He dragged himself out of bed and avoided the mirror over his dresser as he trudged out of the bedroom. He didn’t want to look at his face. He knew he looked like walking roadkill. After all, he’d had an air of dead rodent about him for some time.
When he did finally muster the courage to look himself in the eye, Jane Ashton’s pale face appeared instead.
Happy anniversary, Michael! I’ve got a great day planned for us. I figured we could start with some moping, followed by a nap and a nightmare or two, and then maybe later we’ll relive the whole ordeal a few times. How does that sound?
“Go away.”
That’s not very sporting of you. After all, I died because you failed to save me. The least you could do is help me celebrate my death-iversary.
“Trent was right. I do need my head examined.” As he stared at his reflection, Jane took pity on him and began to slowly fade away. It hardly mattered. She’d be back. She’d been his constant companion for some time and she always returned.
He headed into the bathroom, took a leak, and washed his hands. Upon contemplating his reflection in another mirror, he realized he preferred Jane’s face to his own. All he saw was overgrown stubble, hollows in his face, and a year’s worth of worry under his eyes.
If only the groupies on Twitter could see him now. He’d seen mug shots that looked more flattering.
He glanced at the shower where he and Emily had made love. It had only been days ago, but every moment without her had dragged. A year might have passed.
She’d been true to her word, texting him again late last night. She’d checked on him and he’d responded, not wanting her to go to bed upset. His text was likely little comfort. He’d hurt her and he sure as hell had hurt Trent. What was he thinking, pouncing on the man in the front yard like that?
He thought he’d been defending Emily, but he’d gotten it all wrong. He seemed to be getting a lot wrong these days. His relationship with his brothers was suffering. They’d grown frustrated because he wouldn’t allow them to help him. God only knew his co-workers must think he was a basket case. The Chief of Police might want to give him a certificate but the people who mattered probably thought he was certifiable.
His mind was such a jumble of dark thoughts and bad memories and he didn’t want Emily to accept that burden. It might prove too much. He’d be transferring his hurt onto her and he’d sworn to never hurt her. Maybe he’d never said the words, but he carried them deep inside. After seeing how Trent treated her, he had already promised he’d be the one to take Emily’s cares away, not add to them. He wanted to be her salvation, in the same way she banished his pain.
Of course, he might like to think she took his pangs away, but they never really left completely.
One fucking year.
Why couldn’t he forget? Surely he was stronger than this. Surely he could move on. And yet every time he so much as closed his eyes, he saw the scene again. The blood, the fear, everything. He liked to pretend it didn’t still control him, that he was in complete possession of his mind and thoughts, but it wasn’t true. He might be able to force the images out of his head for an hour or two, but eventually they always seeped back into his consciousness, leaving him startled and angry and vulnerable.
Michael showered and dressed. He considered eating breakfast but wasn’t hungry. Turning on the TV held his attention, but not for long. Nothing seemed to help for long. He turned it right off again, in case any news channels decided to revisit Jane’s death. Without anything else to do, he dropped onto his couch and tried to sleep.
A ringing sound woke him up. Blinking, he sat up and looked at his watch. Nine a.m. Why would he have set his alarm for this time of day? He closed his eyes again.
Once again, he was accosted by the same ringing bell. Was it the phone? Goddamn telemarketers, intruding on a man first thing on a Saturday morning.
It took him a moment to realize it was the doorbell and not some sort of vile telemarketer conspiracy. Surprised, Michael forced himself off the couch and headed to the door, wrenching it open.
Emily stood on his front step, smiling, wearing shorts and a pale pink t-shirt. She was fresh and perky and pretty. It was as if the sun had plummeted to earth, taking the shape of a gorgeous woman with a breathtaking smile.
“Good morning, Michael.”
“Em. What are you doing here?”
“That’s not a very polite question.” She barreled into the house past him. “Are you going to invite me in?”
“Um, come in?”
Once inside, she put her hands on her hips and breathed in. Her nose wrinkled. “It’s stale in here.”
“I haven’t opened any windows yet.”
“Yeah, I’m afraid this sort of staleness needs more than an open window, but we can start with that. It’s a beautiful day outside.” She walked toward the nearest window, the front-facing one in his living room, and opened it. “How about we let in some sunshine? There’s a nice breeze.”
“Why are you here, Em?”
“When you say it like that, it sounds as if you don’t want to see me.” She sauntered toward him, her hips swaying. Once she was within inches, she nibbled on one corner of her bottom lip. “I hope you weren’t planning on avoiding me the rest of your life, because that would make me sad.”
If Michael didn’t know any better, he’d swear she was playing the seductress. Unfortunately, he wasn’t in the mood. Besides, she deserved better. “I’m not trying to avoid you. I’m just…I don’t know.”
