Reminiscence

He was gone

He was gone from time to time. She hated when he was gone. His side of the bed was empty, cold to the touch and that granted her too much space to occupy. She stretched all over it, the sheets got tangled with her legs, half of it stuck underneath her. A cold was inevitable, specially during the winter, cold that she usually had to go over by herself. 

She hated when that happened. He always felt guilty about it, since most of the time he didn't really give her a warning when he didn't have to. She knew he had to leave once in a while, it was part of his job. And if that was so, if that was what he was obliged to do, she would accept it. Always.

But what could be used to describe their bed when he was gone could be used to describe their shared apartment as well. It was messy, albeit he always made sure to help keep the disarray tamed for them both, and there was just enough space in the one bedroom tight flat for one person to live comfortably; they found it awfully cramped for the two of them, as they always crashed into each other or the furniture. Yet, she quickly caught on, whenever he was gone, it was too empty. Too cold. Too much space left to be occupied. Not by anything, but by him.

Yet, the worst thing she found to be too hollow was her own mind. She tried to focus on school, on her law degree that was halfway to finish. She unsuccessfully rummaged through the clutter for him to arrive home to a nice surprise, a finally clean living room space, hoping that household chores would keep her from the constant worry in the back of her mind. However, she couldn't run from those thoughts that overwhelmed her: that empty corner of her mind left unoccupied, free for the intrusive ideas to roam inside her brain. The anxiety never left her, the fear that she might have said her last goodbye without being aware of it, the fear of it being the very last kiss, the fear of it being the last time they shared the words of "I love you". 

Unnecessary. He would always be back. He'd never abandon her. He said so himself. And he was good at what he did, whether he found it pleasant or not. He would return; he would no matter what. He said so himself.

But this time, as much as she told herself repeatedly like a mantra that whenever he was gone it wouldn't be for long, a pit formed on her stomach. When she didn't receive news of any type for a week, something very much unusual from him, who always had her preoccupations in mind; who made sure to keep her updated knowing that she had not any other form of contact when he went on work trips, she got antsy. Tidying the place wasn't enough anymore, taking care of assignments in the library had proven not to be an efficient form of distraction, as her professors' feedback confirmed to her and the motherly embrace of books merely kept his presence, or lack thereof, latent in the back of her mind. 

Soon, a week turned into two which turned into a month. The thought of him running away never crossed her mind, despite her mother's intel about the situation; her knowledge about the organization he worked for never let any feelings of betrayal seeping through her. And while the second month that went by made her question that possibility for a while, her lack of self-worth kicking in as he was gone and she was still there by herself without any word from him, the knock on the door at the third ridded her of any possibility of him running away from their relationship. 

When she heard it, she immediately jumped to the door, as only one person would have a reason to come by uninvited. Hope flooded through her veins immediately, her heart drumming feverishly against her ribcage. In her desperation, looking through the peephole of her front door was forgotten (hasty of her), frantic shaky hands unlocking her door. Once she did, the door was opened with all her strength, bumping loudly against the wall. Yet, the weeping smile that had unconsciously formed on her face was quickly replaced by watery eyes.

It wasn't him. 

The man at the door wasn't him.

At first, she didn't recognise him. Oda didn't have many pictures of his co-workers and refrained from telling her anything about them or the Port Mafia's affairs to ensure her safety. Yet, after observing him for a second, she vaguely recognized his thin frame, chocolate eyes and slightly dishevelled brown hair. On his hand was an envelope with her lover's name.

She didn't need anything other than the grimness in this man's gaze to figure it out.

Yet, only after reaching for the letter with a quivering grasp and reading its contents did she let her faith crumble.

She fell to her knees. Her mouth was slightly open and a single tear slid down her cheek.

He was gone plenty of times before and came back to her arms. Yet, this time, he was truly gone.