Julius Caesar

-------------------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, my sanity, wondering if this was really how my response should've been. If Augustus had accepted his death before it happened, why wasn't I? If he had let go of the world, why was I forcing the thought of him back? Why wasn't I happy for his relief from this world? Why the f.u.c.k 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-f.u.c.k.i.n.g-place', I failed to notice those who were mourning me with the same ache in their hearts. Or maybe even a worse because they haven't lost me to death. No. 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 Samara. A friend. 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 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 in italics as you told me to. This is the day after the day I read the letter. 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 Samara and I were unbothered by it.

I was lying down on the sofa, back on the armrest, holding Samara'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 thoughts revolving around how all my ends were left unmet after Augustus died. I remembered his words, his promise that everything would be okay without him; when, in reality, my life defined chaos with a little, white flower called Samara thriving amidst it, holding it together at its weakest.

It was then when I realized I needed motivation. There was just a lot to be done and wishes to be granted.

I was going to become a father.

So, yes, I stitched my ripped heart into beating normally and blotted away the blurriness that clouded the beauty in front of me (not much in the world but I'd remind myself to just take a peek at Samara).

I shifted beneath Samara and she slowly moved. I got to my feet and she craned her neck, watching me cautiously with parted lips, her no-longer-steaming mug between her hands.

Oh, I'd given her so much trouble.

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

I backed away 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 left this damned place).

I was back in about three to four hours. I unlocked the door and Samara 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 c.h.e.s.t, but I reminded myself that it was now or never.

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

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

"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 as Samara 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 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 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 Samara.

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 tears in her deep-blue eyes. I then took out the ring, a silver one with a beautiful diamond, reached for her cold left hand and slipped it on her slender ring finger.

"Julius-" 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- too much- 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, 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 and I clasped the necklace around her flushed neck. I then backed away and watched her, ready to be entertained again by her just being herself.

"'S' for Samara?" 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! I love you-"

But then I tilted her face up and kissed her softly and passionately, closing my eyes and 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'd sinned.

"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 back to the day she straddled me, half-n.a.k.e.d, when we were saying our 'goodbyes'.

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

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 ridiculous if she thought she looked half '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 them. The porch was more like a flower garden back then.

She had sobbed, saying that- 'My God, Caesar this 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 happy. Which makes me really happy too. Happy that I was the reason her eyes were dancing and her steps were singing.

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 c.h.e.s.t 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 c.h.e.s.t, 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 to feel fair about letting her marry me, I decided I needed some help.'"

When Samara 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 made me worry that you'd mistreat me when you know who I was. I was scared that instead of helping me get rid of the pain, you'd make it worse by judging me. After all, you know the human's psyche and that's a lot to say (you'd exactly know how to depress me more if you wanted to).

When you first saw me, Sharon, you were surprised that a person like me, a skilled murderer or whatever, would end up succ.u.mbing to something 'like this'. It was like you'd never seen anything like me. A cursed murderer. A murderer with a heart.

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 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 soft, empathetic.

I'd gotten even softer and I don't like it, 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.

Samara 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 didn't either, because Samara would go too far to help me get better. Like telling me that it was what Father said.

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, it'd just be hearing him tell me the whole truth and 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 Samara 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.

Wanna 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 think that this is how I'd confront my 'fear' of words. How I'll get to speak again.

But so far, the words still get stuck in my throat and my laughter stands in my c.h.e.s.t, taunting me, screaming at me- ′Is this 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 progression.

And maybe it's because I started feeling responsible when Samara and I got married (three months ago), in a small church, with no-one but you and Ledger to attend the 'wedding' (Samara refused to invite her mother or anyone who lied to her). 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 Samara and asking myself if I was really capable of this.

But 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 proud when he thinks of me.

But I'm a murderer, Sharon. How will I achieve that? What will my child think of me when he ages and unravels the truth? 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 Samara was no longer the heavy sleeper she was and she had to rest well.

And yet, somehow, she usually ended up crouching next to me and the toilet seat on the cold, tiled floor. It was like her heart feels my turmoil. It was a guilty p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e having her so I could clutch onto her, calm down, and sleep with her again.

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

I tried to spice up our days because it got too depressing sometimes. I'd take Samara 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.

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 spent 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 was waiting until she gave birth 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 it all together yet, I couldn't think of what I wanted to do. But it was okay, I had enough money to support me, Samara, 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 Samara and I some pancakes, having my afternoon walks to look for a place to buy my wife a flower shop, and just spending hours hearing Samara 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)

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.

F.u.c.k.i.n.g elephant b.u.t.t.o.c.k.s.

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

So. Starting with the materialistic shit because I know how you and sentimentality don't 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 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 Samara. 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 Samara. 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 though- like your eyes haha. Pretty morbid, because every time you'd eat one, you'd be 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 protecting their backs no matter what.

Oh. And you will find two pictures of me and America (you probably know her). Print it and send her a copy. She'll LOVE it. (Honestly, Julio, I might 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 you told me that 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 f.u.c.k.)

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 right now- a 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-f.u.c.k.i.n.g-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 Samara's around. It'd be just weird. But maybe with your kids one day.

15- Blueberries. Eat them more. They taste legit. Especially on the Nutella crepes. F.u.c.k.i.n.g o.r.g.a.s.mic.

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 that Ledger got the manure to trick that sophisticated, 'head-in-nowhere-but-arse' French f.u.c.k. 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