Please Remember
The early morning sunlight streamed into our bedroom through the slits in the venetian blinds which covered the windows. The room was aglow in the warm orange tint of the sun's welcoming rays. I sat up in the bed and stretched my stiff limbs after rousing from a dream I remembered nothing about, apart from that it had been quite pleasant. His side of the bed was empty but recently so, as I could feel the warmth still emanating from where he had lain. He hadn't been gone long.
I was wondering if I should be worried and get up to look for him, when the man himself walked into the room. He was carrying freshly brewed tea in a china cup with its matching pink-rimmed saucer. Tucked underneath one arm was the morning paper.
I let out an inaudible breath of relief as Phoenix handed me my breakfast with a knowing smile. Milk, no sugar. I smiled in return, surprised and flattered. It wasn't a typically romantic act, but at the age of seventy-four you learned to appreciate the little things. I placed the cup and saucer set on the bedside table next to me so the tea could cool down some before I attempted to drink any. I didn't want to scald my tongue.
Phoenix slipped back into bed with me and together we glanced over the printed news. I held one side of the paper and Phoenix the other; between us our free hands busied themselves in the grasp of each other. We read together, thighs making comfortable contact beneath the bed sheets.
Today marked the fortieth anniversary of our marriage, and we had agreed to spend all day in bed. If we had been younger men, that would have meant getting physical. Nowadays the most intimacy Phoenix and I shared was a meaningful kiss. We had gotten past the urge to feel each other's bodies in a wild, passionate embrace years ago. We were old men now; though our libidos had slowed down we were still happy.
Phoenix squeezed my hand gently and I turned to him.
He was wearing a large wine-red robe loosely over his blue pyjamas, the ones I had bought him for his birthday. We had both aged a great deal since putting our courtroom days behind us. Phoenix's tousled hair was thin on the top and faded from white at the roots to grey ends. A thick but short beard and moustache covered the lower half of his face, a dirty grey colour. Crow's feet were etched at the corner of his eyes, from all the laughter he had endured in his life. Phoenix had always been the more optimistic partner in our relationship.
I on the other hand had gone white prematurely – it wasn't actually a far cry from the shade my hair was normally, if I was being honest. Unlike Phoenix, my facial hair was neatly trimmed in a well-maintained goatee. There were a few frown lines embedded into the grooves of my forehead, a telling sign of my anxious nature. I had a lot more to be anxious about these days, though, so I believe they were warranted.
Phoenix shifted his head slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. He let his side of the newspaper fall on to his lap and tilted towards me. I leaned in, understanding at once that Phoenix intended to initiate a kiss. My lips found his in a familiar, almost magnetic attraction and we moved with slow, practised movements. Our breathing quickly grew short and we pulled away not too long after. I gazed into Phoenix's eyes and my own filled with joy – a joy that was eradicated once I saw the now glazed expression in my partner's brown eyes.
"Who are you?" Phoenix whispered uncertainly. No, not this. Not now. Please, Phoenix.
"I said who are you?" he demanded, wrenching his hand from mine and glaring. I flinched, despite myself. I could not get used to Phoenix raising his voice to me.
"How did I get here? Where is Pearls – no, Trucy! Where is my daughter? I was just about to take her out for lunch. What have you done with my daughter?" growled Phoenix, his forehead creased in the ugliest rage. I was losing my grasp of the situation too fast. I had to calm him down before things got out of hand. I had to be patient with him, explain things gently and without alarming him. I had done it many times before, and expected to do it many times over. It wasn't a task I relished.
Things first became this way between us nearly five years ago now. Phoenix got sick – a cold, we both thought. I force-fed him chicken soup and wrapped him up in blankets when the shivering got really bad. When he didn't get better after three weeks, his condition steadily deteriorating, I knew we had to take him to the hospital.
Phoenix had caught some sought of virus. It wasn't deadly if treated in time, and the doctor assured us we had brought him in at the right moment. Phoenix stayed in the hospital overnight and I stayed by his side, loyal 'til the bitter end. Not that I predicted it would be bitter. Not then.
Phoenix developed a fever out of nowhere, dipping him in and out of consciousness. After weeks of shivering with the cold, it was a shock to his body to go to the extreme opposite. He wasn't strong enough to withstand such a change, and it left its mark ever since.
Phoenix had episodes where he would forget who I was. Not just me, but others too. His mind would erase all our years together temporarily, making him think he had been just five minutes away from defending a client when neither of us had worked in over ten years. Sometimes he would forget more, and wonder how he had gotten into the passenger's seat of my car when he was supposed to be in the third grade. The episodes were short at first but as we got older, Phoenix's condition worsened. He would become upset and angry, and his actions were unpredictable at best.
Dangerous at worst.
The first time it happened, I had been afraid. The doctor had warned me it was a possibility but I hadn't prepared myself to see Phoenix in such a state. The episode must have lasted for no more than three minutes, but it made a permanent impression on me.
I walked into the kitchen expecting to see Phoenix busily making a racket with the pots and pans. He had promised to make me a gourmet meal as a special weekend treat, which I suspected meant it was to be noodles and rice again from him. I didn't mind Phoenix's less than adventurous cooking, preferring to leave the extravagant meals to the professional chefs when we dined out.
Phoenix was just standing there, one hand on the back of the wooden chair tucked underneath the kitchen table. His drab cardigan was falling off one shoulder untidily. He wasn't swaying on his feet, but rather standing too still for it to be normal. That and the look in his eyes gave it away.
God, I'll never forget that look. His eyes were wide and filled with confusion. He was slow to focus his gaze on me and when they narrowed in on my form, there was no recognition there. His brown eyes were just glazed over with a haunting blankness. He blinked once, twice. His forehead creased ever so slightly, but I could see that no thoughts were being processed. Phoenix opened his mouth and tried to say something, but all that came out was a hollow rasp.
He closed his mouth, licked his lips and tried again. This time his voice worked – and what a small, lost voice it was.
"Wh-Who am I?" A lump formed in my throat as I stepped forward. This was hard for me, seeing Phoenix like this. But as hard as it was for me, I knew it had to be a thousand times worse for Phoenix. I had to be strong for him.
"Your name is Phoenix Edgeworth-Wright," I said, speaking slowly and softly. My heart hammered against my chest as I internalised my fear. "You are sixty-nine years of age." I approached Phoenix with careful movements, trying not to startle him. He looked surprised when I told him how old he was, as if he had been expecting a significantly lower number. Phoenix nodded stiffly.
"I think I…remember that I am Phoenix." His eyes caught mine and held them in place. "Who are you?"
The question stung. Over thirty years of marriage behind us had been reduced to this single moment. Everything we had been through together, our pain and happiness, wiped from Phoenix's mind temporarily. It wasn't fair.
"I am Miles."
"Miles?" repeated Phoenix, a mere whisper of his former self. "Miles… Miles… Who is Miles?"
I winced with the pain of seeing Phoenix that way. Not knowing who I was, barely knowing himself… It was hard for me to watch. In that moment, he didn't know me. He didn't know we were in love, knew nothing of what we had been through to get that way. I was a stranger to Phoenix, until he came back to himself and realised what had happened.
Phoenix had looked at me sharply, guilt and shock displayed all over his face. Then the expression crumpled as he broke down into tears.
"I'm so sorry," he repeated over and over. I held him in my arms and rocked him gently, feeling his body shake with each heart-wracking sob. I let my own tears fall silently on to his shoulder, fighting the husk in my voice as I assured Phoenix that everything was okay.
"Don't touch me!" Phoenix hollered now, rolling away from me to jump out of the bed. "I asked you a question: where is Trucy?" I stood up too so that we were on opposite sides of our bed in a tension filled face-off. Phoenix bared his teeth, his eyes wild and unreadable. I tried to calm him down with the truth.
"Phoenix, Trucy lives a five hour drive from here, with her husband and youngest daughter. She's probably still sleeping." Phoenix's face contorted into unbridled rage, his complexion heating up as he regarded me with an emotion I didn't recognise on him.
"Liar: Trucy is only nine years old!" he snarled. He picked up his lamp, yanking it out of the socket and threw it in my direction with impressive force. I managed to dodge it – just. The lamp whizzed past my left shoulder and collided with my own lamp, upsetting it and the tea set. Porcelain, glass and china came crashing to the floor and smashed upon impact.
"Please, Phoenix," I begged, "try to remember." He glared at me instead, and I suddenly knew what the emotion I was seeing on his face was. Hatred.
"Miles? Is everything okay in there?" a muffled woman's voice called from outside the bedroom. I glanced back; the door was closed. Phoenix looked at the door then looked at me. A single thought flashed clear as day in the subtle changes of his facial expression: 'I must get out of here'.
Phoenix made a dash for the door just as Franziska walked in; I stepped into his path and blocked him. Frustrated, Phoenix tried to shove me out of the way but I didn't budge.
"It's okay Phoenix, I'm here to help you," I said as patiently as I could. That was when he slapped me.
His hand was hard and heavy, cutting across my face in a swift movement. The sound seemed to echo in the room; everything became still. My body froze in place, stunned by what had just happened to it. My mind too was still, unable to process it.
"Phoenix!" Franziska exclaimed after a moment of delayed shock. She forcibly dragged him to the furthest corner of the room and sat him down. She crouched beside him as his body shook with fury. He wasn't sorry about my throbbing cheek. It hurt, but no more than the knowledge that this was the first time Phoenix had ever hit me. Even in our most heated arguments, neither of us ever raised a hand on the other. We couldn't.
Well, it seemed that Phoenix could.
I tried to convince myself that this wasn't Phoenix. It wasn't my Phoenix who had slapped me in the face. Phoenix wasn't himself at the present moment: he couldn't be accounted for his actions. I told myself this and yet could not completely believe it. As much as I wanted to believe that Phoenix would never hit me, the fact of the matter was that he had. We were supposed to be in love.
Taking several deep breaths, nostrils flaring as I fought back tears, I caught Franziska's eye as she spoke soft words of assurance to my husband. He appeared to be calming down under her supervision. I wasn't too surprised – Franziska always had a way of making people do what she wanted. I was glad she was here for me. Her steely blue eyes informed me that she had control of the situation for now; I could have a minute to myself. I turned my back on both of them and took that minute.
Once I was over the shock and felt that I could look Phoenix in the eye without feeling a stabbing in my chest, I turned back to Franziska and Phoenix. I knew my eyes were a telling watery red colour, but didn't care. Franziska had her arms around Phoenix, whose knees were drawn up into his chest. They were rocking gently, an action so subtle that I couldn't tell who was causing it. Phoenix was visibly less frustrated than he had been just seconds before and I felt confident enough to approach him. I joined the two of them on the floor.
Franziska's hushed tones of comforting nonsense words eventually trailed off, leaving me with an opening to try my hand at bringing Phoenix back to himself. She reached over and touched my hand briefly, supporting me with a limp smile.
Age had been kind on Franziska von Karma. Her hair was long and thick, the silvery tendrils framing her perfectly preserved face. Franziska had managed to retain her beauty the natural way, not that something as shallow as her looks mattered to her anymore. She was dressed in a shapeless nightgown, the plainness of the sleepwear indicative of how little interest Franziska had in looking her best at all times.
"Phoenix, my name is Miles Edgeworth-Wright," I began. Phoenix stared at me quizzically. The silent word on his lips questioned what I had just told him. 'Wright'? I nodded at him encouragingly. "We are legally married, yes, and have been for forty years. We love each other, Phoenix. Do you understand?"
Phoenix said nothing, though his gaze displayed sorrow. I knew that look, had seen it before: he believed me, but was sad that he couldn't remember it. I took this as my cue to continue describing to him our relationship, as I had done many times before.
"We are quite the pair, you and I. You were always the optimistic one, a constant grin fixed on your face. I was the more... Complex one, shall we say. As a young man I was haunted by my past demons and it was only with your guidance that I was able to overcome them. I was always in love with you, Phoenix. Our relationship developed as if it was inevitable, and you helped me so much. You changed me and in return, I've done everything I could to make you happy."
"Sorry Miles, I just can't," Franziska mumbled suddenly, scrambling to her feet in a hurry. As she fled from the bedroom, I saw her hand move to wipe a tear from her face. A few moments later, somewhere in the house, a door slammed shut.
Ah, she still hasn't completely come to terms with her loss. After a quick reflection, I understood why Franziska had left so abruptly. Hearing me harp on about how much Phoenix and I love each other must have been tough for Franziska.
Beside me, I felt Phoenix's body relax a little and regained hope that he was coming around.
"I think I remember some things," he began slowly. My heart rose with optimism. "…Miles." Phoenix's expression was serious, grave even. I braced myself for the uncomfortable question that was sure to follow. I was not disappointed.
"Why is Franziska here in a nightdress? Why isn't she with Adrian?"
Adrian von Karma, Franziska's wife, passed away about a year and a half ago. Franziska hasn't been the same since. She was able to keep her composure until the funeral, where she broke down into a vulnerable wreck of grief. It was killing her to be in the apartment she had shared with Adrian; I couldn't bear to see her in such a broken state. It was only logical that I invite her to live with me and Phoenix: we had a spare room since Trucy had moved out decades ago. In return for my kindness Franziska helped me take care of Phoenix, for which I would be forever grateful.
"Oh," said Phoenix mournfully. "It must be difficult for her."
Nothing more was said for a while after that. The two of us sat in the corner of our bedroom in close proximity. I could feel Phoenix's body beside mine, the pulse of every breath he took matching my own. I didn't try to hold his hand, unsure if he was ready for that yet. It was tricky trying to decide how far to push my luck; I didn't want to alarm Phoenix any more than he had been already today.
Phoenix shifted positions, probably losing the feeling in his limbs from staying in the same place too long. I heard a distinct rustling crackle when he did this, and looked over at him quizzically. Phoenix was just as confused as I was by the noise. He felt his robe, slipping a hand into one of the pockets to pull out an unsealed cream envelope. It had my name written on it in blue ink. It was undoubtedly the work of Phoenix's untidy scrawl. He handed the envelope to me hesitantly.
Nonplussed, I took out the pieces of paper that were tucked inside the envelope and scanned them briefly. It was all Phoenix's handwriting; he had obviously written me a letter during one of his more coherent times.
A hand touched my shoulder, signalling me to look at Phoenix in surprise. His brown eyes were large and moist.
"Read it to me Miles," he requested in a whisper. "Please." I did as he asked.
"Dearest Miles," the letter began.
"Dearest Miles,
I know that today is our anniversary. Forty magical years married together – hooray for us! During that time, I never regretted loving you. I mean it, Miles. Even when we had our bad days, screaming at each other empty words to hurt, I still loved you with every pulsating beat of my heart that you claimed.
The days we share now are trying for you, I do realise this. I'm sorry for what I have taken for granted all these years: memories with you. You are so patient with me, so understanding every single time. Even when I do not remember you, I know that I still love you Miles, and that you love me.
This might just be the ramblings of a confused old man, but Miles I swear to you that even when I do not know you, the love in your eyes will always bring me back to myself. Always. Each time I return from that lost state and see you holding my hand or rubbing my back softly, my heart swells with love for you. Sometimes it feels like it will burst from all the love it is holding inside of me.
I wish you didn't have to see me forget you and all we have together, even for a moment. You of all people don't deserve that. You've been through hell in your lifetime, and are going through it now with me. But by some miracle, you love me enough to stick around and take care of me. Miles Edgeworth-Wright, you are a remarkable man. I love you so much. I truly do.
I hope you don't regret that.
Love always,
Your Phoenix."
Before I had finished reading the letter, I was in tears. The beauty of the letter contrasted with my still twitching face, overwhelming me with the incompatibility of what I knew. The letter proved that no matter what, Phoenix still – and would always – love me. I of course returned the sentiment tenfold.
"Wow," breathed Phoenix, "Did I really write that?" I ignored him, trying to convince myself that this wasn't happening. This wasn't the lost Phoenix, I told myself. This was the Phoenix who had written me such a beautiful letter for our fortieth wedding anniversary. My throat closing up and preventing me from speaking any words, I pulled Phoenix into me. I hugged his body tight to my own, wanting to hold on to this feeling for as long as I could.
The moment was made sweeter when I felt Phoenix tentatively wrap his arms around me in reciprocation. If I could bring myself to speak, I would have told him that I had no regrets about loving him either, and never would. I would go through hell with him because I loved him completely, irrationally and eternally. As long as I woke up in the same bed as Phoenix every morning, I knew that our love would solve everything - whether he remembered me or not.
Note: Partly inspired by the song "I Remember You" from Adventure Time, but otherwise it's all me: my mind wandered decades into the future to see what life had in store for the relationship of Phoenix and Miles. I may do another fic set just prior to this, telling Franziska's story after she loses Adrian.
Would you believe I'm actually in a happy mood? I have no idea why I've got the urge to write depressing fics, other than that I find it fun! I hope you enjoyed reading this, fellow FanFictionite.