Twelve years later…

"What happened, boy? Are you deaf? Answer me! You were the one up there with my daughter, you should know what happened."

"Honey—"

"Why won't he just say something? Look at him crying ever since we got to the hospital. Let him at least say something, but no! He's just been acting all dumb and pissing me the fuck off!"

"Hey, I think it's about time you stopped yelling at my son and embarrassing yourself in an hospital—And don't get me wrong. As a grown man and father, I'd go crazy if it were to be my son I lost, but take my word for it that I wouldn't be blaming some child for it. I mean, he's just a child! What do you expect him to say?—"

"Something! I expect him to say something!!"

"He's just just a child! Your daughter must have been sick."

"Heck no! She wasn't, young man. She was perfectly fine."

"Honey, it's enough! I'm sad too, okay? And your arguing isn't helping. We just lost our daughter on her birthday for God's sake, please stop!… It isn't helping… please."

Throughout the whole monologue, everywhere was dark. As dark as night without the moon and stars or as dark as a blind person would perceive his environment. And then my eyes opened. I could feel the tickle of a cold tear already at the hole of my left ear from the corner of my eyes. It would have felt warm if I'd been awake when it first emerged, although more were coming, even from the right corner of my eyes.

Today was Gwen's birthday and also the day she'd died, so my dreams couldn't help but be filled with the last tragic moment I'd experienced at her last breath. For years now, my dreams have been haunted by those memories, although it's a relief indeed that they've gotten better now. They'd only been so constant in Gwen's birth month, on her birthday or on mine, which was only two months after. I'd be 24.

Laying quietly and still on the bed with tears still falling out of my eyes and making my ears all moist and wet, I took in the silence. The silence of my own home; nobody around to come knocking on my bedroom door to greet me good morning or say, "Hey, Kevin get up, you're late for work." My younger twin sisters would have done that. They were twelve now. Or my mom, too would have come around to knock. Not my dad, anyway. Nobody next to me to wake up, catch me in a state of teary eyes and say, "Hey, baby, are you okay?" Nobody to cook me breakfast in the morning, or bring me lunch at work or have me served dinner as soon as I get back from work.

Ever since the day Gwen died just right after we'd kissed, I'd never been able to get myself to kiss another girl, with the fear that the same thing might happen, again. I didn't even want to find out whether things could be different or not. It was better to be safe than sorry. And one can never be too careful. However, with this little self-decision that I'd made, I'd been unable to get myself a girlfriend, not to talk of successfully hooking up with one because who'd want to date a guy you couldn't kiss? Well, I was already used to it. Just simple female friends, no girlfriend, single life forever.

Or was I?

Ring, Ring, Ring

Ring, Ring, Ring

I stretched out my hand towards my bedside drawer on the right and picked up my cellphone. "Hello?"

"Kevin, are you ready?" My friend responded on the phone with his neutral-toned voice; not deep, not high.

"For?"

"Work, you dumbass!" He yelled. "I'm almost at your place. Make sure you're ready before then."

"Ugh…" I groaned and slapped my phone lazily down on my bed after he hung up.

The jovial me I used to be twelve years ago was no more. Everything was boring. Life was boring. I mean, I would have killed myself if death didn't seem scary.

Rather than living the rich life that my mom and dad lived as a surgeon at a famous hospital and a business man, I decided to lay low at as a waiter in a not-so-famous restaurant. Perhaps the attention from girls would reduce. I planned to live the most basic life possible and also tried not to ask my dad for money when I needed plenty of it the most. I didn't even have a car, that's why my friend has such guts to be calling me so early in the morning.

"Ugh!" I groaned again and sprang up.

Time to get dressed before he came and left me like he did two days ago. Taking the bus was not my hobby. From the bed, I scanned my open wardrobe in front of me, quickly picturing what shirt I'd put on after my bath and the best pants to go with it, and truly, as soon as I was done bathing I had exactly both clothes on; a plain white shirt and coffee brown pants.

Basic much?

I brushed my hair and I was ready for my cereal. As soon as I reached the fridge, I heard the familiar honking of my friend's car in front of the house.

"Fuck me." I mumbled to myself. "Seems he'll have to wait."

I felt my phone buzz in my pocket and as I brought it out to accept the call, simultaneously, I had my cornflakes jogging right into my white bowl.

"Come out, you twat! We're late." He screamed on the phone.

"No, we're not. It's only ten minutes past seven." I answered, having glanced at my watch.

"Well, the restaurant opens at eight and we've got a twenty minutes drive down to the place. Surely, when we get there we'd have to do some arrangements for the day, so bring your ass out now or I'm leaving in three—"

"I need help."

There was a bit of silence.

"With?" He asked.

"I'm bleeding."

"… Kevin." He sighed. "I hear you chewing on something. Don't tell me you're just having breakfast."

"I'm not telling you I'm having breakfast, I'm telling you I'm bleeding. Either you come out of that car and help your friend bandage his finger while he tries to chug his breakfast down his throat because he's tryna keep up with time or you leave, allow me eat in pain, bandage my finger all by myself and take the bus down to work… on my own." I finished, my voice cool as ever.

"How the fuck did you cut your finger?" He asked, but I said nothing, allowing him to hear only the sipping and chewing sounds my mouth made while I ate. "Kevin." He spoke again.

"…ugh, fine! I'll kill you if you're lying." He said and hung up immediately.

I calculated his actions in my head as a way of calculating how much time I had left. He would squeeze his phone deep as he could in the pocket of his jeans—definitely he was wearing jeans. Always blue to be exact, but with different colors of tops and shoes, and then a face cap sometimes—he would struggle a short while with impatience to release the seatbelt from around him, come down, slam the door of the car and start walking straight to my front porch.

Exactly. He would knock, because my door was locked.

"Dumb, Chris." I laughed and wiped my mouth with a cloth, immediately surrendering my cup into the sink before walking fast out of the kitchen.

I heard him knocking again as I adjusted my collar and walked to open the door. "Hey, Chris." I smiled.

His eyes flew first to my hands, seeing nothing as they were both stuck in my pocket and then he gasped when his eyes met mine. "No, you did not." He said and his hands were on his chest to make things more funny for me.