The year passed slowly. As the air cooled, things got increasingly worse between Al and I. There was nothing to stop it from happening.
My body healed, and Al moved out at the beginning of February. She had found a place just downtown from where I was, but I knew I wouldn’t see her.
Donald began to leave early in the morning for work. He’d sometimes be gone for weeks. Sometimes more…My boss, Sam, told me to continue working on my story about Mutants. Told me that I had more talent there than reporting on normal events. But I couldn’t force myself to write about Donald. At least, not until I knew the full story.
I still had nightmares, and they were always bad ones.
They were always the same, too. Most of them were about my mother, my mind replaying the scene over and over. Going over the man who killed her, my mind moving through everyone I’ve ever met to try and figure out who he was. But in the process, I would wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of my own screams. Time and time again, Donald would abandon his bed and sleep in mine until the morning. Something neither of us complained about.