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His father was arrested on the fifth of February, ten years ago.
He was fifteen at the time.
Every day, on the same day, the 5th of February, he remembers. He remembers it like it was yesterday.
Today is the fifth.
He emptied a bottle of whisky last night, hoping he wouldn't remember.
But he does.
Of course , he does.
Ten years later, he can still recall every tiny detail of that day. What happened before and after is a blur.
He wakes up with a headache, the kind you have after drinking too much.
He looks around, but she is not there. She left already.
In his head, he hears the sound of the handcuffs snapping shut around his father's wrists.
Instead of getting up, he grabs her pillow and presses it over his face.
It helps, he thinks.
Eventually, he leaves the bed, and it's raining.
Of course , it's raining.
He puts the kettle on, makes tea, sits down, and forgets about it. When he finally drinks it, it’s cold.
Of course , it's cold.
He gets dressed and leaves for work.
He knows it's raining, but he doesn't take an umbrella. Today, he feels like getting soaked. Maybe sick, too.
He arrives at work. Probably late. He doesn't know. He forgot his watch.
And he doesn't care.
He pretends to listen to his assistant. Really, he doesn't.
And his assistant could be announcing the end of the world, he wouldn't notice.
But he nods slowly, anyway.
He imagines himself saying " Oh, really? The world is going to end today? Okay. Well noted. Thank you for letting me know."
But he says nothing.
He closes his office door and sits at his desk.
He tries to read. He sees words, but he doesn't understand them. Today, nothing makes sense.
In his head, he sees his father. He hasn't seen him since that day.
Fucking whisky.
Fucking headache.
He thinks.
He is thirsty. He needs water.
He notices a glass of fresh water, waiting for him on his desk. He drinks it.
It helps. There’s a picture frame beside it. He looks at it. He sees pink, and that helps even more.
He cries a little. Quietly. He doesn't wipe the tears.
The phone rings. He doesn’t answer.
He stands, paces, sits again.
Tries to read.
Still can't.
Then, he is thirsty again.
Then, he is crying again.
Then, he is standing again.
Then, he sees his father again. He blinks until the image shifts into the man who’s almost his father.
He sees blond hair and blue eyes.
He sits again.
And he cries again.
He skips lunch. He’s not hungry.
Eventually, it's time to go home.
It's still raining.
Of course , it's raining.
He is not even wearing a coat. He shivers.
Of course , it's cold.
He gets home.
She’s already there.
Of course , she's there.
He knows she’s there the moment he opens the door. That’s the kind of connection they have. He feels better.
She notices he's soaked and hands him a towel. She had it ready. She knew he would be soaked.
Of course , she knew.
She doesn't speak, but gives him a small smile.
He showers, letting the water run until it turns cold.
He’s still not hungry. He misses her. He finds her waiting for him in the living room.
She takes his hand, leads him to the couch. They sit side by side, and he doesn't let go of her hand.
She turns on the TV.
He sees colors, not images.
Hears sounds, not words.
And then he sees Donovan Desmond again. He closes his eyes. And all he sees is her. Pink and green. His two favorite colors.
He’s been through hell. But he has her, and that’s enough to make him feel like the luckiest man on Earth.
He presses her hand twice. It's their code.
Thank you , he thinks.
And she hears it. She looks at him, surprised.
Thank you for reminding me it's not so bad, he thinks.
And she hears that, too.
She presses his hand three times. Another code.
They have a lot of codes - they've known each other for almost twenty years.
I love you too, he thinks.
He doesn't know if she hears it this time.
But he knows something.
Everything will be okay.
It doesn’t matter if he still remembers.
It doesn’t matter if it still hurts.
It doesn’t matter if he can’t function one day a year.
As long as she’s there.