Love Lies Bleeding, Remmy Duchene [moboreader .TXT] 📗

"What did the cops say to you? Do you need a lawyer?"

"I doubt it." Anderson shook his head. It made him sick they were questioning him like he was a suspect. How could they even begin thinking that? It wasn't enough his father was murdered? How much more did they think Anderson could possibly take? Anderson chewed, swallowed then spoke. "They asked me the regular generic questions. I wanted to scream my bloody head off. I wanted to just—I feel so useless. I should have felt something was wrong, you know? I should have…"

"Shoulda, woulda, coulda," Byung interrupted while taking a stool beside him. "You can sit here for the next fifty years beating yourself over the head with all the things you can't change or you can go out there, light a fire under the cops' asses, and make sure they don't cluster-fuck this. You can't be a sobbing mess right now. I know you may feel like you want to curl up and die but you can't. I won't let you. Now eat. I'll find some orange juice."

Picking up a strawberry, Anderson couldn't help staring at it. Normally he would be the first person ready to devour them but as he stared at the fruit, he had no desire to see or eat anything red. Byung's words came to him once more and he inhaled before shoving the piece of fruit into his mouth. Byung was right. The best revenge was to live—but he felt so guilty being alive, breathing while his father sat in pieces in a medical examiner's fridge with a tag on his toe. No one deserved to die like that.

"Bee, do you remember dad ever having flowers in the house?"

"Uhm—flowers? What kind of flowers?"

"I don't know."

"Er—no. Pops was allergic to flowers, wasn't he? I remember once I brought you over some roses for your room and he couldn't stop sneezing. Why?"

"Do you think he could have found one he wasn't allergic to—that he was only allergic to some and not others?"

"I don't know—Andy, what's going on in that head of yours?"

Anderson shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe it's nothing. Just something the detective asked me. Can you stay?"

"Always." Byung nodded.

Anderson lay on his side, body half curled facing his best friend. He remembered the last time they lay like that he and his mother had just passed away. Clutching Byung's hand, the two lay awake, staring at each other all night and in the morning they rose together and sat on the balcony silently. The same situation caused them to share a bed again—sadness.

Blinking, he inhaled and his body shook. Byung reached for his hand and he gave it over without hesitation. They lay there in the same position until sun streamed through the window and the only reason Anderson got up was to call in sick to work. Thankfully he didn't have to explain what happened for they had it splashed all over the news. His dean told him to take all the time he needed and it would be explained to his students.

* * * *

But after being at home freaking out and losing his mind, Anderson returned to work the first chance he could.

When he walked into the class, the students went silent. He knew they'd heard what had happened. He bit down on his lower lip and inhaled to calm his senses before looking up. "Hi," he managed. His voice cracked. Clearing his throat, he moved to sit on the edge of his desk and faced the large lecture hall. "I'm sure most of you know what happened. And I know I probably should be home right now but if I stay home, I'm going to rip out all the hair I have and as you can see, it's not much."

That got chuckles from the students so he hopped from the desk and smiled at them tightly. "Besides, you paid me to be here so it's not fair to you. Any questions?"

A hand shut up from the center and Anderson nodded. "Yes, Jacob."

"I know," the student began, "that we're all thinking it so I'm just going to say it. We are really sorry for what happened. I'm not saying I know how you feel but… you know?"

Anderson nodded. "Thanks, guys." When no other hands went up, Anderson walked around his desk to his notes. He turned back to face the class. "All right, so we'll pick up where we left off last lecture but do not forget your paper is due next class. So if you have any questions about that, ask them now…"

Normally, the class would fly by. But this day the class dragged on and on. The students were on their best behavior and he knew it was because of his father. At certain points in the lecture he would have to stop, clear his throat, and continue. He threw himself into the lesson for it was something he was passionate about. Over and over Anderson had to push his father from his mind and focus with all his might on his students. He used every ounce of strength he had in him to take in each answer the class gave to his questions. He even managed a few jokes.

"Once we've finished Jane Eyre, we'll be doing Homer. He described the Trojan War, including Greek characters such as Agamemnon, Menelaos, Achilles, Calchas, Clytaemnestra, Odysseus, Ajax." Anderson Williams walked amongst the two hundred students he taught Classical Literature. "Can anyone think of an easy way to remember this?"

"Think Homer Simpson!" a student shouted and Anderson laughed.

"Don't know how effective that would be." He grinned. "But whatever floats your boat."

The lecture hall erupted in laughter.

The regular shuffling of students began and Anderson knew it was time for the lecture to end. The students seemed to enjoy the class but three hours was a lot for a bunch of young people to sit listening to things about dead authors they'd probably never