CHAPTER 1
Arthur breathed in deep as he sat in the comfy grey chair. He lightly scratched his fingers against the leather. His grey sweater was slightly wrinkled and the mis-buttoned shirt underneath matched his level of mental disorganization. He picked at the couch again and scratched the side of his messy-unbushed-unwashed head of hair. The room he was in was purely dull grey. The bookcase was grey with grey books; the window felt grey with grey curtains. Everything seemed grey to him. It had been that way for a while now. He frowned and took another deep breath. The man across from him tapped his pencil lightly. He wasn't so grey looking. He had a blue sweater on with light brown kakis. He's blonde hair was brush neatly as he had a pleasant smile on his face. He almost seemed like he was waiting for Arthur's mind catch up with the situation they were in. He reached over and drank one sip of coffee before speaking. He was only one who had coffee during these times. Arthur preferred and always had tea.
"So," he said in a soothing tone, "How are you today?"
"I'm," Arthur paused to pull at a loose sting, "better I suppose, Tino."
Tino smiled lightly. "How long has it been since your loss?"
Arthur looked up at him warily. "You want me to guess, again?" he said his eyes closing. He leaned back and rubbed his forehead. "Nine months, 2 weeks, three days." He opened his eyes slowly. "I can tell you the hour and minute if you want as well."
Tino wrote something on his paper. "No," he said finishing up, "That'll be fine." He evenly uncrossed then recrossed his legs. "How long did you spend in the drawer compared to last time?"
Arthur flinched slightly at the mention. He closed his eyes in recall. He could remember himself jamming the thin brass key into the top dresser drawer and pulling out the last reminisces he had; smelling them, feeling them, being comforted by them. His hands digging further into the wooden drawer, scratching around to find an old book, feeling the photos inside of what his life was like before. He gave the same deep sigh he had been giving all afternoon.
"It's very hard to tell how long…" Arthur said after a moment.
"Just give it your best guess."
"I would say at least less than a half an hour per day."
Tino seemed to be happier about this. "Ah, good!" he placed his pad down next to his coffee. Arthur seemed disgruntled by the happy tone his therapist was showing him. Tino sense the hesitation and his smile dampened a bit. "I know you're still mourning, but in time your memory will let it all come to rest. You have a very good memory Arthur and these things just take time."
He gave a pat to Arthur's knee and stood up. Arthur took this as a signal and did the same. He had been coming here far too long for his liking, and he knew when his session was up. He shook hands with Tino before making a swift exit, not bother to say goodbye.
He walked slowly but deliberately to his car on the side of the street. It still felt odd to be driving such a car; one that didn't belong to him. He rubbed his fingers against the key before starting it up and making his way home. He lived in a town house and only occupied two of the five floors that resided in the building. He had been hesitant to move there, but when the idea had been brought up they had taken their chance. Now Arthur lived there with two renters, two brothers, who he occasionally called his friends.
Arthur parked his car and got out. He quickly crossed the busy street and walked up toward his home just as the neighbor who lived below him stepped out.
"Ah! Good morning, Arthur" She said with a smile. Her hair still in a short bob, she had a ribbon to one side. Today it was a lovely blue to match the white dress she wore under a handmade sweater.
Arthur stopped mid-step going up the stairs. He veered back only slightly. "Good morning, Elsie. How are you and your brother?"
She smiled slightly wider at the polite conversation. "Oh same as always, but I must say Arthur, you look very nice today."
Arthur looked down as his unappealing grey sweater.
"I meant your face," Elsie corrected quickly, "You look better."
Arthur gave her a small smile. "Thank you. We should," He paused slightly, "have tea sometime… like we used to."
"Oh yes," she nodded, "we should, just like old times." There seemed to be a moment of silence between them but with a small wave she ended the conversation and made her way down the street.
Arthur waited a few moments, watching her go, before climbing up the steps to the front door his apartment building. When he got in all he could do was smile at himself. He must have been getting better. What an odd feeling.
His smile was wiped away, however, as he heard the clanking of someone cleaning. He walked down the entry way into the living room to find and ill-tempered man attempting to clean. His hair tied in a tight pony-tail while his sleeves were rolled up. Next to him, stood his brother his cropped dark hair held back with one headband.
Arthur knocked on the wall as he entered the living room. Both men turned around startled.
"Aiya! Arthur! I didn't even know you were home," the pony-tailed one exclaimed, holding up the vacuum hose.
"I just got home, actually, Yao" Arthur said slowly. He nodded the other's brother. "Hi, Kiku." The man gave a similar nod. Yao still wasn't amused. He was about to complain when Arthur interrupted him, "Do you mind if I make dinner tonight?"
Yao looked shocked into a silence stare. Kiku seemed uncomfortable. "I don't think…" Yao started, "You're still…"
"I'm perfectly fine." Arthur corrected, "I want to cook is all."
Yao sighed conflicted about the rehabilitation of a friend and the inner bowel turmoil at stake. But Arthur hadn't wanted to cook in so long. It was nice to see this change even though it was unwanted. For tonight, He supposed he would risk the stomach ache, just for tonight.
"I suppose that's fine," Kiku beat him to the punch; he must have felt the same way.
Arthur cracked a small smile. He nodded before wondering off into the house. Kiku glanced at his brother, who still had a shocked, glazed look on his face. "Well that was unexpected," he commented softly.
After a sending his housemates out to get what they needed for dinner, Arthur sat at his desk, his laptop open. It had been awhile since he had done any actual work and he still typed slightly slower than how he had originally. He scanned over the papers he had and glance at the computer. He loved his editing job, but lately it had been hard to focus. The worst thing was that he knew why.
He worked for as long as he could. It didn't last long.
He couldn't do it. He felt restless. His hands twitched for what he knew he wanted. His life was getting better, but why did it still hurt so bad. He stood up quickly and practically ran out the room. His housemates had left to get food for dinner. There was nobody home. This was the perfect time. He ran to the kitchen and stood on the tips of his toes to reach the top of the refrigerator. He grabbed the safety deposit box and dialed in the combination with a hast that seemed crazy. He popped open the top and pulled out the brass key.
It was only for a moment. He was only going to sit for a moment.
He gripped the key tight as he ran to his room. To the side of his room was an unused dresser that served for only one purpose. His fingers trembled as he ran them over the key hole. He shakily put the key in and opened the drawer. It took a moment but he felt the surge of tears creak over the tops of his eye lids. He took his time. First with the photo album, he pulled it out gently. He opened it and ran his fingers over the photos of himself with another man. The other was taller than Arthur, thicker too. He smiled a silly grin in every picture. His blonde hair with its annoying cowlick, and his blue eyes with its deep hue. They looked so lively when they were in pictures with Arthur. They were in different places; sometimes outside, sometimes inside. They were all over the map. It made Arthur chock out a sob when he got to the last page. Not a picture but an article. Something he kept to remind himself. The familiar headline of "Six Dead in Single Plane Crash" was all he could take before he closed the album.
He lastly pulled out the same familiar boomer jacket before sobbing. The brought it up to his nose to smell the lasting familiar scent. "Alfred," He whispered in between is quiet sobs. He hugged the leather to his face. "I miss you."
He felt his body weak, him as a whole seemed to be crying. He shook slightly and tried his hardest to not do what he had done in the initial weeks. He was supposed to be getting better. Alfred wasn't here anymore, he wasn't supposed to miss him this terribly.
He quieted himself the best he could before putting the jacket back where it belonged. With a final sigh, Arthur closed the drawer and locked it. He made his way back to the kitchen. He put the key back where it belong and headed to the living room, not feeling much like working anymore. He walked to one of the walls and grabbed the first interesting book he could find and sat down on the couch. Nothing to do but wait until Kiku and Yao got home.
It didn't take long.
Kiku and Yao had returned with more food than for just three people, but Arthur didn't mind. He helped them put the bags in the kitchen. After unloading foods and what seemed to be a large supply of stomach medicine, Arthur gave his attempt to cook. It was dreadful, but they still enjoyed the night.
It wasn't until Arthur was doing dishes that he noticed the extra wine. He didn't have much use for anymore; he didn't drink anymore. It made him forget. And as much as everybody wanted him to, Arthur didn't want to forget. He slowly took the wine and poured it out. The thought made him remember something. He smiled at Yao who was drying the last of the plates.
"I'm going to go out," Arthur said casually.
Yao didn't even look up from drying, "Okay."
Arthur put the dish rag down and unrolled his sleeves. He reached for the closest jacket by the door and walked out. He breathed out and could see the cold air in front of him. He couldn't understand how it became so cold at night. He briskly walked down the steps and around the corner. Not too far from his home was a place where Arthur used to do with Alfred. They had many memories there. Things Arthur could only live through in his mind now.
He walked past the field where they had had their first date. It had been a picnic and it was terrible. The bugs were everywhere, Alfred had forgotten eating utensils, and he had been so nervous that he had spilled juice all over Arthur's pants. Although it was terrible and Arthur spent many days trying to get the stain out, it had probably the best date Arthur had ever had. Although now all he could to was sigh at the memory. He tried not to think about it too much as he pressed on through the park. The closer he got the more he could hear it.
The sound of the swings.
He walked up the slight bump of a hill to find the same person he found every night. The same bottle hanging from his hands as he mumbled to himself. Every time the bottle tipped he would bring it up for another swig. His clothes were not ratty but they seemed thrown on in a hurry and his hair was just about everywhere. Arthur paused before speaking. This type of thing was always the hardest.
"Francis, it's late," He said slowly approaching the man, "You should go home."
The man looked up slowly. He squinted then smiled. "I don't usually do men, but I guess you'll do."
Arthur sighed. De walked around and took a seat next to him on the swing. "Do you even know who I am?"
Francis laughed hard. It was painful to hear and even more painful to watch him almost fall. "Of course I do!" he scoffed. "You're…" He sat for a moment and stared at Arthur. His face was almost blank but he was trying to think. "Okay who are you?"
Arthur sighed. "I'm Arthur. You and your wife, Joan, always had dinner with me and my fiancé. They…." Arthur paused and swallowed shallowly, "they boarded the same plane together."
Francis looked at him confused. "Uh… but I'm not married."
England frowned hard. "We talked about this yesterday. Yes you are!" he said harshly, "You and your wife wanted a baby remember? You had just bought a bloody house down the street from mine the same week I was moving in! We even had a public fight about it and your wife clocked me in the jaw for giving you a black eye!"
Francis stared at him for a long time. When the drool started to fall, England knew this was lost cause. He threw up his hands in frustration. "Alright," he said standing, "Time to go home." He reached down and with a little bit of struggle managed to get Francis standing. "You know… this is very ironic," he said dragging off his forgotten friend who slumped on his shoulder.
This whole thing occurred because I wanted to practice writing something depressing... then it just got longer and longer... I should be working on other stories... oh well~