love you.)

So. Starting with the materialistic shit because I know how you and sentimentality don't really go hand in hand (or more like 'gun in hand' in the language you speak HA HA. Nope, that's just dark. Bleh, who am I kidding? I know you too well-you're probably more emotional than I am.)

Okay, let's start.

So, I left you my urn in case I didn't actually die with you (ugh, that'd be really annoying cause I'll be dying and I'll be cursing the damned universe for not taking my soul when I'm there with you (because...who would I rather die with? Yup. Definitely not Daddy-o. So yeah, don't flatter yourself, it's just because there aren't people to die with. And it's actually funny because I was making fun of you for not having anyone but me and Sammy. Turns out that your brother is a loser too HAHA ha ha...sad...not))

And that's how you use double brackets, brother.

Dammit, I always go off topic.

Okay. So. I was saying. In case I didn't die with you, my ashes will be with you. And like I have a WHOLE plan for my ashes, so listen (haha, I kinda hope you were really listening). So since I'd like to still exist and watch you and Samantha. And like probably your kids and grandkids. Plant me. DON'T LAUGH, I'M NOT JOKING.

I actually am not.

Like spread my ashes on the soil and then plant a seed. If you want to plant apples, no problem (green apples tho -like your eyes haha. Pretty morbid, though, because every time you're eating one, you're basically eating me). Okay, okay, just plant a flowering tree. It has to be a tree, Julio. I don't want to end up in bunny's poop- stony little pebbles tossed around. I think bird poop is okay. Yeah, yeah, that's okay, it sticks and annoys people- like me! (PS. My plan is so well-planned because when you die, you will let your kids plant you next to me and we will be BROTHER TREES (only I'll be older this time)!)

Holy shit, I'm a genius.

And since I had spent the night with Zig yesterday, I forgot my camera and green scarf there and I don't have the time to go back because I have to get your love-struck arse back tomorrow. So you go and get them. My camera has lots of pictures of us and of you...just...being you. Print them if you want. Delete them. Ugh, I don't know. No, I actually know. Print them. Print them, Julio, and show your kids how close they should be to each other. Show them the importance of being close to your siblings and standing in their backs no matter what.

Oh. And you will find two pictures of me and America (you probably know her). Print and send her a copy. She'll LOVE it. (Honestly, Julio, I might actually have feelings for her, but that's another story for another time.)

Alright. Now. ADVICE TIME!

See. You're an amazing piece of shit and I love you a lot. So that's why Imma give you some of my almost-twenty-one-years-old-life-experience-advice! Here we go:

1- Honestly, don't dye your hair ever again. You look scary in black. Like shit scary. Like remember when Audrey told you that when you didn't smile you looked like a 'charming murderer'? Hell, that bitch should've seen you now. (Don't worry I'll deliver the message...Gosh. Dark as fuck.)

2- Boners and sweatpants are a no-no.

3- Marry her.

4- Marry her.

5- MARRY HER, JULIUS CAESAR.

6- Quit smoking if you haven't (something I would've done with you if I weren't smokin' hot ashes- terrible joke, I know)

7- Take more pictures. Having a memory in your hand is even better than in your mind.

8- Do something else with your life. Forget the mafia, bad-ass shit. It's bad for all of us honestly. Like maybe act in horror movies? I don't know, mate.

9- America. God, get her out of Dad's shit. She's too amazing to serve him. (this wasn't advice but yeah, I had to tell you)

10- Eat Nutella crepes for breakfast. Holy blue-fucking-berries, you'll love it. Just be generous with the Nutella.

11- Get the hell out of London. Too many horrible memories.

12- Yeah, marry her, you love her.

13- Be spontaneous. Planning is BORING. And you plan a lot.

14- Watch SpongeBob and eat pistachios. With boxers. Don't do it when Samantha's around. It'd be just weird. (But maybe with your kids)

15- Blueberries. Eat them more. They taste legit. Especially on the Nutella crepes. Fucking orgasmic.

16- Wear more suits. Sunglasses. Long coats. Look dashing (even if you had to hang shoes from their shoelaces on a rollercoaster rung. In a haunted park). Carry my legacy (don't think of it as Dad's).

17- Oh and take good care of our place (it's Zig's too, he's my best mate. But you're my bestest!)

18- SMILE MORE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. NOT EVERYONE IS PLANNING TO CASTRATE YOU. I MEAN YOU MIGHT'VE EVEN HAD DIMPLES THAT I DIDN'T GET TO SEE BEFORE I DIE- BECAUSE GUESS WHAT?

YOU NEVER SMILE.

Well, you kinda do at times.

BUT STILL.

19- Don't hate yourself. I love you.

20- Don't blame yourself. I love you.

21- You love her. Marry her.

22- You love me. Plant me. And you next to me.

Okay. I'm done!

I have to go now and make sure if Ledger got the manure to trick that sophisticated, head-in-nowhere-but-arse French fuck. If we get caught again of course.

PS. If I didn't die, we're probably laughing while I explain what I had in mind for each line. And if I actually did die (my heart did a little 'uh-oh' here, haha), you'll be crying and I'll be s-weeping my ashes off ( shit, looks like I'll die by the number of jokes I'm making here). And know that I only deserve a little of your tears. You have a whole life ahead of you and honestly, good that you do, because you weren't even living- like I lived more than you ever did in my almost-twenty-one years.

You will let me go Hitler (whoops, sorry, can't get over Danielle's unGodly sense of humour) and you will not miss me because I'll visit you in your dreams.

Ugh. I love you, Julius.

Can't wait to see you, brother.

Until next time bitch,

Your Gustus---)