Good Things

For You by Angela B. Chrysler

Waking up has never been so cruel.

Too soon, the morning comes and rips you from my arms. The son we never had slips from my fingers. Another part of me screams in terror. I don’t have the power to reach for you. Too soon, I’m awake. Again, I scream your name knowing you won’t answer. Again, I’m all alone.

The alarm blares four AM at me. I open my eyes to the dark and remember. The memories flood back. The smell of you and our son. Your hard arms wrapped around me. Your kisses that swallowed my gasps. Then the cold cruel morning that reminds me there was no son…and you’re gone. Alone, I curl into myself. I shiver, cry, and wish for my death. I lay there knowing I won’t fall back asleep. Instead, I reach for the book on my desk.

Mara.

How that name sits with me and churns a vile taste in my mouth. Again, I read through every clue and every word, desperate for an answer to my curse. But your name, it haunts me. Too soon, I close the book and take up the pen and paper beside my bed. Again, I write to you, my dearest love. My sweet. Another night, another day without you. I’ve recorded every day of my life since our first, our last…our only… Every dream, every wish, every moment. If I can’t have you, then I can talk to you at least in note. Here I safely tuck away every thought I have ever had since that night. Our private exchange of you and I. Here on these pages, we live.

A year ago, I didn’t have any demons to fight. Now, they’re everywhere and I can’t keep my head above water.

Your letter had been quite clear. If you see me, if you know me, you will watch me die all over again. Your memory of me in exchange for my life…that was the deal you made with Death. Usually I cast aside such nonsense, but the memory of that night and the scar on my chest where a bullet pierced my heart is a daily reminder that I had died that day and woke again, all on the whim of a death witch and the deal you made with her.

I can’t stay away any longer. I’m back again tonight. The club smells like stale booze. It matches my mood, and makes me feel something. In the last year, it has become my favorite place to be. I never want to leave.

I order my usual with a wordless look that the waitress has learned to read. A moment later, she brings me a cold Guinness. A routine heavy tip guarantees the uninterrupted brooding I’ve been craving now since that night and secures the solitude I want. All drinks are returned to sender. Any attempted advances are quickly and quietly redirected. This is my domain. And you, my king, sit high on your throne center stage, oblivious to my existence. Exactly the way I like it. You take the stage and there it is: the ache, the pull. Just when I think I’ve gotten over you, I see your face and forget all else but you. One word, one sigh, and I’m yours all over again.

I nurse the drink in my usual place at the back. You can’t see me behind the stage lights, but I have a clear view of you. Envy builds in me as I watch your fingers slide up and down the guitar’s neck. Too well, I know what that feels like. The sleeves of your black shirt shift with your arms. I remember my dream and welcome the wave of pain that washes over me.

The band plays on, but I only see you as I turn the bottle of Guinness around in my hand. As your music sweeps through me, I replay the only night we had. The memories build in me and threaten to break my will right here. By the second song, I’m entertaining ideas of walking on stage and greeting you. Or you, by some miracle, see me and know me. Perhaps you buy me a drink. I’ve stolen your heart for the second time in this life, but this time you remember and keep me.

We’d end the evening mouth to mouth. Before my drink is done, the song is over. You’re waving to the audience and packing up your guitar with the same affection in which you cradled our dream son.

The knot in my throat returns with the ball of ice in my stomach and I fight back another wave of hot hurt that will later turn to cold hate. Not toward you, my love, but for the death witch whose deal forged the life we now live.

I grab my purse and slip out the door, but tonight I have no doubt. You see me, I am certain. Maybe I’m off my game. Maybe the dream affected me more strongly than usual. No matter the reason, I ignore your gaze at the back of my head and vanish into the night before you can stop me.

I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting to feel whole again. For a moment, I feel you here with me. I think, foolishly, that I’ll be alright. But the second ends with a heightened state that leaves me sensitive to pain. The bitter bite of absence moves in. I yearn for you. I turn to hold you, to fill the void, but you aren’t there. The hole you left in me returns colder than I ever, and I break.

Shivering, I sob. I tuck my knees into my chest and I cry.

I fall asleep like this every night. You have no idea how much I love you. How much you are a part of me…and how much I miss you. I say your name and feed my fingers through my hair then dig at my scalp, wishing my death would return and take me away from this life as it once did. I sob just one more time until I run out of tears.

Forget the death witch and your vow. Forget loneliness and her bitter bite. Forget all of this life. I relax as my resolve settles the matter.

Whether I should or not, I’m going back.

No matter how many times I hurt, I can’t stay away. You’re playing again tonight. I have to go back again. Just one more time. Without you, I can not breathe. I know this. I’ve tried.

I smear the black eyeliner under my eyes to match the muted red lipstick. I don the usual faded jeans, the kind that rest on my hips while I slide on a tank that hugs my form. Guilt warms my gut and I want to throw up. A part of me is dressing up for you, in the off chance you see me and know me, and will want me. I know a part of me wants you to see me. And I know you can’t. I shouldn’t go. I’m taunting Death. It’s you or I. Only one of us can watch from afar and remember. Me alive, alone in silence. Or you standing over my grave. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stay away. I can’t…

I zip my boots that touch my thigh then grab my leather jacket, the one with a tint of purple buried in the black. The look is not mine, but where I’m going, it serves as camouflage. Nothing more. Dressed like this, I’m invisible despite not looking at all like myself. All the more to hide me from your eyes.

I step outside and the cold air hits me. I breathe deep the stale, thick wet in the air left by the recent rain. What little sky I can see, beyond the rows of buildings, is black. The pavement shines beneath the orange street lights like black gold. My leather boots grind the wet pavement as I walk toward the pub where you’re playing tonight. There, I can breathe easy again. I hasten my step, eager to get to you once more.

I’m early tonight. An hour? Maybe two? It doesn’t matter anymore. My life is on hold for you. The music beckons me and I go. Paying no mind to the tats, the piercings, and body mutilations, I descend the steps into a hole where a cloud of smoke engulfs me. I squeeze my way past a euphoric couple who reek of alcohol and cigarettes. I envy their happiness. It doesn’t matter if it wasn’t natural.

A band—not yours—is playing. Based on the time, they have maybe ten minutes left on stage. I find my seat and slide into the black steel chair pulled up to the little round red table. Here, I’m invisible. It’s far enough from the stage that you can’t see through the shadows, but at such an angle that I can see you no matter where you stand.

You.

I feel calm, complacent, and the anxiety melts away. I order my usual from the waitress and do as little as possible to draw attention. The club and bar scene has never been my thing. I much prefer my quiet gardens back home with a book. I don’t belong here. I know that, but this is as close to you as I can get.

You’re not here yet, but I expected that. I usually come late and slide in through the back just as you walk on stage. Only then can I guarantee your eyes won’t find me. Even if you did, I doubt you would recognize me like this. When last we met, I looked like a fairy child stepped from the stories. Tonight, I look like a succubus freshly born of Hell. You’ll never know me. I am certain. I hope.

Within the hour, you’re on stage. I feel the breath return to me, but I can only take short gasps. Speak to me, my love. Please come back to me. My heart selfishly pleads. I wish this knowing it’s wrong.

I watch the crowd respond to you and you to them. You eagerly fuel the symbiotic relationship between performer and fan. While you prefer the limelight, I bask in the shadows. As much as this world isn’t mine, it clearly belongs to you. Often, I wonder how we could live if you were to remember me. The thought doesn’t matter so I shove it aside, and I sit in silence, nursing my drink and loving you alone in the shadows.

Your fans squeal and scream their affections and I watch you smile at the attention, oblivious to my existence. Once more I watch you bid goodnight and, as always, I sit and wait. You’ll pack up your things and slip out the back long before I abandon my table and emerge from the shadows.

The next band is already on stage. They’re playing something slow and sensual. They’re not half bad. I shift my thoughts to you and use the music to slip into our fantasy.

Kiss me, love. Open your mouth for me, I imagine you saying. I obey and you take what is yours.

“Hello, lass.”

Lass.

The word cuts my legs out from under me and just like that, I feel again.

I raise my eyes and inhale so sharply it hurts. For the first time in a year, you look right through me. Tears burn my eyes and I force a false smile as my blood turns to ice. I can not move. I know I’ve gone white. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I can’t think. You see me and all I want to do is run to you and fall into you. Excitement and dread collide in my chest and I wait.

I drain the last of my drink, but before the bottle hits the table, a second black bottle drops in front of me.

Don’t move. Don’t breathe.

“What can I do you for?” I ask. My words are so out of place here.

Your presence mutes the music. It’s now just a dull thing in the back. You pull out the empty chair across from me and sit. Leaning forward, you put your weight on the table and close the space between us.

“You come here often,” you say.

You noticed. My heart soars with glee. You still love me enough to notice. It’s all I can do not to cry.

“I do,” I say.

“Why?” Your eyes dig hard into me.

“I like music,” I say, digging back. You smirk with a gentle playfulness in your eyes.

“Just music?” you say.

“And Guinness,” I add, purposely puckering my lips to the bottle’s head.

“And Guinness,” you repeat, not believing my lie.

I swear you purposely pause to let the heat build. You’re enjoying our little game. I won’t lie. I’m starved for it too and play back.

“Will you be here tomorrow night?” you ask.

“No,” I say and watch your smile fall.

“Why not?” you ask.

“Tonight is my last night.”

“Oh…” You look wounded. “Why?”

“I’ve decided I don’t like music.”

“Or Guinness?” you ask, seeing right through my lies.

“Or Guinness.” I smile back and take another sip.

“Shame.” Another heavy pause sits between us.

I can’t have you here. You have no idea how much I want to jump on you and take you right here on the floor. You have no idea how much I want to tell you all of this and jog that memory of yours.

It isn’t fair, I want to scream. You’re mine. You just don’t remember. I’m dangerously close to saying too much.

“You need to go,” I mutter.

“I do,” you say.

“Goodnight,” I say.

You nod. “Goodnight.” But you don’t move. We sit instead and study the other. I swear my pain is mirrored in your eyes.

Oblivious to the demons I fight, you say, “If you’re not doing anything tomorrow, would you care to grab something to eat?”

The pain, it encompasses me. The pain rips right through me. We’re playing with Death. Any moment you could remember. Any moment I could fall dead. What would you do then, my love, sitting here, suddenly forced to hold my still body while a year’s worth of memories floods back? You’d hate you. And you’d have to live with it all alone. Tears swell up. They burn my eyes. All I want to do is love you. Is that so bad?

“What do you want?” My voice is a whisper. I drop my guard and I look at you. I let you see my hurt. I know you see the torment in my eyes. I know I sound cold and cruel, but manners right now will only lead you on to false intentions. I can’t explain what you should know, but I can show you. Maybe then, you’ll understand.

“You,” you say too simply.

Heat explodes within my breast and pours right down my front. You smile gently as if you already love me. I alone know you do.

“But I’ll settle for your story instead,” you say.

“My story?”

“Just your story.” You kiss me with those words.

“I don’t have a story,” I whisper.

“Everyone has a story,” you say. “What’s yours?”

Oh, kiss me and be done with this. Kiss me, and remember…to hell with the consequence.

“Why do you want my story?”

“I like stories,” you whisper. “Who are you?”

“Just a nobody,” I say. “Loved and spoiled too much by her daddy, who tried to compensate for the mother who ran off and left her alone.”

“The father?”

“Worked his health off to ensure his daughter had all the luxuries in life to make up for the one thing he couldn’t bring back.”

“The mother,” you say conclusively.

“The mother,” I agree.

“And the spoiled brat?” you ask.

“Emerges now and then from her gardens to mingle.”

“You should emerge more often.”

“I should,” I say. “And you should be careful.”

“Should I?” You grin oh so mischievously. You are trouble. But I already knew that.

“The night is growing late. And I need to go.”

I collect my things and stand from the table. You stand with me.

“Do you have someone waiting at home?”

“I have to go,” I whisper. Your mouth is inches from mine.

“I’m afraid,” you say. If I rise up on tiptoe, your mouth would be on mine.

“Of what?” I ask.

“Never seeing you again.”

I lock my knees to keep from falling.

“I get the distinct feeling that if you walk through that door tonight, I’ll never see you again.”

“Maybe you won’t,” I say. You shake your head at me.

“I’m not okay with that, lass.”

Another spike of heat to my gut. I shake my head slightly to try in vain to clear it.

“Maybe you should be,” I say.

You shrug.

“What can I say? I love danger. How do you feel about adventure?”

Before I can answer, someone grabs your shoulder, pulling your attention away from me and breaking me from your spell. Cursing my stupidity, I run for the door, rudely shoving my way through the crowd. I’m gone, down the alley before you even realize I’m gone.

With every step, I stab the wet pavement with the heel of my boots.

“Selfish,” I mutter, cursing myself for being so stupid. I shake my head, forcing back the tears that threaten my cool composure. What was I doing? You’d see me, know me, and then what? I put you through the hell of watching me die all over again? And for what? All for the chance of seeing you again? Selfish. I was risking too much for my own interests. It’s a mistake I wouldn’t make again. I will not be going back to the club. I shove aside the wrenching scream that tears at my insides. I have to deal. Maybe I’ll move to some remote plateau or curl up in my forest and die in a place where I can’t hurt you ever again.

You call my name, and I stumble over my feet. Cold runs down my legs.

My name.

I never told you my name since your deal with Death. You would have no way of knowing, unless…

I gaze over my shoulder and into your eyes. In that moment, you own me. I’m yours, and again, as before, your words are the commands I’m eager to follow. My mouth is agape. It’s as if I’ve stepped into one of my dreams. I see sadness in your eyes…the moon, the sun, the world all hang in your eyes. You look at me as if you know me. I want to ask, but fear takes me. What I want I can’t begin to have, but if I don’t start walking now, I never will.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I say. I don’t know where I find the strength to speak. “Please…” I say. “Leave me be.” I turn to leave.

You call my name and it pulls at my heart, but I keep walking.

“I remember!”

I stop and look back, my eyes wide with disbelief. Everything about you has changed. Your games are over. For a moment, I think you’re angry with me. I can’t name the look in your eye.

“What did you say?” I gasp, unable to breathe.

“I remember,” you say again. “I remember everything.”

I brace for Death’s cold hand. I wait for the earth to open up and take me away from you. But none of that happens. I’m afraid to move. Perhaps with my first step, Death will see us and she’ll know. I’m too afraid to move. The earth begins to shift.

“The forest. The hunters. The gun shot,” you say.

That day comes back to me as you walk me through it—all of it. It’s as if the last year never happened at all. This can’t be real. The street is spinning, but you keep talking.

“The blood…and Mara.”

Mara. Death’s name leaves a vile sick in my throat.

“My deal with Death,” you say. “All of it.”

I hunt your eyes for truth and truth glares back at me. My blood turns to ice as my legs buckle. As if waiting for me to fall, you’re on me, catching me just as my legs give out. I fall to my knees and I cry.

You take my face in your hands and you pull me into you. And just like that, my love, the world comes rushing back, and, for the first time since that night, I can breathe. I gasp between my sobs. I curl my fingers into you, too afraid to wrap my arms around you, should you be a wonderful dream I’ll soon wake up from. Too afraid to let go should you be real. You hush me as you rock. But I feel you shaking. You’re just as scared to lose me. If you let go…perhaps I’m not really here at all.

“How?” I ask.

“I never forgot, lass,” you say.

“But the letter…” I gasp. I can smell you and your scent clouds my head. “Why…Why did you write…?”

“I wrote what she allowed…”

My heart is pounding as if beating the life back into me.

“I didn’t lose my memory, lass. You did. That’s why I wrote you the letter…because you didn’t remember.”

The world is spinning and I am teetering on panic.

“You didn’t lose…” I gasp. “You didn’t lose… I…?”

All the letters. All the dreams. All the nights spent clawing at my skin, wishing for death. I force my brain to focus. You were still holding me there. You next to me. Telling me I couldn’t kiss you. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think.

“What,” I whisper. My head is spinning.

“I never lost my memory, lass,” you say. “That was part of the deal.”

I’m hyperventilating as I battle against the air to breathe. “Why are you telling me this?” I gasp. “For a year… A whole year… You knew? What I lived through? The hell I lived through?”

“I lived it too,” you say gently.

“Why?” Tears streak my face, and you wipe them away with your thumbs. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“You were at the club. You were there every night. I thought it would be easier if you thought I couldn’t remember… If you stayed away—”

I’m shaking my head, desperate to clear it…to think.

“I saw how you looked at me,” you say. “It was killing you.”

“Of course it’s killing me… You’re…”

I can’t bring myself to say it.

“Why?” I whisper.

I think about it for a moment. I see you holding me right now, rocking me…

“If I saw you, knowing what you know now… Could you then see me and not have me? Could you let me go?”

I thought about the months that had followed that day. Of nights spent screaming. I hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept. I lay in bed for months, writhing in pain. When I did finally moved, it was because I had moved to find the club where you played. I lived to see you, to know you, to hear you. Aching to speak to you, and touch you. And this now. You, so close, right there, sharing now in the hell and the agony, knowing what we both want but can’t have. If we do…if we do… I don’t know any more.

“Was this just a game to you?” I ask. “Is that what this is? Something you could play with, handle, have, toy with then just throw away?

The question upsets you and at once I regret asking it.

“Not throw away,” you say.

“What am I to you?” I ask. “Is this just a game? Was any of it real? What really happened that day?”

“I believed…if you thought I couldn’t remember, it would be easier.”

And it had. It did. I had to admit.

“Until I saw you,” you say. “Not knowing, suffering this alone…it was clearly taking its toll on you. I knew you when you first came into the club. I watched you fall apart. This was eating you up inside. And you carried it all alone.”

“So what now?” I ask. “We’re to go back to what we were? Me hanging back, watching you from another life? Pretending none of this ever happened? That I don’t love you? That we didn’t—”

But you don’t let me finish. Your mouth is on mine so fast, so hard, I suddenly don’t care about any of it. You silence me with your kisses, and I rise up and respond.

I don’t know how long we sat in the street, kissing under the lamplight. I don’t know when or how we came to be in the manor in the wood where you live. I do remember thinking just as I fell asleep with you beside me how many questions I had with too few answers. I do remember having no care or concern for the death witch who we had just betrayed or the price we would soon pay.

For you, sweet lass, I would lasso the moon and pull it down for you… If only I could.

The moonlight spills across the bed. You sleep soundly. I could watch you sleep all night and for the rest of my life. I’m too restless to sleep or stay still, and my empty stomach urges me to hunt for food. Rising from the bed to not wake you, I silently step into the hall.

I don’t know what the day will bring. I don’t know what any of this means. What games Death plays. It was from an old story that I first heard her name and how, if you knew that name, she could be called upon for a favor. Little did I know how much it would cost us.

I follow the hallway down the stairs to the grand foyer. A moment later, I’m searching the kitchens for something on hand while I think about what I have in the fridge, but I can’t steal my mind from Death.

Abandoning the fridge, I head to the library. I browse the books, gliding my finger across the spines, until I find the title I’m looking for.

“Mara,” I read aloud. I pull the book from the shelf and open it to the page marked with a scrap of paper covered in my hurried handwriting. A moment later, I’m scanning the text for anything at all that stands out.

“Mara,” I read. “Of death… Nightmares.” The passage goes on to describe its roots in Hinduism, Buddism, Slavic, and Scandinavian cultures as well as Old English and Greek.

“Known in many cultures as being of and/or related to nightmares, death… In some cultures, she is the Succubus…the ancient Druids…Celts…”

“Fascinating, isn’t it?”

I look up from the book, closing it quickly on the note, bookmarking the page I was on as I gaze into Death’s cool, black eyes.

She’s here, sweet lass. The light bathes her body like a fine cloth. She possesses me. I feel it. It’s all I can do not to ravage her right there. I fight a primal ache that I know stems from her games and not my desires. That’s when I realize she has the power to puppet me like a marionette on shackled chains if the wish becomes her.

“Your instructions were clear.”

Her voice is like silk. “You knew what would happen if you spoke to her again.”

I know I have no time to barter. On a whim, she could strike you dead.

“Anything,” I say. “Anything at all.”

“You said this once.”

She turns her back to me and pretends to browse my collection of books.

“Anything, Mara,” She glances over her shoulder at me. “Name it. It’s yours,” I say.

“You possess nothing that I want,” she spits.

“Is it my memory you want?”

My words provoke her, and before I can blink, she is on me. Her cheek presses into mine. I breathe deep her intoxicating scent meant to torment the strongest of men. Her lips graze my ear. I drop the book.

“I want you writhing in pain,” she says then pulls away. Her spell thickens and I try to shake it off. If she lacked her venomous poison, I’d be inclined to scrub her filth from me, the wretched bitch.

“Me,” I say.

“You?”

“My life.”

She scoffs.

“Your life is nothing to me.”

“My servitude then.”

I see the desire dilate her pupils at the thought of keeping me as her obedient plaything. I know I just found my bargaining chip.

“That’s what you want,” I say. “What you’ve always wanted. Me…bound to you for all eternity…” I let the words marinate as she rolls them over. “Name your command. I’ll obey.”

“Slavery…” Her lips rise in a smile that pours a chill down my back. “This is the price you’d pay?”

For you, my love. Anything.

“Yes,” I say, knowing I’m binding my fate to Death’s will. Hating that once again, I find myself bartering with Death.

“No letter this time,” she says. “No goodbye. No answers. This time, you’ll just go.”

No answer. I imagine you living and never knowing what or where or why… Never knowing what happened to me. Would such a life be worse than death?

“Vanish. Gone…without an answer,” she croons, spelling out the terms for me. “Only then will I let her live.”

Live. With life, you’d have a chance to love another. With life, you’d have a chance to forget and go on. With life, there is such possibility. Whereas with death…

Just then the solution is clear. Possibility, this is what I was exchanging my freedom for. And just like that, I have no doubt. For you, my love, I’ll do anything.

I gaze into Death’s black eyes and speak the word that seal my fate.

“Done.”

And just like that, I am no longer of this realm.

Sweet, lass… Will you ever forgive me?

I watch from the other side as you scream and writhe in torment. I am here, always here, since the moment you woke. I am still here, watching as worry turns to fear then panic.

Those first few hours were the easiest. Once realization set in, the real hell began.

You stopped searching the house and calling my name. Now you just sit on my bed, breathing me in, rocking and screaming. I thought the first several hours were agonizing…then you started to scream. Part of me wished for Mara’s orders, but they never came. I think she wallowed in watching my agony as your pain set in.

You passed the first day in bouts of panic and screams. The second day came and went in one endless scream. On day three, your screams were interrupted by long stretches of silence. By day four, there was only silence. I watched helpless as you lay staring off into nothing. Still, Mara didn’t call. So I sat beside you and waited while you muttered my name.

How long has it been? Weeks? Months? The life in your eyes is gone now, replaced with a deadened stare. Today, you finally showered and dressed. You tried to eat, but threw everything up. Next day, you tried again. After a week, you finally kept it down. A month later, you left the house. I thought you would never return, but not you, sweet lass. You returned hours later with your barest of essentials. By the end of the day, you had made my vacant house your own as if perched in my nest, waiting for me to return.

Your work consumes you, but the spark and life in your eyes is gone. Nights always were the hardest. With no club to escape to, you spend your nights pouring over my books. You’re still looking, sweet lass. Let me go. You talk in your sleep and I listen. You call for me less and less. Then you wake reaching for me and I watch helpless as another bout of weeping takes you.

Your love seems like ages ago. Mara now calls constantly and, as promised, I do her bidding. On occasion, I check in with you. Life seems to have resumed for you. While, for me, eternal imprisonment has just begun.

In silence, I gaze, forever watching only inches from you, but a world away. You’ll never see me. Never hear me. But you’ll live, sweet lass. Perhaps one day you’ll find another. Live long and hard, find another. Forget me, lass. This I do for you.