By Eve11 -- Rated PG Obligatory Disclaimer From The Management: All recognizable concepts herein belong to Marvel Comics and are used without permission but without intention of harm or profit. The TCP concept is used with permission. Everything else belongs to the person listed above as the author. Do not archive without permission.
His moves are shuffles in the dark, and I pretend to sleep. 2:14 am. The bedside clock is wrong. But all of them are. I can't find a single clock that is right, not one in the hundreds I've searched. Once I tried setting a few of them, but as soon as I hit the last button or stopped twisting the dial, the error in the display was as obvious as a scream. After a while, I matched it with a scream of my own. And then I stared at walls. Brown walls, then white walls, then brown ones again. But that was a long time ago. (five-hundred-fifty-six-million-nine-hundred-sixty-two-thousand-eight-hundred and eighty-eight) He glides into bed beside me. I let out an over-loud breath as the covers shift. 2:15 am, the clock says confidently. He puts his arm around me, and I can't help but flinch. "Just me, hon," comes the raspy whisper. "Sorry I woke you." "S'okay," I mumble into the pillow. I was awake, you know. How could I sleep? All I could do was notice the passing of the absolute. Thousands since he called with that stupid, stupid alibi ("One hour, I promise, and I'll be home..."). Fourteen-thousand-seven-hundred-forty-one. I didn't count them -- I can't; they slip away like water through my fingers if I try to count them. But knowing is as natural as seeing. He reaches across me and turns on the alarm, sets it for seven. Hours and minutes and seconds -- what are they but the turning of one planet at the edge of a puny galaxy? The moment I understood absolute was the moment I understood the truth. I've lived with the clocks since then. (five-hundred-twenty-nine-million-four-hundred-ninety-eight-thousand-one-hundred and ninety) I know exactly how long he's been gone. I always do. And if I take a deep breath, feign that sleep release, I am sure I will smell her on him. I close my eyes. If I take a deep breath... But I can't. I open my eyes to a blur of red. I blink to focus. 2:16 am. I stare at those bright, wrong numbers on the clock, and I wonder how so many people can live so easily with the lie.
 Story ©2001 by the author. This story is protected by the TCP |