Au jour de l'an
I awoke, gasping, still partially held in the throes of my nightmare. I sat bolt upright in my small bed, trying to get a grip on reality. My eyes were drawn to the calender revealed in the moonlight. Two years to the day.
It never gets any easier.
At least it wasn't as bad as the first anniversary. On that day after I finally awoke, the sheets were bloody and my left arm was covered in cuts. I hadn't even realized I was injured until I realized my sheets were stained. Even then, it was a long while before I headed to the bathroom to clean and bandage my wounds. I spent the intervening time staring at the blood slowly dripping down my arm, remembering and trying not to remember. Maybe one day I'll forget enough to get a good night's sleep. _ I stared at nothing for a moment before thinking disconsolately, _After I'm dead, maybe.
Two years; 731 days; 17,544 hours. You would think that would be long enough to at least dull a memory. It isn't. I can remember that day more clearly than what I had for dinner a week ago. In case you couldn't already guess, that isn't a good thing. They say talking about these things helps. I doubt it, but after two years, I'm willing to try almost anything. You probably don't want to listen, but... try to feign interest for me. Please. I'm not asking for pity. I don't want it. I just want to get this out in hopes that I can heal at least a little bit. If this doesn't work, then... well, there's always Plan B.
Sit down. I'm going to take you on a journey. We have a long way to go. Over 60,000,000 seconds into the past. I'll relive that day one more time in hopes that I'll never relive it again. Pretend it's a story, a fiction made up to pass the time; that will make it easier for you to hear. Now, let us begin.
DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG!
The clock struck twelve. I smiled as I kissed my mate, both because I was kissing my mate and because I was thinking of the promises we had made. All around us, people were kissing or cheering or drinking champagne. It was a good time. We were among friends, drinking and celebrating, joking and laughing, playing and reminiscing.
We were at a friend's farm. She lived about twenty minutes out of town. After turning off the TV, we went out in front of the house and set off firecrackers and fireworks. The show lasted a good twenty minutes, and we stayed out in the dark for another fifteen after that, just talking about everything under the moon. After that, my mate and I left for home. The party continued without us, but we wanted to have some alone time that day. After all, it was the first time we celebrated it as mates.
DONG!
The clock struck one as we were hanging up our coats. We were both smiling as we went to the bedroom. We had given each other some new toys for Christmas, and I knew we were both thinking of trying some more of them out. My tail was twitching rapidly in anticipation. My mate pulled me in for a kiss outside the bedroom door. I was practically melting in his arms as I curled my tail around his and eagerly let his tongue into my maw. It felt timeless. We held each other tightly, stroking each other's backs and necks, never parting our lips. I gasped in surprise and laughed when he suddenly picked up my smaller frame in his arms and carried me into our room.
I'll spare you the details of what transpired immediately afterwards. Suffice it to say that by the time
DONG! DONG!
the clock struck two, I was having trouble moving and vocalizing, and he was enjoying himself immensely. Finally, when
DONG! DONG! DONG!
the clock struck three, we were both satisfied, sticky, and falling asleep in each other's arms. The last coherent thought I had was, Love you forever, my heart.
DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG!
Nine was too early for me to wake after the night before, but wake I did. I was sore, especially in regions best left undescribed, but I dutifully got up with my mate. He had first go at the shower while I cleaned up the sheets and other evidence of the activities of the night before. While I showered, he made us breakfast: belgian waffles with whipped cream and strawberries, bacon, and eggs. He was a good cook, and I loved his meals. I haven't been able to eat a waffle since, though.
I washed dishes, he dried, and we dressed each other. It took longer, but it was more fun. We were dressed smartly, forgoing our usual casual attire. I drove us to church. We managed to get there on time and took our seats before mass started despite our lacksadaisical fastening of each other's buttons.
DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG!
I can't remember the readings, but I do remember the homily that day, but you don't want to hear it. It wasn't bad or boring, but if you really wanted to hear such things, you'd be in church right now rather than listening to me.
DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG!
There was a free pancake breakfast in the church after mass, but we, of course, didn't attend. Instead, we went to the park. It was cold, icy, and there was a slight breeze, but we didn't give a damn. We were dressed for the weather, and if we got cold, we could always huddle together for warmth. It's amazing what a mate can do for you. I didn't often go for walks like this during the winter, but since I started going with my mate, it was one of my favourite ways to spend time.
We laughed and romped in the snow, playfully tackling each other into snow banks and making snow angels. I remember I added horns to his. He told me it made him feel horny. God, it was a terrible pun, but I laughed so hard. I don't know why I didn't see it coming--I knew him well enough. Still, we had fun under that bush. No one else was about, and the snow in the branches insulated our little temporary hideaway. He could make anything fun. Or sexy, for that matter.
DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG!
When we got back to the car, we were both glowing. I was a little stickier and a little more sore, but I loved it. He drove that time. We often alternated, unless one of us had been drinking. I guess you could say I drank when we were under that bush, but I was still fit to drive. It was his turn, though. We didn't consciously acknowledge it; it was more of a habit with us.
We stopped at a Starbucks. My mate bugged me about getting a frapachino, a cold drink, in the winter, but I bugged him right back about the ice cream he had the night before. He drove again because it was only a five minute drive to the coffee shop. Don't ask me how the system worked. We both just kind of knew when we were driving.
We took Ring Road back home. It was fastest. We were laughing about the inaccuarcies in our horroscopes when it happend.
DONG!
Someone was going too fast on the other side of the ditch. They spun on a patch of ice and went towards the ditch. There was a lot of snow. It should have stopped the truck. But... he went right over one of those turnaround points for emergency vehicles. You know, where ambulances and police cars can turn over those gravel paths. The truck had straightened out some, but it was coming right for us. There was no way we could stop or dodge it. My mate threw the wheel as far to the right as possible.
CRASH!
The truck impacted into the driver's door. I was badly shaken, got a severe case of whiplash, and had the airbag slam my paw into my nose, breaking it, but my mate's action saved me from the brunt of the danger. I remember seeing another car pull over onto the shoulder before I blacked out.
DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG!
The chimes seemed to come from far away as I slowly came to. The field of black changed to one of white as I tried to take my bearings. It took me a moment to figure out why my nose hurt so much, but when I did, I instantly shot up in bed, breathing hard, and nearly giving the nurse who poked her head in the room a heart attack.
I'm ashamed to say that for the next few minutes I wasn't very coherent. Usually I'm calm in a crisis, a useful trait in my line of work, but all I remembered was breaking glass and my mate taking it upon himself to protect me. When I finally calmed enough to articulate my fears, the nurse told me my mate was still in surgery and his fate was uncertain.
I would have broken down crying then and there had I not been in shock. He can't die, I thought. He can't leave me. He swore he wouldn't. That he'd always be there.
DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG!
I was crying an hour later. I had come out of shock into despair. I still hadn't heard anything conclusive on my mate. I learned a little of my own condition. Various bruises, broken nose reset. The only other thing was my left arm. The glass of the windshield had cut it up pretty badly, and I had lost a bit of blood. There were bandages covering most of my forearm. It had mostly caught the underside of my arm because I raised it instinctively to ward off the debris. Ever since that day, whenever I found myself stressed or upset beyond tolerance, I found myself reopening those wounds. I know what my mate thinks of that, but I can't seem to help myself.
DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG!
My father-in-law came into the room. He had never been overly supportive of his son's choice to marry another guy, but he did care deeply for his son. The older cheetah was a little awkward around me, but he did his best to welcome me into his life for his son's sake.
He sat by my bed, tears in his eyes, but his expression was otherwise unreadable. After a moment of just sitting there, he said in broken monotone that his son, my mate was... dead.
I didn't want to believe it. He had been with me that day, had promised me forever. I broke down, sobbing, weeping. I asked to see him, but my father-in-law told me I shouldn't see him like this, that he wouldn't want me to remember him like this. He told me he would take care of everything and make all the arrangements. Then, he patted me awkwardly on the shoulder and left the room, leaving me alone in my grief and misery.
Most of the rest of the day was fuzzy. I can't remember much of it. They let me out of the hospital at some point, and I caught a bus home. No. It wasn't really home anymore. I couldn't stand it. Seeing everything about my mate... but not my mate. I couldn't stand being alone in the house. I tried going to a few other places, but everywhere was empty and depressing, or so it seemed to me.
I felt bad. I really did. But I couldn't stay there anymore. I know this sounds cliché, but I went to the airport. I didn't even bother looking at the departures list. I just asked to go on the next plane to somewhere else in the country. That's how I ended up here. I'd never been in this city before, but I needed to be somewhere different, somewhere where I could try to start again. It hasn't worked, really, but I didn't feel quite so sad when I arrived here as I did when I left my hometown.
You know the rest. Hell, you were the cabbie who picked me up from the airport. Thanks for your compassion that day. You didn't know me, didn't know why I was so depressed and hopeless, didn't know why I asked to be taken to a cheap motel, yet you helped me out and let me stay at your place for a while. I can never repay you for all you've done. I'm also sorry it took me so long to tell you. You've been my closest friend since that day, but I just wanted to try to forget. As I said, it hasn't worked. Hopefully, it won't haunt me tonight, and if it does... well, there's always Plan B.
DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG!
It's getting late. You should go. Drive carefully. I'll try and get some rest. After all, it's the start of a new day.
DONG! DONG! DONG!
Crap. Here it is, three in the morning, and I can't sleep. The nightmares still plague me. I look to my nightstand and open the drawer. In the back is a small, ornate knife. I grimace as I look at the bloodstained blade. Apparently I forgot to clean it after last time. I glance from it to my left arm. Well, I think, reaching for the knife, it's time for Plan B...