Toni vomits on the floor.
It’s not like she hasn’t seen a dead body before. (Too many, maybe.) But she’s never killed someone.
So when the realization hits her as she stares down at Bedford’s body, she twists out of Cheryl’s grasp, turns away, and promptly spews up the baked ziti Cheryl had made for dinner.
(“It’s really good, Cher,” she had complimented. However it is less pleasant when it comes back up.)
There are hands on her back, Cheryl’s, she thinks, but Toni pays them no mind. She just heaves, emptying her stomach until there’s nothing left and she’s choking on air.
Cheryl coos nearby, in an attempt to be comforting, but her sweet nothings echo like gunshots against Toni’s ears.
You’re a killer. A murderer.
The acrid stench of vomit wafts up from the floor. Vomit, and decay, and blood, so much blood-
It’s soaking the concrete, creeping up Toni’s hands, whispering “murderer, murderer, murderer.” Chanting, jeering, over and over again like the serpents kicking the poor young ghoulie whose only crime was enlisting on the wrong side of the war. They had cheered, laughed, taunted, their boots growing bloodier and bloodier, and Toni had watched.
Murderer.
Cheryl pulls her into her chest, and Toni goes limp against her. “Breathe baby, breathe,” she pleads, and it’s only then that Toni realizes she’s forgotten how.
Her hands curl into the soft fabric of Cheryl’s pajamas. “I- I can’t-” she gasps. Cheryl shushes her, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“Shh, shh, don’t talk. Breathe.”
Toni takes a shuddery inhale, thinking of Cheryl. Cheryl , who fills her life with sunshine where there was only rain, who makes her feel so safe and loved, who is comforting her after almost meeting the same fate as her uncle just moments ago. Toni clings harder, burying her face into Cheryl’s neck and breathing in that soothing scent of japanese cherry blossom and expensive skincare products. She doesn’t notice the tears are flowing until she feels Cheryl’s skin growing wet.
“I’m n-not- I didn’t m-mean t-to-” Toni sobs, forcing each word out like a punch. Her entire body shakes with the effort.
Selfish, selfish girl.
Cheryl seems to understand though. “I know, baby. I know.” She strokes the top of Toni’s head like she’s something precious, something holy, not someone who just killed a man with a candle holder. “It’s going to be okay.”
God, Toni wants to believe her. She opens her eyes, peering over Cheryl’s shoulder and locking eyes with Jason.
As usual, he says nothing.
They wrap Bedford up in a carpet. A bloody sacrifice to complete whatever arcane rituals the Blossoms practice in this chapel to keep their maple rivers flowing.
Cheryl works on mopping up the blood while Toni attends to her own mess. It’s mechanical by now. Over the years she has mastered the art of compartmentalizing; she was sick on the floor, so she has to clean it.
The irony of cleaning up blood in a basement with Jason Blossom is not lost on Toni. She thinks of Joaquin. She doesn’t know whether to feel sorry for him, or think in the end he got the death that he deserved.
The death that you deserve.
Cheryl is crying. Soft little gasps she tries to hold back, but Toni hears them clear as the ringing of church bells. In another reality, Toni takes the girl in her arms, kisses her on her temple, (she’s tall enough to reach), and sends Cheryl off with a sad smile and a whisper that she’ll take care of it. In this reality though, Toni keeps mopping.
Getting the feeling that she’s being watched, Toni turns to the Julian doll, staring into his porcelain face. Her mother’s glassy eyes stare back. She’s propped up in a similar position, a needle sticking out of her arm as the television drones in the background. Buzzards swarm around her head.
You did this. You let her die.
Toni glares at Julian. He makes a worse conversation partner than Jason.
The bleach burns their noses and waters their eyes by the time they’re done. Bedford is still wrapped up in his persian prison, an unholy offering. He won’t be bothering them again anytime soon.
“Let’s go to bed,” Cheryl croaks, voice hoarse. “We can deal with him tomorrow.”
She spreads her arm towards Toni like an outstretched wing and Toni dutifully tucks herself under it, safe in her down. She lets Cheryl lead her out of the chapel and away from Bedford, away from Jason, away from the ghoulie and Joaquin and from her mother, and away from Julian who mocks them all.
Cheryl’s feet are like ice against the back of Toni’s calves, but for once Toni doesn’t mind. The rest of Cheryl is warm and very much alive.
There’s no soothing whispers, no gentle kisses. They just hold each other in the dark.
Toni’s nose is pressed uncomfortably into Cheryl’s sternum. She wants to turn her head and rest her head against Cheryl’s left breast and listen to the mollifying rhythm of her lover’s heartbeat, but Cheryl’s chin on the top on her head holds her too securely.
You don’t deserve it anyway.
Toni is certain Cheryl isn’t comfortable either as she clutches the other girl’s back, her fingers digging into the spaces between the redhead’s ribs. Cheryl’s fair skin is sure to bruise, but Toni is afraid of the bloody handprints she’ll leave when she lets go.
Every swell of breath expands the tiny bubble between them. It grows and grows, so much Toni feels like it might force them apart.
“I’m sorry.” It bursts from Toni’s throat, no louder than a whisper.
“My love,” Cheryl’s breath ghosts over her like a feather. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You saved me.”
Toni whimpers. “I couldn’t save them .”
Cheryl pulls back to look at her, the hand splayed against Toni’s lower back coming up to cup her cheek. “What do you mean, my sweet?” she questions. Her thumb brushes over the corner of Toni’s mouth.
Toni shakes her head, somehow shaking more tears out with them. She doesn’t want to think of the rows of dead bodies she’ll have to step over to reach heaven. Heaven is here , her angel holding her close.
“I’m not a killer,” she says instead, sniveling pathetically. The warmth of Cheryl’s plumage feels suffocating. Her embrace is so sacred, pure, it burns Toni’s flesh.
“No, no of course not,” Cheryl croons, wiping Toni’s soft cheeks. “I know you’re not a killer, baby. It was self defense. There’s not an evil bone in your perfect little body.” She presses a kiss to Toni’s brow.
The floodgates open and Toni sobs in earnest, staining Cheryl’s silk pajama shirt with tears and saliva and snot. “I’m sorry,” she babbles over and over again, though she’s not sure to whom.
Cheryl pulls her closer, kissing, shushing, rocking, trying to quiet the cries that ricochet across the room. Sensing what Toni needs, she rolls onto her back, gently pulling Toni on top of her so her ear is pressed to Cheryl’s chest. “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you.”
Toni can feel the tide of blood rising, spilling between her teeth. Murderer, murderer, murderer. You didn’t stop them, you didn’t stop her, their blood is on your hands. Her fingers, finally unanchored from Cheryl’s back, curl into tiny fists.
“Wh-what are we gon-na do, C-cher?”
It’s a weighted question, swinging between the two of them like a pendulum. The rope is fraying, threatening to snap and crush them both.
(Toni thinks it might have always been there.)
“Don’t worry about that right now, sweetness,” Cheryl pacifies, kissing the tip of Toni’s nose. “Just try to calm down, okay? Deep breaths, honey.”
Toni takes a shuddery breath. And another. And another. One for each person in her life that can’t anymore. Then she breathes for Cheryl, because even if she can’t do it for herself, she serves a higher purpose now. She finally has someone to live for now.
Toni trembles against Cheryl’s soaked chest. Her fingers trace patterns on the pale flesh like some sort of symbol of divinity.
Cheryl cuddles her, a model of sanctitude. “Don’t fret, my darling. Tomorrow is a new day.”
The sun rises and Toni is still the same.