Two days ago marked an anniversary, not one of celebration and joy, but one of mourning and despair. It has been three hundred and sixty seven days since she lost her fiancée--lost her fiancée not to disease or misfortune, but to a psychological agony that resulted in suicide.
~~~
It was a dark night, and in running errands for his manager, he had stayed late at work, not leaving the office until ten o'clock. He wasn't the only one; there were five others in the office, all working overtime to complete a project for the client. In the frantic chaos that possessed him and his coworkers as the deadline approached, he had forgotten to tell his fiancée that he would be late getting home. She must be worried sick.
Thus preoccupied by guilt, he mindlessly kept his foot on the pedal. Five, ten, fifteen over the speed limit. The car accelerated, as did his heartbeat. At that hour, there were almost no cars still on the freeway. The only other car was in the distance, its break lights completing an eerie red grin that winked mockingly when the car shifted lanes. I must stay awake. I must get home safely, embrace her loving arms and wipe from her face the worried, anxious expression she is undoubtedly wearing as she awaits my return.
Thud. The airbag came out, muffling his voice as he yelled obscenities. He quickly came to a stop along the shoulder; the eerie grin faded into the night. Opening the door, his thoughts were arrested. Sprawled across the two right-most lanes was a young man in a black sweatshirt, not much older than himself, perhaps in the late twenties. His music player had flown out of his hand and was now lying on the shoulder of the freeway, next to his front left tire. He picked it up; the now-cracked display showed "Hawthorne Heights - Disaster."
He dialed 911. He returned the music player to the pocket of the man, face down and motionless on the concrete. The ambulance arrived. He left his contact information, and continued home.
~~~
Where were you? Where have you been? Why do your features convey an inexplicable worry, and why do you not speak of them to me? These thoughts flitted across her mind, but she chose not to pursue them. Instead, she held her fiancée. He was dripping wet after walking in the rain a quarter of a block to and from the mailboxes for the apartment complex. Whether his periodic shivers were from the cold or from a deeper trouble, she could not tell. She knew it was not the right time to ask. She knew that he would tell her when it was suitable. She knew that he needed her now more than ever, and she knew she was ready to spend an eternity holding him if need be.
......
