Note - Unbeta'id. I did my best, but if there are mistakes, please point out, so I can remedy them.


Incompatibility

He had been halfway through his dinner when the doorbell rang. He had been thinking of the day he had already lived and the one he would have to face tomorrow. There was a lot that had happened, a lot of things waiting to happen and altogether everything was in a frozen state. There was nothing going on. Many mundane, ordinary and utterly boring things had been in this day and many more in the making. Nothing that would make this day shine among other three hundred sixty four in the year or even the seven in the week.

The bell rang again. He dropped the fork. He hadn't invited anybody. He never invited anybody. He had tried not to expect. God, he hoped this wasn't a figment of his imagination.

This evening was no different from any other windy autumn evenings, yet here she was – by his front door, with no warning whatsoever – as always, and wearing an annoyed frown upon her face. The moment he opened the door she appraised him with a glance like a piece of meat and attacked. She didn't say a word. She grabbed him and pushed him inside of the house and against the wall. She kissed him and she wasn't gentle. He didn't care. She was going to take him and he will gladly surrender.

Lying on the carpet on the floor of his living room, he fought off sleep for few more moments. His gaze roamed her body as if he wanted to carve her into his skull to remember forever. He knew that memory faded with time and that the feat he wanted to achieve was impossible, yet he tried and cherished the moments he had. He held those hours stolen from reality in dear memory. He knew that she probably never pondered over those meetings or thought of them for hundred times over and over again until details were forgotten and a feeling was all that remained. But that was okay. He would be their memory. He could remember for the both of them.

This strange relationship had gone on longer than he cared to admit and it could end sooner than he wanted to know. He remembered the beginning fairly well.

He had been young and foolish. He didn't mean to imply that now he was old, but he certainly wanted to believe that he was no longer foolish. He had nothing more to give so he couldn't lose everything again. No, he definitely wasn't as foolish as he had been. That kind of mistake you can make only once in a lifetime. After that, there's not enough left to start over. Fire is beautiful but you can't build a new house from the ashes. At least, he couldn't.

They had met at a dance club. Oh, that was definitely original and undoubtedly promising – he knew the risks entailed. They met one night, the next and a few after that. He was curious of her. They had mostly danced and little words were exchanged. Once he persuaded her to go to a restaurant. They actually spent the time talking. She didn't tell much. Only little things, random – those that were of no importance to her but allowed an insight into her world for him. He actually fell for her then and there. The most reckless and idiotic thing he had ever done.

They only met at nights, only when the sun had gone down. She was never there when he expected her and only sometimes when she was unexpected. They met randomly. He never knew where to look for her; she always found him and all his efforts to appoint a meeting were futile. She was never there and he always waited. He tried not to expect but in the end all the time gone by and disappointments were just water under the bridge. He kept waiting, expecting and believing even against himself. He loathed himself for that sometimes, in the few moments of alcohol induced lucidity. But that was okay. She couldn't stay. She wasn't one for waiting. He could wait and be there for the both of them.

Even sometimes nowadays they actually conversed. She rarely told a thing, the years that had gone had made her even more tight-lipped. Seldom something slipped. So he talked. He spoke of himself, of life, of the world – of anything that crossed his mind. He laid his soul bare in front of her. She never said a word of it. She only listened and never commented. Sometimes her body talked for her, he knew her for so long that he could read the words from the manner in which she drank her cup of tea. These days she rarely stayed till the tea. But that was okay. He could speak for the both of them.

He had almost broken yesterday. He had almost invited a friend over. A colleague from work – she had a renovation in her house and the smell of paint made her queasy. He had almost invited her to stay here. And today he was reminded why he stopped himself in the last possible moment that day. These couple of hours reminded him why he never invited anyone around. Why he always tried not to expect. He suspected that she wouldn't care if there was anybody in here, in his life. He knew she wouldn't give a damn. Yet he cared. As long as he cared, as long as he kept distance and as long as he was faithful, he could believe that she felt the same way. As long as he was troubled he could pretend that she was as concerned as he. It was okay. He cared enough for the both of them.

He hadn't noticed when he fell asleep. He had awoken though he didn't open his eyes yet. He wanted to believe for one more moment that she was still here, by his side. That this time she stayed. He didn't want to glance at the clock and realize that he had overslept. He didn't want to rush out of the house in an anxious and futile effort to make it to work in time. He didn't want to try and grasp the fleeting memories of last night. He didn't want to face the reality. He didn't want to face the world. He could already feel the cold.

Couple of minutes later he couldn't lie on the hard floor any longer. His back was in pain, he was cold and a refuge in the dream world had been denied to him. His passport had been stolen by her. He sat up. She was gone. The cold he felt and previous experience had been the messengers yet he hadn't been able to believe the message until he saw it - the empty place by his side on the floor. Until he truly felt it fully again - the draft deep within him that always kept him from getting too warm or cozy. He gritted his teeth.

Later he sat in the kitchen by the table and sipped a particularly disgusting coffee. He glanced outside of the window every now and then although he knew that she was long gone. Hope was like a parasite as long as you lived you could never really get rid of it. He took a sip from the coffee. The vile taste brought him a step closer back to the reality.

He rarely saw her go and even when he did, he never made a move to stop her. She was her own, she was free to go and it had been his choice to let her take him with her. He doubted that she knew that somewhere in a pocket usually reserved for keys or wallet was a part of him. The foolish one which he had given her long ago and couldn't take back anymore. The part of him that had grown off of him, the one that had to be amputated for his own good. He couldn't take it back. And he wouldn't.

He realized that he was pathetic. He was truly stupid and she was the biggest mistake of his life. Yet no man is without faults and he couldn't let go. Every time she walked out of his door he didn't know whether she would come back, but should she – he would open the door willingly.

Every time he woke alone he was cold, slightly feverish and in pain. She left unseen wounds on him that bled and never skinned over as if he was suffering from hemophilia. He was in anguish though his illness wasn't an ordinary one – she was his poison and no doctor could heal it. And although she didn't care – it was okay. Although she kept her silence – it was fine. He could bleed for the both of them.