The Missing

I don’t know where it went wrong.
I don’t remember when it went wrong.
All I know is that one perfect morning I woke up, and I opened my eyes.

I don’t know my name. In fact, I don’t remember it. I don’t remember a lot of things, like where I was born, or who my mother was. Don’t get me wrong, I know the names and places, but I don’t remember what it was like to live in the house that I lived, what it looked like, or the smell that would waft out from the kitchen window into the yard in the early evening.
These things were washed away like paint off a wall along time ago. I just don’t know when. But there are things that remain. Things that stain my memory like blotches that bleach won’t take out. I don’t know why it is these memories that stay awake in my mind, haunting and teasing, but they are there. And they won’t go away.
All these memories, be they vague and faded, are still clear. It was as if it all happened in a dream. A dream I don’t recall well enough to tell the details, but well enough to know what he did.
All these memories revolve around him, and him only. It is strange.

I want to tell you a story about a man that I used to know. A man who was caring and loving, whom I loved with all my heart and who was my world, and how it was all taken away from me in one night.

“…”
He would say my name, and softly touch my cheek. I couldn’t describe to you what his voice was like even if I tried, because I don’t remember. All I know is that it was soft and beautiful. It was like music to my ears. It made me want to laugh and cry, jump and dance. I think I could compare it to the sound of a small creek. Calming, relaxing, wonderful.

I remember the first time he told me he loved me. We were in a meadow of purple and yellow flowers. The smell of spring and the sound of singing birds filled the air. Trees gently rustled all around us. He held my hands and brought me closer to him.

“I love you, …”
His voice was warm, and so very real and close. I know this, because I imagine that is what he would sound like. My memories give muffled echoes, but my heart says otherwise.

“I love you, …, and I want to be with you. Forever, and ever.”
I had blushed. This memory makes my heart race. It was so overwhelming.

“We can go away, far away, they won’t catch us. They can’t stop us. We’re grown up now, we can go.”
I said his name, I know I did, and I replied something. But like his muffled echoed voice, mine is just as distant. I looked up as I said his name and agreed with joy before faltering. I think I said something about family. My memories tell me his blurred smile faltered, his hazy brows furrowed, and his dark eyes lowered.

“…, I can’t live without you. You’re my one and only.”
Wind softly rustled his hair. I know it was dark, black perhaps, like a raven. His eyes were so warm, but they were holes of lies and deceit into which I fell.

‘My one and only…’
Yes, I was his one and only.
I know I loved the feeling of it at the time, but I also know that later, I was afraid of hearing the same words. My heart throbs at the hazy memories. The pain, the fear, the things he put me through, and the things I put myself through for him. I don’t recall him forcing me to do anything. He was gentle, always so gentle, always so kind and gentle. I believed in him. I thought he was the nicest person, the kindest. He wouldn’t hurt a soul.

And then the scary people came.