Without a Sound

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
By Edna St. Vincent Millay

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year’s bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide!
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go,—so with his memory they brim!
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, “There is no memory of him here!”
And so stand stricken, so remembering him!

(Mikey’s P.O.V.)

I clenched my fists so that I didn’t push Charlotte as she ran past me and out the door. I wasn’t normally a violent person, but I felt like I was completely out of control.

Baring my teeth, I went to the window. I listened as she practically fell down the stairs, and I only felt a slight pinch of guilt. She wasn’t seriously hurt. Besides, she would probably be in more danger if she stayed with me. I was a little annoyed that she left the front door open. I didn’t feel like going down to close it. I refused to go down and close it.

When she got fairly far from the house, she looked back and caught my eye. She looked so hopeless, confused, apologetic… I turned away, unable to look at her face. She turned too, and I felt her blood – the blood she drank from me – getting farther and farther away. Within minutes, I couldn’t even feel her presence anymore.

I was alone once again, with no one to take my anger out on but myself. Good. That was the way it should have been. I went to sit in the center of the room on the hard wood floor.

I was such an idiot. A jerk. I didn’t even know why I was so angry at Charlotte. Besides being curious, I had to admit to myself that she hadn’t done anything wrong. Maybe I’d just directed so much anger, hate, and regret towards myself for so long that once someone else came along, I lessened my burden by putting some on her. I was weak, but even knowing this didn’t change that I was angry at her.

I remembered that she had looked confused, but maybe I was more confused about my feelings than she was. I didn’t understand how I felt.

It was impossible not to look up at the paintings I hadn’t seen in so long. It dug knives through my chest, but their beauty was irresistible. I didn’t even know what I was doing when I got up and pulled the sheets off the rest of the painting.

I went from one to the next, taking time to savor the amazing detail. I caressed some of the brush strokes and delicately outlined the figures with my fingers. When I finally pulled off the last sheet, I looked around me. All were beautiful.

All still looked as perfect and real as they had seventeen years ago. These painting were as immortal as the cursed body I was trapped in. Seventeen years had not aged any of us, but I would have rather been the Mikey in one of the paintings. It would have hurt much less.

All the exquisite paintings had been painted by a young, promising artist: my wife. Painting had been her passion. I couldn’t express what I would give to see her again.

Ivy… her name was as exotic and unique as Charlotte’s. The stupid tears were coming again. Would they ever go away? Sometimes I wished they would. Other times I hoped they would stay, forever reminding me. But even without them, how could I forget?

They say time heals this sort of thing. Time does not heal. You do not forget. Maybe a day will come when other things mask the pain, but it is still there. It never leaves. It’s like a leech, sucking every last drop of blood. Ha. How ironic.

Never again would Ivy lift the brush in her hand and create an image better than the original. Never again would she proudly show me her newest creation. Never again would she modestly deny my well-deserved compliments.

I would never hear her voice. I would not see her face, touch her skin, feel her lips on mine, her hand in mine… Never. And it was all my fault.

And I couldn’t leave out my little Sylvia from my despair. Her laughter, her smiles, her voice saying, “Look at me, Daddy!” All gone. At least her death wasn’t on me.

But Ivy, my wife… I loved her with all my heart, even though I doubted that she still loved me from heaven. I knew she was in heaven, and I knew I’d never make it there. So maybe it was okay if she didn’t love me anymore, but even if she despised me, I would’ve wanted to see her.

I was so confused, though. I loved her just as much as I ever did; I always would. I could not stop loving Ivy. Despite this, I was starting to feel something for Charlotte. I didn’t want her to get hurt, and I wanted to make her happy, be with her, and spend time with her.

These things absolutely puzzled and terrified me at the same time. Nevertheless, I felt awful for making her leave. I wanted Charlotte to come back. I wanted her to look at me and say a million things without a word. Without making a sound, she could say things with her smiled and tears.

Just when I was wishing for her to come back, I felt blood approaching. My hopes that it might be Charlotte were smashed when I realized it was coming too quickly. Seconds later, I acknowledged that it was Gerard coming in a car.

Let him come in. Let him enter through the ajar front door and find me here, weeping like a little baby. Who cared if he saw me? He knew I was like this, he’d just never seen it firsthand.

I heard his footsteps and heard him calling my name, but I didn’t answer. He would find me soon enough.

“Mikey,” he said softly when he was in the doorway.

Now I felt ashamed that he was seeing me like this. Maybe he had had no idea how weak and pitiful I really was, and here I was sitting on the floor with my head in my hands. I didn’t turn around to answer him.

“Mikey,” he repeated. “What the hell are you doing? Celia found Charlotte in the woods close to our house.”

This caught my attention, and I looked up to see him leaning against the doorframe. Had Charlotte really run all the way to his house? Was that even possible?

He saw my tear-stained face, and his irritation quickly turned to concern. “What happened?” he asked. “Why did she run away from you?”

“She didn’t run away,” I answered. “I told her to leave. I made her go.”

Now Gerard looked angry. “Why would you do that?”

I pounded my fist on the floor. “I don’t know!” I yelled. “I don’t know anything anymore!”

He scowled at me, but he didn’t say anything for a long time. “That answer isn’t good enough,” he finally retorted. “She was crying more than you are. Her feet were bare and covered in blood. So were her hands and face.”

I pulled at my hair. Why had I done this? I hadn’t meant to hurt her. “She was snooping around and came in here and was looking at Ivy’s paintings,” I said gruffly. I could tell that he was surprised I had used her name.

“I got mad,” I continued. “I thought I was going to hurt her, so I told her to get out of my house. And now I’m confused and I don’t know why I feel this way.”

“Grow up,” he said darkly.

I didn’t know what to say. I turned away from him, and more tears escaped my eyes. I really did need to grow up.

“You’re acting like a child, Mikey.” His words stung. I knew they were true, but I couldn’t help it. “Get up off the floor. Stop crying. Come with me and we’ll go to Charlotte. She needs you, and you’re being an ass. You need her too.”

I knew that now. I got up and left that room behind, letting him take me to his car.