Mementos of the brief time we shared

It's the dead of the night, but Joseph feels very much alive, his heart beating fast and hard as he wakes up with a start in his makeshift hospital bed. His eyes try to grasp a threat in the dark room, but it is gone, leaving him with the remnants of a bad dream. He pushes away the bedsheets that are tangled between his legs, clinging to his hot, sweaty skin.

Pieces of his nightmare lingers in front of his eyes as he sits on the edge of the bed with difficulties. He always has the two same kind of dreams. The first ones involve himself and the fright of his last fight in the volcano. The other ones...

Gruesome things that he never actually saw happening, but his imagination is quite vivid as it tempts to fill up the holes in his memories. Red, mushy flesh, a hand with broken nails sinked in the stone. Trying to crawl out, desesperate. Limbs torn into shreds, shattered bones showing out. A guturral calling of his name that should never be pronounced that way.

Joseph shakes his head, shivers of disgust running down his spine. As much as he tries his best to appear like his usual goofy self at day, nights relentelessly drain his sanity away. Physical wounds are healing slowly but surely even if he still needs to ajust with having only one hand left.

But his mind oh his poor mind...

He stands up, grunting under the effort and grabs his crutch. The room reeks of dark energy, leaving him wondering wether it comes from his deranged thoughs or not. Anyway, he needs some fresh air.

He goes past her room in his way out, attempting to be as silent as he can despite the clinking of the crutch of the floor. She is not sleeping with him as he is recovering. He doesn't want her to sleep with him at all. He doesn't want his ugly thoughts and nightmares to taint her soul. She has been throught enough.

Silence engulfs the island as he steps outside, except for the calming waves licking the shores. The wind kisses his cheeks in gentle blows, soothing his nerves ever so slightly. Everything is calm and oddly serene, peaceful, unlike the storm raging in his head.

Even if the place had never been bursting with crowd as far as he knows, it used to be livelier with only the six of them. He used to be livelier, despite that sword of Damocles hanging above his head. What is left now? Ghosts of laughter, echos of a friendly rilvalry?

Joseph doesn't like the place anymore. But he doesn't have the desire to leave. He is already gone, but he feels like going away too would mean to leave him behind for good.

He sits on the wooden pier illuminated by the silver moon, next to the small boat that they will eventually use to get to Venice. Not now. But soon he won't have any more reason to stay.

He misses the others of course, and they must miss him too despite knowing that he is alive.

Alive. He got out of this alive. He can't tell if he should thank luck, fate, or something else, but he did it. It's over, he can rest. He can start his new life. With her.

Oh, the lies. He is trying his best, and he knows he really cares about her, tender warmth blooming inside him when she takes care of him, sweet smiles and affectionate gestures. She will make a good wife and if he dares hope, a good mother, despite her being sometimes clumsy and absent-minded. He can't say that he doesn't like her.

He is certain that her shape will never fit completely in the gaping hole of his heart.

It's strange for him to sound so dramatic. They had known each other for about a month and his bloody hand tore a great piece of his beating organ apart, dragging it with him to the next world in exchange for that ring and bandana. Leaving his chest open and wounded, his feelings laid bare and raw. Leaving him behind.