Graveyard Blues [Brallon]

Grief Counseling

[Hi real quick I just finished this book in the span of a few hours so celebration chapter and ALSO movie recommendation it's called The Voices it has Ryan Reynolds in it and it's so so so so good that's all I hope u like this chapter]

The next day, I have one scene to do twenty different times, and I'm dead for the entire time. I'm pretty sure they scheduled me to work because they wanted to test Jenna's ability to perfectly recreate the makeup, in which she succeeded and should never be tested again for my sake. I don't mind being around her because she doesn't talk too much and she likes to watch Dexter while she works, but it's tedious and irritating to sit still while coated in gooey cuts and fake blood. I could be doing so many other things instead, like eating.

The remainder of filming time is awarded to Taylor running around the various sets mimicking desolate places around the country to gather the proper ingredients to rip-off Pet Semetary for a little over two hours. Graveyard Blues does not outdo the original idea in any sense of the word, but that's just my opinion. A lot of teenage girls like it.

Brendon sits with me while I peel off the stage blood that had dried on my cheek and plastered itself to my chest through the shirt. It picks off in flakes and crumbles into dust between my fingers. It's disgusting but mesmerizing.

Instead of turning away, he watches me struggle intently. "The media's still going ape-shit over your criminal record, y'know. You're lucky you're off and filming away from the public eye right now."

I nod. I'm only half-listening. "Yes."

There's a small bird underneath my side of the bed. I want to get back and bury it inconspicuously before Brendon can find it and the odd twisted angle of its neck. It had just happened so suddenly — it didn't even feel a thing, and that I can guarantee. I didn't see why it mattered, because if it somehow did suffer it would be dead and all experiences would be obsolete. I didn't question it because it tended to upset him whenever I did.

"There's an animal adoption event thing going on all day next Wednesday," he glances at me to confirm I hear him, "and I think you should go. It'll make you seem like less of a hardened criminal psychopath and more like a normal human being."

I can't be around small animals, or rather I don't like to be if I can help it. It upsets him, and when he's upset, he doesn't give in to purchasing fast food in place of salads and healthy eating choices.

"I should, but should I? Really?" I stare at his reflection in the mirror. He shoots daggers back at me, but he knows I'm right.

"I'll go with you. We'll leave that morning and get back before you start shooting again. I already checked your schedule."

🔪

I leave the hotel room for a bucket of ice and I return to find Brendon packing sheets of tissue paper into my old shoebox. He doesn't notice I'm there until the door shuts and locks, but as soon as he sees me, he turns away.

"How long has it been there?"

He's talking about the bird. "Last night. I went for a walk while you were asleep. It walked right up to me."

His whole body is rocked by an unsettled shudder and he gently shuts the lid of the box. There's a bottle of Febreze in the garbage, his new favorite air freshener in the scent of Bora Bora waters. Underneath the sink at home, there are six bottles and a half empty one. They're good at masking the unwanted stench of dead animals and the occasional burnt pizza.

"That's fucking disgusting."

"I didn't know where you wanted me to put it. I was going to get rid of—"