I'm here (English Version)

3:59 a.m.

3:59 a.m.  The green LED of the alarm clock on the bedside table dimly lit the room.  I woke up with a start and sat up on the bed.  I cupped my face into my hands staring at my own bare feet on the floor, elbows on my knees, hair brushed forward.  Breathe Hailey, you're at home, in your bed, it's okay.  In the early days these awakenings were unwelcome daily company.  Now it didn't happen so frequently or at least not so violently.  After all, it had been a lifetime.  Ten years.  Shit, when was this going to end?  Post traumatic stress disorder.  That's what Dr. Ulric had said.  It was this.  It could last forever.  I absolutely had to get up, I was out of breath, my hands were shaking terribly.  I slipped out of bed, not to wake him up.  Every time I was amazed at how he seemed to be able to sleep despite my not exactly peaceful awakenings.  His black hair on the pillow, his regular breathing.  I absolutely had to go out, I needed fresh air.  I retrieved my overalls and went to the bathroom to get dressed.  I avoided meeting my own reflection in the mirror.  I would have seen the usual dark circles. They Had become Part of me but I hated them.  I would wear makeup later to avoid the usual questions from colleagues.  Thoughtful questions for heaven's sake, but still questions I didn't feel like answering without sounding pathetic.  I tied my hair in a ponytail, grabbed my earphones and put on my shoes and technical jacket on the threshold of the front door.  I picked up the phone and texted her.  "Usual place, usual time" followed by a strictly black heart.  She knew what it meant.  She knew me most of all, she knew everything about my nightmares and I about her, she with her smile and her optimism, she with whom I had bonded right away.  My person.  I got one back.  An identical heart.  I closed the door behind me, turned on the music and went out for a run into the cold February night.

I slowed down as I passed in front of Mrs. Töpfer's gate and he was there as always, waiting for me.  He seemed to know when I was having nightmares.  I reached into my pocket, grabbed a cookie, and tossed it through the bars at him.  I had known Cerberus for a long time now.  Once he would have caught it but his reflexes weren't what they used to be.  It had already been ten years.  Shit.  Ten fucking years.  I got there and never left.  Just like Alan.  I resumed running with quicker pace and stopped breathless towards dawn at the usual place.  It always turned out like this when I had nightmares.  Let my hand slide on  the cold tombstone, stroked the engraved letters, sat down on the ground and lit a cigarette.  It was wet but, hey, damn it.  I didn't really smoke it, I actually smoked it for him.  As if he smoked it.  Sometimes it was a cigarette, sometimes I ate some chocolates, sometimes I read some news.  Sometimes I talked to him about work.  Sometimes I told him about him.  In any case, he certainly couldn't have judged me.  And he really was the last one who could have done it anyway.  He had turned my life upside down, the least he could do even if dead was bear me on his grave.  How many tears have I shed up here over the years, how much frustration, how much anger.  I missed him.  I hadn't had the chance to meet him in person.  But I missed him.  We missed him.  He had pulled me out of my normal quiet life and I had found myself living a real nightmare.  Not just me, them too, especially her.  If I could have brought him back to life for even ten minutes, I would have used them to punch him in the face.  He deserved it.

- Richy damn, even get cancer because of you -.  I put out the cigarette and started running towards the house.