Echo of the Past

13. Nivan

Translator: Schiotka

Editor: Pasadera, JacquelineMonaie

__________________

"So what now?" she asked, sitting next to the Redhead.

"Well, nothing. He'll be back. And until then we'll be like a long-married couple," he answered, looking down at the unnatural order beneath his feet. "We'll find you a job; in the meantime, we'll paint his room, and maybe the rest of the flat as well."

"Ehm..." She grew sad. "Nivan, I don't have much in the way of savings. I put aside a little so I can visit my parents in Tunisia... and I've got Marcin's rent, and that's it." She looked at her feet, embarrassed.

Nivan looked at her. He'd never seen Firyal so depressed. He pulled her close and hugged her.

"Hey, it's not that bad. You can still do tattooing. I can give you my rent in advance, for this month and next. And besides, we'll find some work for you real quick, don't worry. And you'll still be able to go and see your family."

"Not my family, but my parents... my family is here, in this house," she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

____________________

I finally went to my room. I stood in the doorway.

Everything here had been cleaned too.

I stared at the made bed for a while.

And thought about the paths I've chosen in life.

Because in everything there is always at least two paths to choose from. Like a never-ending tree, with thousands of branches. After choosing a path, sometimes an unfortunate one, the only thing we can ask is: "what if?"

I made a decision, and it was entirely my choice.

No one forced me to make it.

I chose my priorities. And only time will tell if I come to regret it.

I approached the bed; sat down.

Took off my shoes and jacket. It was only as I moved to take them out into the hallway that I realized how tired I was.

I hardly slept last night. Then the classes at uni, which I had to go to, and then... this.

I lay down on the bed instead. I closed my eyes.

Firka told me about what happened. That Marcin cried again. Because of me.

Because I seem to not be able to say things at the appropriate moment, and form... nice... tender words.

I wasn't angry anymore. All that was left was the resentment I felt, mostly toward myself.

I moved to my side of the bed.

"My".

I don't even know when this bed started to have his and my sides, to be honest.

Maybe if I'd come home last night, "mine" would have become his.

Maybe...

Maybe his scent wouldn't disturb me so much on his...

And my side.

____________________

The Redhead walked, hunched over, through the short, low corridor leading to a room from which loud music was playing.