Part 3: Sorrow

I had been happy once, I remember I was Its hard to recall now when or how, but I remember that I had once had some sort of happiness I could call my own. Its hard to remember how it felt now, bad days turned into months and those moments of glee don’t seem to be coming back to me. I had a family, but now it’s getting harder to remember them, their faces, their voices, it has been not long ago since I lost them, but these days make them seem so distant now that it feels like I only meet them in a different life. This may as well be another life; it resembles so little to how I used to live. Nothing from my old life came with me, from my clothes to my toys and books, I lost it all alongside my old home. Now I am living somewhere else, a cold and alien apartment that seems to want me out of it as much as I would like to escape from it. But there is nowhere else to go, no other place to call home. I am just some baggage someone else got stuck with.
 I have never met this man before I got assigned to him; I am not sure why he is stuck with me either. Is he supposed to be some distant relative of mine? Some uncle I never heard of before? A friend of one of my parents that was obligated to take me in? I don’t even know his name. He said it once before, once, but I am never able to remember what he said it was, and I don’t feel comfortable enough to ask him again. Its not like I get to talk with him very often anyways, he seems to hate me. Or maybe that’s not the right word. He doesn’t hate or dislike me, but its just that I annoy him somehow. The sanctuary that used to be his home is now being invaded and everything I do seems to bother him, I am an intruder disturbing what used to be his life. No wonder he resents me, I would too if I was him.
Everything I do seems to be painful for him. My voice irks him, the sound of my footsteps make him frown every time he hears them, a constant reminder that I am there. But what he most detests about me are my eyes, my glowing inhuman eyes. He hates being watched. I can feel his anger every time I look at him. Its hard for me to ever see him happy. I have only seen him smile once. When he thought I wasn’t home, or maybe he just managed to forget I was there. He had sat back on his small sofa and managed to close his eyes as one of his old dusty disks played a melody I doubt anyone else listens to anymore. I saw his shoulders drop back and relax, I saw him closing his eyes and losing himself to the sounds of a saxophone, the melody of a piano accompanied by the relaxing rhythm of string coming from multiple different instruments. I saw him in peace, I saw, for just a moment, what he used to look like. The type of man he was before I came and ruined his life. I saw him smile, I saw his body lose the tension and edge that he usually carries, I saw a warmth in him that replaced the usual burning coldness that he daggers at everything around him. I saw him happy. I saw that under the bitterness he is always carrying, he has a warm smile.
	I wish I could see it again. I remember starring at him back then. I don’t know how long I was hidden behind that door, just watching him be happy. I just starred. That seem to have hurt him. When he open his eyes and caught me staring he was frighten. He seemed too alarmed, betrayed even. As if I had just seen his deepest and most shameful secret. I could see it in his eyes from that day forth, every time our gazes connected, I could see that resentment, that small seed of hatred. He hated being watched and made sure to never drop his guard around me again, not because he had anything to hide, but because he grew used to be alone, to be free. This home was his sanctuary, and me being here filled him with some dreed I am yet not able to fully understand. I can only guess he feels judged, like he cannot allow himself to show weakness to anyone. I had just destroyed the only place in which he could be himself, free from all judgement and prying eyes. He hates being vulnerable. He hates my eyes, and the golden glow that shine in the dark corridors of his home.
	The place seems to be eternally dark. No matter how hot and shinning the sun may be, he seems to have a certain pride on his rejection of its light. Every window is closed and covered, every corridor light always turned off unless absolutely necessary. The kitchen, only being illuminated by the dimmest of table lamps. He is just a man, but he could manage himself in the darkness of his home better that I could even with my superior night vision. He knew where everything was like the palm of his hand, and my presence disturbing and moving objects only seem to renew his frustration. He was stuck with me, I could see his desire for me to disappear every time a small annoyance reared its head, no matter how small or inconsequential. But he never said it. He hardly talked at all, but it seem he took extreme care to never actually voice any of his grievances with me. The most I ever heard from him was a small sight as he walks away from whatever mistake I had made. He doesn’t need to say it, I know it, but he still restrains himself. He knows I don’t want to be here either. But neither of us seem to have a choice. Fate is cruel that way. I wish we could return to our previous happiness. I wish both of us could return to our previous roads and enjoy the life we used to have. But there is only one road now, one we have to walk together despite it bringing us no satisfaction. I used to be happy. But I don’t remember what it felt like. I can only remember his happiness, his warm smile. I wish I could see him smile again. I wish he, at the very least, could be happy.
	I had nowhere to go. I had nothing to do. I had no one to talk to. I just went out and walked through random streets to leave that apartment. I wish to be away from him as much as I could. I wished to give him back his space, his so carefully crafted sanctuary. But it didn’t matter. I knew that walking away didn’t actually change anything. He couldn’t enjoy his loneliness when he knew she would return. He had just resigned himself to that life, of a dream that had already died. One that had been buried and mourned long ago.
.	.,. 	-
She wanted to cry, but didn’t feel like it, her spirit wasn’t in it. She didn’t feel happy, but neither did she feel the crushing sadness needed to shed tears. She just felt empty, wanting, needing an ethereal something that didn’t exist, and she knew well enough he felt the same way. Incomplete. Hollow. A sorrowful ashen shell of a star once bright, now burnt to cinders.
She walked, and walked. Her head always low, refusing to see anything she past by. The happy faces of those around her, the cheerful voices of the little groups having idle chatter, the bright lights of the business around her and the scorching heat of the sun above. She resented all of it. The more she escaped from the dark chilly apartment that brought her no joy the more she missed it. The more different the world was from that little hiding place the more she loathed it. What used to bring her joy now only made her angry. This world hadn’t changed at all, but she did, her situation did. The world was now upside down and she began resenting that nobody was suffering as she was. She just wanted to return to his sanctuary. She wanted to feel the warmth and happiness she saw him having. She wished to be closer to him. She wanted to be like him. She wanted to discover who he used to be, and share his warmth. As she got sick from the world around her she started that slow walk back to that ever growing comfort of that apartment, and as she did that one old melody started playing in her head. Those strings, those keys, the blowing cheer coming from that loud saxophone. She hummed the melody without realizing it as she looked forward to return what now was her home.
When she did, she found it empty. He wasn’t there, that small fact filled her with as much relief as it did disappointment. He hated her, at some level he didn’t want to admit, but she couldn’t share that feeling. He had don’t nothing to warrant her wrath, she hated herself for making him miserable, he who had given her a home after being been left with anyone else in the world. She realized in her walk, that she hated the world, and that his resentful gaze was now the only thing that held her world together. But this small moment of loneliness brought forth an opportunity. One brought forth by the wish about a no so distant memory. She had realized in her resentment, that she wanted to close the gap between both of them, she wanted to understand him, and in his absence, she could put herself in his shoes. Invading deeper into his sanctuary, one he told her not to come near, she enter his study room. This was the room in which she had seem him that one time, she could see that one disk in the corner of the room, hidden on a bookshelf pressed between the only two books not covered in dust. He was not an avid reader, she gathered, as the only reason these were not as dirty as the rest was because they were the weight holders of his favorite album. One that contained the melody she seek, the one that invaded her mind during her walk and screamed and begged her to be listen to again. One she had to handle with absolute care, for if she ruined this singular disk with her inhuman claw like hands she would bring further hatred from a man she wanted to bring joy to.