Splash~
He raised his head to look into the mirror, trying to make sense of what was happening.
Sunday, the day of rest after unwinding from the week's stress Saturday night. Nothing to write home about, except that he woke with an additional weight on his arm, a beautiful weight, maybe, with red hair, and a naked body. Good, right? But only if he did not remember coming back alone last night, as always, and falling asleep in an empty bed. HIS empty bed!
Splash~
Even if his heart was pounding at the exciting change in his life, he had to understand before either continuing taking it calmly, or…
Splash~
So, what exactly happened?
He furrowed his dark brows, and thought, hard. The club, the drinks, he could remember. Normal, like every week. He had been alone too, like always.
Then… right, the red head, the white seemingly modest but provocative dress. The legs. He remembered, because they made his heart beat, even though he only looked from afar. But then…
The alcohol was blurring things too much. However, did that mean he landed himself that heart-stirring opportunity?
But yesterday, he seemed to have seen her back as she went away, walking down a corridor that led into the darkness. So that had been a dream. And the reality is now before him.
He grinned, his eyes glinting not with pride, but with the heat of something like love in its budding form, the warmth of the end of singlehood, as in his mind, the life for two was already unfolding, like a plan, a dream to come true.
He breathed in, his happiness unable to be tucked away. Thinking about the form under the blanket with only the head of red hair exposed, he looked down at himself to ensure he was not bad, at least for someone who just woke up, burying the regret of the blurry memories of last night with the hope of making up for them, of rediscovering what he might have already discovered.
For a moment, he almost felt the warmth of her form in his hand, like a memory he never had, and he turned to the door after drying his face. He held the handle, and turned it with the excitement of a winner at life's lottery, and opened it.
There, just a little over two meters from him, on the bed, she stirred, and turned slightly to adjust her posture for more comfort. Looking at the gold red hair, his heart pounded, the budding love stirring up the pond left dead still by the realities of life.
He was suddenly fired up. He suddenly had the motivation to fight for a better life, not so much for himself as for her. Feeling renewed vigor, he took a step out of the bathroom, then, slowly he froze.
An image came crashing down on him, one full of blood that in turn drained his own blood from his face. His heart stopped, but he didn't feel that, only the lightning that courses straight through him from top to bottom. Or, was it the other way around?
He could not tell, but he suddenly took back his foot, and slammed the bathroom door shut.
*Bang!*
Something was wrong. Everything was not making sense. What exactly happened last night, and how had his bed gained an addition to its usual occupant? What happened between the time he saw her and when she got into his bed?
He calmed down. He forced himself to.
Even though that red hair that shone gold under the rays of the morning sun had always captured his attention…
Slowly, his thoughts paused, and his eyes widened. That red hair had always captured his attention because he had always gone to that bar!
Ever since a month ago, ever since he had seen her, he had always returned there. Even if he never felt like erasing the distance between them, just seeing her and feeling his heart warm up while slowly sipping a cold drink had always been enough for him.
But last night… last night…
He gulped, because he remembered. Last night, he saw her walk down that corridor leading inside, but while looking suspiciously forced. Even though she didn't resist, he remembered two men blocking the way out, and another man, dressed like someone, something important.
His heart beating fast, he remembered finishing his drink, trying to swallow the bitterness on his tongue, but then he recalled a memory.
Once, in the corridor to the restroom, she spoke on the phone, and since then he knew. He knew that she was working in that bar, swallowing any and all indignity thrown at her, only for one reason, to live.
She wanted to live, and she needed money for that. She wanted to have a future, and she forced a smile through everything. Just for that chance at getting treatment, for that chance at seeing the sun next year.
Slowly sliding down the door of the bathroom, he held his head, and held back his tears. Or at least he tried, because he remembered. He remembered how that raging but warm fire had ended up.
Slowly, his tears grew, then spilled.
Yesterday, for the first time, the present mattered more than the haze of the past. The embers in his heart, almost cold after he lost all his friends, and came back alone, warmed up, maybe from the feelings he had always left untouched, maybe from the fire in her chest, maybe from his drink, cold but burning.
He emptied his glass, and staggered to the dark corridor, his eyes half lidded like someone drunk. And for the first time since the battlefield, he made contact to break and neutralize.
The memories burned into his muscles came back like a tide, and he became the tide that swept inside, until that room, until he held her, cradled her, and failed to keep her warmth.
She died. She smiled at him, happy and relieved, comforting him even as she lost her breath.
He shouldn't have hesitated. He shouldn't have kept his feelings for himself.
Exhaling, he stood up from the bathroom floor. He wiped his tears, and smiled.
Even if she died, even if only her spirit is with him now, that was enough for him. Even if she would not stay forever, just a night was enough.
Relief flooded his body, and he held the doorknob. But before he could turn it, his mind rebooted, and slowly, he let go. His hand slid down, and he held it in front, along with his other hand, palms up, and looked at them.
He was dead too, right?
He… was dead.
That smile, she showed it to him when he was done being the tide, when he was done sweeping through that which had taken the wood out from under that beautiful fire.
He came back, bloody, like many of his friends had been before him, when they had not been torn apart by explosions or calibers too big for human bodies.
He cleaned the darkness, but he failed to save that warm light, that light which shone on him even in the last moment when he laid beside her, and held her hand, soft, but slick with blood.
He clenched his hands into fists, then he smiled.
He turned the doorknob and walked to the bed warm under the morning soft rays. He slipped under the blanket, and held her calmly, warmly. He swept her hair away, just enough to feel her cheek on his chest, her warmth, her love.
Suddenly, a soft laugh escaped his lips. Among them brothers, he might be the one unlucky enough to die after surviving the battlefield, but he remained the luckiest one.
Yes, the luckiest one.
Holding her tighter, he let himself sink into the bed he might be enjoying for the last time.
Being a ghost didn't matter. He… was a happy ghost.