Hey! So, as I've already mentioned in my main story, I've finally played Mystery Room! One thing I particularly liked was the whole nearly back story of Alfendi and Hilda, then something I saw on Pinterest made me think THIS HAS TO BE WRITTEN! So, enjoy :)
Hopelessly Devoted
So, this is it then? I ask myself staring blankly at my suitcase, lying so uninvitingly on the bed. After all this time, after everything we've been through together, this is what tears us apart? Reluctantly, I pull open the wardrobe door and empty it of all my coats, dresses and other clothing items, careful not to touch any of his shirts that are hanging lifelessly from the rail. If I touched them, even just brushed my hand over the fabric, that would be it. I'd want to touch them again, I'd want to hold them, smell his aftershave, then I would cry. I won't let that happen, I'm not going to cry.
I finish packing my things from the bedroom, and move on to the bathroom. There isn't much to do, just my wash things and favourite towels need collecting. As I rummage through the small, mirrored cabinet, I stumble across the fine, ivory comb I brought him for his last birthday. He had protested loudly at this offering, saying that he never used any products in his hair if possible, and even less saw the need to comb it. I was one of the few who knew this was his way of showing gratitude. As far as I know, he had only used it once, before a dinner party with some work friends. He had looked so smart, so dashing, I begged him to do it more often, but he refused, saying that he preferred his hair as it was and didn't give a damn if I thought it was scruffy. I hold the dusty comb gingerly, and notice a few long, crimson strands entwined among teeth. Even that had been taken from me; after falling into a coma, his body went under such strain that his blood red hair turned a deep shade of purple; it's not terrible, but it's not the same. I pull one, fine thread from the rest and fiddle with it thoughtfully. Would it be a terrible thing to take some hair? I wonder. No, it wouldn't, but then what you do? Put it in a locket and keep it close to your heart forever? Be realistic, Hilda.
Before long I have finished, either packing or throwing away anything that relates to me. I'm not sure why I'm bothering, Alfendi may have woken up a different man, but he still seems to have all the intellect of his previous self. When he returns from the hospital, he'll work out that I've been here. I guess I'm just scared that he won't understand why, or worse, why I had left.
The taxi should arrive any minute now, but I'm not ready yet, I can't bear the thought of it being the last time I see this apartment. It may be small, and dirty and old, but it's the first place to feel like home in a long time. Is this really the right thing to do? I still find myself thinking. Is it right to leave him in his time of need? But even this is weak, Al has accepted what's happen, long before any of the rest of us. He doesn't seem upset or mournful, he's making steps towards physical recovery and he's already walking again. He can cope… Without me, that's why I'm leaving, isn't it?
Loud beeps come from the street. It's time. I haul my bags to the front door, passing the kitchen table on the way- DON'T think about the thing on the table, don't you dare. You're going to leave it here, that's what you- HILDA! I mutter something unlady-like under my breath as I pick up the pocketwatch. It's very beautifully made, with a smooth, bronze back and ornate hands, ticking softly under the crystal front. Al gave it to me, just days before it happened. It was unlike him to give me things, and he acted as if he wasn't happy about it, but I could tell he was aching for my approval. I was overjoyed upon receiving it, and not just because it was such a lovely gift; Al's father, Hershel, has already told me about the old family tradition: Give a watch to the girl you want to spend the rest of your time with.
The beeps grow more rapid. In a spur of the moment decision, I shove the watch in my pocket, it was just a gift, a nice, practical gift. He never said it was anything more, I assure myself. Besides, what kind of couple would we have made? We argued morning, day and night, about every little thing. We argued for the fun of it, we loved it, some happy family that would have been.
I drag my bags down the flights of stairs and out to the cab. Once everything is packed in, I give the driver my sister's address, careful not to let my voice crack or quiver. He nods silently, starts the engine and drives the cab down the road. I don't look back, nor make a point of being brave, rather, I take out my phone and text my sister, telling her I'm on my way. I don't look wistfully out of the window, or take out the pocket watch and stroke the glass face, instead, I call Commissioner Barton and ask when I'll be required back at work.
Remember, I tell myself, no matter what happens, you're still Inspector Hilda Pertinax. You have duties.
The pocket watch thing was borrowed from someone on Pinterest (can't remember who). I do not own Mystery room or any of it's amazing characters.