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Throw yourself into the unknown
With pace and a fury defiant
Clothe yourself in beauty untold
And see life as a means to a triumph
Today, of all days, see
How the most dangerous thing is to love
It was hard for Cherri to move on when he kept uncovering Poison’s stuff everywhere.
This was exactly why he’d stayed away from his house (it wasn’t a home, hasn’t been a home since the person who made it a home was no longer there) for an incredibly long time- everything reminded him too much of them, from the door frame they used to lean on when they showed up in the middle of the night, desperate for comfort, down to the bathroom where he’d sometimes laced them up.
For a solid week upon hearing the news, he’d stayed at Dr. D’s, unable to physically bring himself to do anything other than sit on the bed and stare at the wall. Once the shock had finally worn off, he was able to move around, but everywhere he looked, he kept thinking them up, their casual smirk accompanied with a blush when they looked at him, the daze in their eyes when he’d just brush his fingers against theirs or kiss them or even look at them too long, and the way their raspy voice would say their name, the soft rolling of the r’s as a remnant of the city lilt they still carried. So he went right back to staring at the wall, but Poison followed, their last words resonating in his ear. Not the hushed I love you accompanied with a quick brush of lips that felt more like the wind before they bundled up into the Trans Am and drove off, but the fight the day before, when they’d thrown out all those accusatory words at him dripping heavily with venom about how he was a coward for not wanting to fight, not understanding the full story. Looking back, he deserved them all.
There was no place where he could be free anymore- everywhere he went, the redhead followed, hands in the pockets of their blue jacket. Cherri would absentmindedly reach to grab their hand and remember that they weren’t actually there, they were just a manifestation of Cherri’s imagination, but nothing would make them go away. Whenever someone came to check in on him, ask him if he wanted to eat or get some fresh air (as fresh as the desert could provide, anyways), he’d just silently shake his head and bundle up on the spare bed, wishing he could do something more than just stare blankly as a method to grieve the death of the love of his life. He wished he could at least cry instead of rot uselessly on a bed.
Pony would, without fail, leave a bowl of food at his table and stare at him with pleading eyes as if that would somehow undo the depression and he’d eat. He’d tried once, but immediately thrown it all back up. There was an annoying voice in his head, continuously asking him how he dared to eat when Party was dead, and he couldn’t even be there to save them. All those hushed promises that he’d always protect them had been in vain- he couldn’t even show up in the van to see them off. He supposed that was good, in a way. If he’d seen their corpse, things would’ve gotten a lot worse.
That was the first real contact he’d had with Dr. D since the incident- asking him what their corpse looked like. He’d been taken back by the question, like it wasn’t what he’d been expecting, and slowly admitted to not having seen it. Cherri didn’t fully believe him, but a part of him was grateful that the DJ had spared him. He didn’t think he could survive putting an actual image to the set of pictures that flashed through his brain everytime he thought about Party, overpowering all the actual images he had of them gently laughing and pushing him away, burying their head in his chest, their tongue sticking out as they concentrated on a sketch with their eyebrows furrowed in deep focus, being absolutely buried by his favorite green and gray beat up jacket that was way too big on them, or the rare occasions where they slept in his arms, fingers holding on to the blanket tightly like the world would slide out from underneath their fingers if they let go.
Cherri’d let go, and his world had slipped away from his fingers, and nothing, nothing would ever bring them back. He’d never feel whole again, no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried.
And he tried, he really did . He went to parties with Pony, met strangers in the bar. Sometimes, some of them dared to respond, but he could tell the way they were dancing around him, and it gave him a sore reminder as to why he’d liked Party in the first place. They were never scared of him- they just downright hated him until they didn’t (Cherri didn’t fully understand that either, but he wasn’t one to ask). They never shied away or stammered like the others- they pushed him both physically and verbally, and that had been something completely different. He was sure he’d never find another like them, but he’d catch Pony’s sad eyes looking at him and would go right back to the conversation. Anything to stop the pitying looks.
But everytime his lips met someone else’s, they tasted like flat soda and cigarettes instead of whatever shit they’d been drinking. His fingers always threaded itself in bright red hair, and all the eyes he looked into were hazel and sparkling. They’d be standing right there behind him, arms crossed and jealous eyes burning a hole into whoever it was Cherri would be linking fingers with in that moment. It wasn’t fair at all, so he’d trickle back home with his head in his hands.
My 9 to 5 is cutting open old scars
Again and again 'til I'm stuck in your head
Had my doubts but I let them out
You are the drought
And I'm the holy water you have been without
And all my thoughts of you
They could heat or cool the room, and no
Don't tell me you cried
Oh, honey, you don't have to lie
“Cherri?” Hot Chimp said, breaking into his house one day as he was draped on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. A piece of food had stuck there from the time Poison tried to cook for them. “Look, you’re not the only one who’s lost a loved one, okay? There’s so many of us. That’s just the way the world works.”
“I want out, then.” He said in a scratchy voice, and she sighed.
“You knew it wouldn’t last forever. So did they. Don’t mope around because it’s over, cherish those memories. You two built a world together.”
“Yeah, and I got left behind in it. I’m trying to keep it together but it’s just so hard. How did you do it when Newsie died?”
“I had you.” She shrugged. “Somehow, having someone else grieve with me, someone who understood how close I was to her helped me get over her faster.”
Cherri scoffed. “Yeah, well, that’s where we’re different. Because no one understands how much I loved them. No one alive, anyways.”
“Well, maybe they would if you told us. Come on. Tell me. What were they like?”
“Loud.” It was the standard adjective used to describe them, so Chimp poked his shoulder until he sat up.
“Come on. Give me the behind the scenes action. What were they really like?”
And Cherri told her about their various smiles, the way they’d always hold his hand no matter what they were doing, the way they’d be the most understanding in case Cherri was having an off day and somehow always knew exactly what to say to make him feel better. He didn’t dare to tell her the softness of their hair under his fingers, or all the times they’d dance around the shack in the dead of night to whatever slow song played over the radio that Poison liked. Those memories were too personal, and he wasn’t going to share it with anyone for anything, no matter how hard they pressed.
He hated the fact that when he was done with Chimp, he felt a lot better- like a fog in his head had cleared and he was able to breathe again. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way, not when Poison was still dead. How could he even think that he deserved to get better? He’d driven Poison away when he needed to be there for them. He should’ve agreed to drive with them, not stay behind because he was too scared. Because he knew who lie behind those masks, and he couldn’t bring himself to have more blood of innocent ‘joys on his hands. He’d told Poison that, of course, because they had no secrets between them. But if in that moment, he’d just bit down his feelings and went with them like they wanted him to, maybe they’d still be alive. Maybe then Cherri wouldn’t be listening to old tapes artificially recorded of them laughing in the background of his poetry corner just to remind him what their laugh sounded like, even though he’d already memorized all the various types of it. Their face was slowly fading from his memory. He still could not cry.
He did cry, however, when he went back to the radio shack ages later and asked which mailbox Pony had put their mask in so he could say everything he wanted to as a final goodbye, only to be told their mask was never found, no matter how hard they searched. In that moment, he realized there was something worse than losing them- them losing themselves. They were now doomed to roam aimlessly. Maybe they were there at that moment, watching over him as he tried to move on. All those times he’d thought he was imagining them- had he really?
And I lost you
The one I was dancing with
In New York, no shoes
Looked up at the sky and it was maroon
The burgundy on my T-shirt when you splashed your wine into me
And how the blood rushed into my cheeks, so scarlet, it was (maroon)
The mark you saw on my collarbone, the rust that grew between telephones
The lips I used to call home, so scarlet, it was (maroon)
“Cherri Cola, My old friend.” The Witch greeted, gesturing for him to sit down. They’d met at limbo before, but hadn’t spoken much since Newsie’s death. There was a chess board neatly set up, and it looked like Cherri was playing for white. He hadn’t played chess before- his sole knowledge came extensively from watching old shows that he’d somehow found tapes of and reading books. “Play with me.”
Hopefully The Queen’s Gambit had schooled him well. He moved a pawn forward two steps, and the Witch did the same. “Why are you here?”
“I think you know already.” Cherri said, and the Witch tilted Her masked head.
“Humor me. You’ve lost a lot of people, Cherri. Why is this one special?”
“Party Poison. Is it true their mask never made it to you?”
“Afraid so. No, I can’t let you talk to them, Cherri.”
“But you could let them die, huh?” He said, springing out of his chair. The Witch looked at him and he sat back down, knees buckling on their own. “I don’t get it. You’ve sent me back so many times. Why are they different?”
“They’ve been sent back multiple times too, Cherri, much to their dismay. Do you know how many times they’ve begged me to stay? I’ve never met anyone so eager to die.”
That didn’t sound like them at all- Poison was always so full of life, it made Cherri think life was worth living too. They always found the silver lining, no matter how gray the clouds were. They weren’t like what the Witch was making them out to be- they weren’t desperate to die.
“You’re wrong. Why would they want that? They have so much to live for.”
“That’s what I would say!” Her pawn killed his, and he removed it from the board. “Keeping them alive was a full time occupation, I kid you not. Between their suicidal ideations and their savior complex, I’m surprised they were alive as long as they were.”
“So what’s changed this time? Why can’t you send them back?”
The Witch shrugged and Her bishop moved in the opposite direction of a pawn to kill one. “Because their time finally came. Oh look, your rook is dead.”
Cherri hadn’t even been focusing on the game, his fingers just automatically making the moves. The conversation was more interesting anyways. “Explain.”
“It was never about them, you see. It was about the Girl.”
The Girl. Cherri had hardly thought about her since the mission, too absorbed in feeling sorry for himself. God, the Fab Four had been everything for her. How was she even taking it? Where even was she?
“If you’re not gonna come, then fine, don’t come.” Party spat. “But if things go Costa Rica, at least promise me you’ll take care of the Girl. For me. Can you do that, Cherri?”
He’d said yes. He’d promptly failed.
“Oh, don’t beat yourself up about it. She’ll find her way to you again, and I trust you’ll be ready then.”
“So it’s true? The rumors? She’s really the savior?”
“Let’s just say she’s the king in our game.”
Cherri looked at the board again. He’d lost almost all his pawns, the Witch had lost four. His queen was now in danger of being struck down by Her knight.
“Who’s my king then?”
“The Director, of course. And while I’m my queen, a certain Exterminator is yours. The same one who killed Party Poison.” She gestured to the black pawn on the side of the table.
“So that’s what they were? A pawn? What am I, a different pawn?”
“No. You’re my bishop. And this pawn has an opening to kill it, but by doing so, my King is free to check yours.”
“But your knight can kill my queen. Who’s the knight?”
“Not who, what. It’s the most powerful and irresistible force- love.”
“So love can stop the bomb.”
“Always could, if used right. You’re not using it right, Cherri. I hope you learn when the time comes.” She waved the board away, and Cherri stood up.
“Wait, but that’s not fair! I’m just supposed to accept that they died to make way for the Girl to destroy BLI? Is anyone out here an actual human to you or are we all just pawns to sacrifice for the greater good? You know, I never asked to be your bishop. I never asked for any of this! If you’d told me before that they’d die and I’d live and I’d never see them again, then-”
“Then what? What could you have possibly done, Cherri Cola? When will you accept that this is the hand that you’ve been dealt and you need to live in it?”
“You know, I never wanted to fall in love with them. This would all be so much easier if I hadn’t fucking fallen in love with them. Your knight orchestrated that.”
“Here’s what I want you to do, Cherri Cola.” She pulled his soul string out, making him choke on his breath as She held on tightly to the other end. “When I let this go, you will never contact me again. You will hold on to this anger and love that you have inside you, and you will guide the Girl to victory. Then, and only then, will you see them again. Do you understand?”
Cherri nodded, still unable to talk. With a forceful push, Cherri fell back to the land of the living on the hot sand, the sun beating down on his face. He wanted to cry again, but he couldn’t find the tears. Instead, he let the sun’s rays bath him till scars rose and he could forget the feeling of how much it hurt to fall in love.
You're just a sad song with nothing to say
About a life long wait for a hospital stay
And if you think that I'm wrong
This never meant nothing to you