Without Her

What's done is done.....

I've drank so much that, at times, I don't even know why I'm drinking. I could never drink enough to get her out of my mind and, especially, not enough to drown out the sound of her voice and I don't know if I drink to chase the memories of her. She haunts me, still, be it in the still hours of the night, early in the morning, the crowds outside, or in flashes of memory. "What's done is done, Nonon...." I could hear her voice tell me. Still, I could never drink enough to drown out the sound of her voice, be it whiskey, wine, sake, or whatever.

By now, I have a roommate. Shiro doesn't drink much, actually, he all but refuses to touch the stuff. I remember, once, I asked him why and he's told me, "Because of what it's doing to you." I told him that we used to have wine with her and he told me, "Yes, we did, but, despite her wealth, she never liked excess, Nonon." He was right on that. For all of her money, she preferred moderated things. "I miss her, too, Nonon," Shiro told me, "but I haven't taken to a vice to cope." I wish I could tell him that he's wrong but I knew I couldn't.

Since she died bringing that parasite into this world, it seems that our little group splintered. Shiro is practically the only one I talk to and, a lot of the time, we hardly talk, though it's sort of hard to do that when I spend a lot of my time drinking. Dog's moved away and he sometimes checks in, Frog's moved in with the Underachiever, and I don't really know what the Monkey's up to, except that he argues with me about the booze.

By now, Matoi doesn't even take my calls anymore, no, not after what happened that one time. "After what happened that one time, call me when ya' sober!" were the last words she exchanged to me. There's some irony to this, I think, because she would have wanted us to get along or, at least, be civil, as she was often after us to be. Thinking about it, I don't think I've had much association with Matoi after her sister died and I certainly didn't have much to do with her before. I will give it to her that, at least, for her sister's sake, she's tried to extend an olive branch.

Everywhere I go, I see her, just out of the corner of my eye. Sometimes, faintly, I feel her arms around my shoulders. A song that comes on? It so happens to be one that she liked. I think I see her in a crowd, only to find out that I hadn't. I try to hide away all of the pictures of her but her image still remains etched into my mind. I see and call out to her in dreams, but I can't reach her. Her birthday comes and I'm reminded of when I celebrated her 28th birthday—The last birthday she'd ever celebrate. I smell her scent in the flowers she's loved, hell, the gardens she's started are still here. Her voice, a voice that was like music to my ears, is a voice I can't seem to drown out. Reality is painful to face, and, in my stupor, I can't get her off my mind. Am I chasing the memories or am I trying to forget?

And then my thoughts drift to Mika, the daughter whose birth took her mother's life. Usually, I drink enough to go to sleep but, when I think about how Mika took her mother away from us, I start drinking more. I've never gone to see her but Shiro just had to have a picture of her. I was right, seeing her and what she'd look like is as painful as dying an active death. I knew it wasn't her fault, no, it wasn't but I couldn't stand her. Now, I couldn't drink enough to get her face out of my mind, either.

The memories of her pregnancy came back, little films of happier times. If anything, I wish I had been her surrogate and then I could have died instead. At least, I know that she wouldn't have been angry at her daughter for that. Hell, she's likely not even angry at her daughter for the fact that her life ended while Mika got to live. I opted to be supportive, and I got punished for it.

"What's done is done, Nonon...." I hear her voice again. Maybe I could pretend. I could pretend that she never died and that she was just away. Of course, no amount of wine will ever convince me of that reality. In that reality, she's still alive and Mika, likely, doesn't exist. The memories of that parasite's gestation hit harder. I hated it when all the memories came at once, especially, because I had to feel everything at once, including the pain of her being gone.

"What's done is done, Nonon." I could hear her voice tell me, with a kind of "acceptance" that I can't place. Furthering the spiral were the questions that I didn't have answers to, questions that I wonder if I wanted to even know. Wine doesn't numb the pain.

I loved her, loved her so dearly, and I lost her.

I still don't really know why I'm drinking.