Disclaimer: Not mine.
He ticks the days off on a calendar. A big 'x' at the end of the day. Something to remind him that he's made it through another one. If everything goes right, he won't have to relive that day again. Of course, there are always those days that he wishes he could repeat. Good days, you might call them. To him, they're days when nobody died, nobody was hurt and everything was peaceful for a day. There aren't many of them, but he almost prefers it that way sometimes. He's sure that if a whole week passed where everyday crossed off went under that category, he would think something dreadful had happened. Not dreadful, perhaps, but... no, some thing dreadful. Because, when he was happy to cross off the days, put a big 'x' through the little box, it meant things were going the way they were supposed to. The way God apparently intended them to go. The way he was used to.
"You asleep?" Her whisper comes out of the darkness.
"No."
Her hand is warm on his chest.
"What are you thinking about?"
He smiles a bit. "Calendars."
"Calendars?" she repeats and he notes the incredulity in her voice.
"Calendars," he says, his smile growing.
"You really are strange, you know that?"
"I do indeed know that," he affirms.
"Just thought I'd tell you that."
"And so you have."
In the darkness, he imagines her head rising and falling with his chest.
"Why calendars?"
He allows himself a laugh. "Does it matter?"
"No, not really, just... calendars?"
"The days. How you mark them off."
"Me personally? Or..."
"Or. Just in general. Well, me, really."
She's curled up against him, the length of her body pressed against his side, warm and alive.
"You really are strange."
He's still smiling. There's a certain joy and entertainment in telling her what he's thinking about sometimes. Random things. Things that sound, as she puts it, strange. Odd things. Things that mean something to him, but to just about everyone else, they're strange. Like marking days off on the calendar.
"Ever finish a day and just be happy it's done with? Not even a hard case or anything, just a day that needs to be done. A day that you're glad you don't have to repeat."
"Yeah," she says slowly.
"Ever finish a day and wish you could repeat it? Just do it over and over again because it was so good. A day that emulates the way you want everyday to be, on the surface at least."
"Yeah," she says again, still slowly.
"That's what I was thinking about. Crossing off days on the calendar."
Her back is warm under his hand, the skin soft where her shirt rode up just enough for his fingers to touch the skin at the small of her back.
"Calendars," she mutters just the way he was used to.