365 Prompts

Dragon

Six months.

You laugh, and then you look over at her as if you can't quite believe it, as if she can't quite believe it too. And you both laugh together. Nervously. It's like an uncertain tremor, the earth deciding if it wants to quake just yet. Testing the waters. She meets your eyes; you meet hers. When you open your mouth again, no words come out, but she's known you long enough to pick out what you want to say. What you can't say. Because if you do say it, you would bring both of you back to reality.

We'll be okay, won't we?

She nods and the both of you relax. Like that one action has erased all of those previous feelings. Like it doesn't exist.

You'll be okay, and I'll be okay, and we'll both be okay together.

'Both' seems to be a prominent word in your dictionary now, as if you have to remind yourself that she's still here. That you're still here, and you aren't going anywhere anytime soon. You chuckle.

This time, words do actually come out from your lips.

"Six months."

She echoes your sentiment.

"Six months"

Five months and twenty-nine days.

Five months and twenty-eight days.

Five months and twenty-five days.

One beat. Two beats. Three beats.

You give up counting the days and the number of times your heart pulses. It's too easy to forget.

She looks at you and rolls her eyes. How can she be so... okay with the situation? You don't know, but the both of you move to get up. You want to make a cup of tea, so you head for the kitchen and clink away at the china and kettle, hoping that the noise it creates will drown out the white noise in your head. Drag you back to reality. Ground you. Lifeline.

You hear her giggle at something else, and you peer at the cup of tea in your hand.

No sugar, one spoon of condensed milk. You don't remember how big the spoon is, so you grab the can of milk and a teaspoon. You watch the milk drip into the tea, seemingly fascinated.

Drip.

Drop.

Plop.

That's funny. You didn't know milk could make that sound until your vision focuses again and you realise that your hands are shaking and the teaspoon is hovering over the table and the milk-

-oh.

Four months.

Three months and fifteen days.

The passage of time blends together until it feels like you're pushing through an endless current of work. Work. Eat. Sleep. Wish that sleeping didn't make you more tired than before you went to sleep. Lose yourself in more work. Wake up with rings around your eyes and a haggard face. Forget to eat.

Smile at the happy laughter. Joyful laughter.

Not from you, though.

A month later you realise that your hands won't stop shaking. Your vision went in your left eye a while back. You can walk, just barely, but if you focus on anything else you end up stopping and staring, uselessly wishing your legs to work. She looks at you and you think you see a shred of worry in her eyes, but it must be just your imagination. Right? What else could it be?