This Tragic Affair
Forwards, Backwards
Monique couldn’t remember what life was like before Daniel died. She couldn’t imagine not being depressed and sullen, or what it was like to not remain in bed all day. She stayed at her parents’ house in her old room, oblivious to the world moving on around her.
So many people had tried to get her to move on. They told her she should go back to the flat, clear out Daniel’s things and move into the inner city. Monique shouldn’t have to do anything other than be with her fiancée – in her opinion, life wasn’t worth living anymore.
The police had come several times to question her, but the information she gave was useless. It was impossible to get anything out of her; instead, it was as if her mind was permanently locked and the key had been long thrown away.
She rarely left her bed. It was only if she needed to go to the toilet or eat did she force herself out of her comfort zone. Her diminishing appetite had left an effect on her already slim figure. No longer did her skin shine with health, but an unusual greyish tinge from a lack of sunlight shadowed her complexion. Her dark red hair had become dry and brittle and the usual spark in her dark green eyes had gone.
Each day slipped by the same. No matter how hard she tried, tears spilled down her raw cheeks, while her sides ached from constant sobbing. Day by day the realisation that he would never come back cut deeper into her mind, impossible to ignore.
But something else could be felt deep below the surface. Something that wasn’t depressing – but bitter and resentful. She could not quite tell exactly what it was; all she knew was that she wanted to hunt down Daniel’s killer, to find the answers.
What could she do? Go out there on her own, back in the real world, without anyone and go find the person who killed her fiancée?
She sniffed and wiped away her tears, forcing herself to sit up. The last thing she wanted to do was move on. To her, that was insulting to Daniel’s memory.
She paused.
“What did you want?” Her voice was barely a whisper. How was she supposed to know what was an insult to Daniel’s memory? He couldn’t see her now. She didn’t know what he wanted.
Daniel was a broken, soulless body buried beneath the ground now. And to Monique, that was frightening. More frightening than the fact a murderer was looming out there, somewhere in the foggy depths of the world, scot-free and without a care.
Her muscles seemed to move on their own accord. Monique felt her legs weakly swing over the edge of the bed and crumple on the soft carpet from a lack of use. The air from outside her bed was freezing cold but fresh; it was like a slap on the face.
She felt a sense of awakening. If she didn’t want to move on in life, then maybe she could move backwards. Retrace those long-forgotten steps of hers and Daniel’s. Lying in that bed had been like time had temporarily frozen for her – a time of mourning and renewal.
It wasn’t going to be easy.
All she knew is that she sure as hell didn’t want to move forwards.
So many people had tried to get her to move on. They told her she should go back to the flat, clear out Daniel’s things and move into the inner city. Monique shouldn’t have to do anything other than be with her fiancée – in her opinion, life wasn’t worth living anymore.
The police had come several times to question her, but the information she gave was useless. It was impossible to get anything out of her; instead, it was as if her mind was permanently locked and the key had been long thrown away.
She rarely left her bed. It was only if she needed to go to the toilet or eat did she force herself out of her comfort zone. Her diminishing appetite had left an effect on her already slim figure. No longer did her skin shine with health, but an unusual greyish tinge from a lack of sunlight shadowed her complexion. Her dark red hair had become dry and brittle and the usual spark in her dark green eyes had gone.
Each day slipped by the same. No matter how hard she tried, tears spilled down her raw cheeks, while her sides ached from constant sobbing. Day by day the realisation that he would never come back cut deeper into her mind, impossible to ignore.
But something else could be felt deep below the surface. Something that wasn’t depressing – but bitter and resentful. She could not quite tell exactly what it was; all she knew was that she wanted to hunt down Daniel’s killer, to find the answers.
What could she do? Go out there on her own, back in the real world, without anyone and go find the person who killed her fiancée?
She sniffed and wiped away her tears, forcing herself to sit up. The last thing she wanted to do was move on. To her, that was insulting to Daniel’s memory.
She paused.
“What did you want?” Her voice was barely a whisper. How was she supposed to know what was an insult to Daniel’s memory? He couldn’t see her now. She didn’t know what he wanted.
Daniel was a broken, soulless body buried beneath the ground now. And to Monique, that was frightening. More frightening than the fact a murderer was looming out there, somewhere in the foggy depths of the world, scot-free and without a care.
Her muscles seemed to move on their own accord. Monique felt her legs weakly swing over the edge of the bed and crumple on the soft carpet from a lack of use. The air from outside her bed was freezing cold but fresh; it was like a slap on the face.
She felt a sense of awakening. If she didn’t want to move on in life, then maybe she could move backwards. Retrace those long-forgotten steps of hers and Daniel’s. Lying in that bed had been like time had temporarily frozen for her – a time of mourning and renewal.
It wasn’t going to be easy.
All she knew is that she sure as hell didn’t want to move forwards.