Beneath The Orange Sunset ✔️

One

After the storm comes a calm

~1~

At precisely six in the morning, the door to the large bedroom swung open. The morning was calm and grey. The birds chirping left a soft melody in air.

    "Maxime, you left your windows open. It's going to be a cold day."

Maxime turned his head from the pillow as he recognized his mother's thin voice. He heard quick footsteps approach the other end of his room and then the sliding sound of the windows shutting in one push. That must be Henrietta, their housekeeper. He had no way of knowing so he wondered how she looked like now.

Maxime steadied his head; there was no expression on his face, he expected to hear one more voice to indicate the beginning of his morning routine. First, was his physical therapy where Rochelle massaged his back and legs with warm fingers. Then she prepared his medications consisting of several tablets of different shapes and colors, which he swallowed painfully with a mixture of extra liquid supplements. Henrietta prepares a cool bath after which he could go downstairs for breakfast. It was a simple routine and Maxime always looked forward to accomplishing it wholeheartedly hoping one day he would wake up to become perfectly well again.

He listened closely but he didn't hear nurse Rochelle's voice or any other sound from a third person.

    "Aren't you cold, son?" Emile asked calmly. She was already dressed in a stylish purple gown that accentuated her feminine curves. Her face was well made up, her golden curls was tied loosely below her neck, while a handful of short bangs grazed her smooth forehead. The traces of years of hard work and stress lined her face. She must have aged faster after she became widowed.

Maxime shook his head and steadied it again. He heard the footfalls of his mother's low heels advancing towards his bed. The scent of her daisy fuentes parfume filled his nostrils.

    "Prepare his bath, young lady." Emile motioned to Henrietta. She was in her late twenties - humble and obedient.

Henrietta gave a single nod and headed to the bathroom. Maxime waited for a moment till the sound of her footfalls died down.

This was not the usual morning routine. He turned his head again.

    "Why am I taking a bath now?"
Emile held her son's hand and sat on the bed space beside his fragile body.

    "There's a bit of a bad news," Emile breathed. "Ms Philippe won't be coming today?"

    "Is she sick?"

    "I wish she was. She... Ms Philippe passed on this morning."

Maxime propped his body up to a sitting position. He searched his sides for his mother's arms. She was quick to grab it before he broke down.

    "Passed on? What do you mean?"

    "I'm sorry son," her voice cracked. "She's... gone."
She was more heartbroken than him. As a mother she believed there were enemies around waiting for the slight opportunity to snuff out her son's life. But she was going to fight back and it will be really brutal.

Sorrow washed over Maxime and he felt faint. So this was it. Rochelle Philippe was dead. He didn't want to go through with this anymore. He wasn't sure he could. First his father, now its Rochelle.

    "But she was here just yesterday, how can she possibly be dead?"

How? Why was fate so unkind to him? How long was he going to remain in this darkness?

Ms Philippe, as he fondly called her, was like the neighborhood nurse everyone loved and Maxime was no exception. She had taken care of him privately since the accident. She practically gave him another chance to live. She was round in physique and loud. She would Laugh at the slightest hint of a joke and made every pain disappear with her warm touch.

She was just in her late fifties. How could she have died?

    "They said it was a heart attack," Emile squeezed his hands getting cold with shivering. "I'm sorry son," she slowly leaned in and hugged her son as his body convulsed in weeping gasps.

The white bandage wrapped over his eyes was the last she had done on him.

    'We will take it off in two weeks,' she had said smiling, 'and then you can see the world again. You can even see me...'

He had hoped so too. He had believed her. He even laughed at the joke.

The damage in his brain had affected his eyesight. The doctors said it was temporary and everything will return to normal after the surgery but it's been a year and there was no change.

The darkness was overwhelming now and it was closing in gradually. He was beginning to loose hope again.

This was it. He didn't want to accept his fate but it felt so final - living in darkness -forever.

Remove the bandage in two weeks?

Nice try Ms Philippe. How foolish of him to have believed her. The bandage, a symbol of his pain and it will remain and he would have to live with it, for God knows how long.

This is reality.

You are going to be blind for the rest of your miserable life, Maxime Lacroix.

~~~~~~~

Rain drops spattered on the roof - heavy and noisy - disturbing Maxime as he laid half asleep on his bed.

The creases on his forehead twitched and he moved his hand across his hair slightly grazing the bandage tied round his eyes. He threw the blanket off his body and made his way towards the warm sunlight. Actually, the sound of pouring waters hitting the roof had awoken him. He could smell it. There was nothing enigmatic about rain but he gravitated towards it.

He held on to the white curtains with his feeble left hand and pressed onto the thick glass with his right. The coldness jabbed his palms almost immediately.

Maxime didn't know what he was wearing at the moment. It could be his red pajamas or the white one, maybe the blue spotted one he'd gotten from his father on his birthday last year.

Life was so cruel, so wicked and so... unpredictable...

The twenty seven year old man paused to take a deep breath. He pulled open the glass window and instantly a gush of cold wind brushed past his face, sweeping his long hair off his face. He wasn't scared of catching a cold at this point. He was already frigid. He inhaled the fresh scent of rain and dew. How he missed these elements that used to make life worth living.

He slowly reached his hands out of the window and felt the cold rain drops hit his trembling fingers. It was raining. That meant the rest of the day would be wet and cold. Maybe the sun would shine more or the sky could remain cloudy throughout the day.

It suddenly seemed ridiculous of him to think about the clouds. He could feel the heat of the sun, he could touch the rain water but what about the clouds?

He balled his wet hand into a fist and pulled it back to his side. He shut the windows and paused to gather his strength. On a second thought he opened back the windows and gradually retraced his steps back to his bed.

It was dark. Not because his room was without light. He used to be afraid of the dark. Darkness was an entity he didn't want to have to meet but he painfully dwelled in that same darkness. His whole life have been plunged to total darkness, he doubted that he will ever escape it.

He felt for his pillow and once he felt the familiar texture of a paperback he slid his hands under and brought it out. He turned his head as he tried to trace the title of the book with his fingers. He couldn't feel the words but like he had always done, he broke down and sobbed.

There was a standing clock beside the bed. It was specially designed for him so he could feel the time instead but he decided not to touch it.

If he waited a little bit, Rochelle will be here and she will tell him the time again like she always does every other day.

But not anymore.