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“Both. Neither. I’m not sure either,” he stated as he continued eating.
I sat in silence until he finished. He took a deep breath and said, “I don’t know how to explain…Alfred is the only one who I’ve ever told and he didn’t need much proof.”
“Shame on him.” I was going to need proof and whole lot of it. “My grandfather is a science-fiction and thriller type man. Me? I’m a diehard romantic. So you can’t just tell me you were once Romeo Montague, the Romeo of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet and just get an oh-that-sounds-legit pass from me.”
“I was not Romeo Montague, the Romeo of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. William took liberties with our story. So did Arthur Brooke and before them both, Masuccio Salernitano. I was Romeo Montecchi of Verona and Juliet wasn’t Juliet but Giulietta Capuleti in 1378. We did not get married but swore to. I tried to escape to Egypt but was told that Giulietta needed to see me at the church we promised ourselves at. I arrived only to be knifed. Giulietta did not kill herself but died of a heart attack when she came to church to try and warn me that it was a setup. Also, there was never a Rosaline, why William added her I will never understand.”
I had to put my hand on my head because it felt like the world was spinning. Where was I supposed to start with that? From the least important—that being the fact he’d just called one of the greatest writers of all time William as if he’d known him personally. Or should I start from the
most important—that he’d just completely ruined the story for me!
“You…this… what…oh my god I don’t know who’s crazy anymore.” I threw my hands up. “No that’s a lie. I know I’m not crazy. Do you hear yourself?”
He sighed as he stood and moved towards the sink. Turning on the faucet he set his bowl down and reached for the pot too. It was only when I started to get up from the floor that he spoke again.
“I can’t make you believe me. In all honesty, I wish Alfred hadn’t told you. Do you think I want to be like this?” He paused as he squeezed the sponge tightly. “Do you know how painful it is to remember not only how you yourself died, but how the person you loved died?”
I said nothing and he continued to scrub the bowl harder. “Nine hundred and ninety-nine times, that is how many times I have felt myself die, have watched her die. And some days I can’t breathe, I can’t eat, and I fear that if I close my eyes I will fall into another memory and watch helplessly as everything falls apart! I’m tired! I am tired of living like this! I wish I were insane, I swear to you that I do because at least there would be some type of drug that could spare me this agony! Instead, I have coffee to keep me up at night! NINE HUNDRED AND NINETY-NINE TIMES I have loved her and it has only led to our death. So screw it! Screw love. Screw romance! I do not want it! I’ll die alone in the woods before I go back to that again!”
The bowl shattered as he flung it into the sink. He gripped the edge of the counter and hung his head. Slowly I moved closer and placed my hands over his.
“I believe you and it’s…sad,” I whispered.
He glanced up at me. “It’s worse than sad, it’s a nightmare. I don’t know why we are being punished like this—”
He gripped his head again.
“Another…memory?” I asked holding on to him quickly.
“I’m going to lie down,” he whispered and pulled himself away from me.
I watched as he walked, broken, tired, and every bit miserable, back to the stairs. He climbed up one at a time as if the weight of the world were trying to pull him back down. When he was gone, I turned to the broken bowl in the sink.
“I told you he was romantic,” I whispered as I carefully picked up the pieces. Nine hundred and ninety-nine times he’d loved the same woman, the only woman in the world for him, his soulmate. It wasn’t sad because they died. It was sad because he didn’t seem to realize that she loved him back, all nine hundred and ninety-nine times, she’d loved him even though she knew it would kill them both and now he’d decided to reject her. That was the sad part.
Maybe they will find themselves again?
Wait, do I really, truly believe this?
“Shit.” I looked down to see that I’d cut my finger on a shard of the broken bowl. Sticking my finger into my mouth, I quickly threw the broken bits into the trash and finished cleaning up.
It didn’t matter if I believed it. He believed it and he was mourning because of it.
8. THE LAND OF THE LIVING
MALACHI
BEEP…
BEEP…
BEEP…
“What in the—”
“It’s 8 a.m.”
“Ah!” I hissed as the sun assaulted my eyes, forcing me to roll over. “Go away…” My voice trailed off as the smell of scrambled eggs, hash browns, bacon, French toast, and best of all, coffee, filled my nose. Opening my eyes I saw the food sitting on a tray right beside my face. I was so mesmerized by it that I didn’t even notice her until she put a blue origami bear right next to the cutlery set she’d not only laid out but folded into a napkin.
