ONE LIFE AT A TIME

Cezille07
Chapter One The Man
I never expected my angel to come save me in my worst moment.
It was raining. Harder than I could remember in my twenty years of life. Which I've
pretty much spent alonebut you didn't need to know that. All you should know is I'm
the loner of the century, and my name would therefore be of no importance.
So it rained. The trees were shivering as I was, afraid of the dark thunder, the chilling
gales, and the eerie whisper of the stormy dusk.
Then I heard it. A crack among the twigs. Footstepsheavy footsteps, cushioned by
thick mud, distorted by puddles of rain against the shoes.
He stumbled right into the cavity under the tree, barely conscious.
I was scared out of my wits. I hugged my knees tighter and huddled against the root
nearest to me.
"H-help me," he groaned, apparently in pain.
And he lost consciousness.
I stood up. I backed away. On second thought, I wanted to climb out of this hole and run
for home.
But what about the guy?
I gave him a look and realized he was no ordinary character. His skin was very white, his
hair was chocolate brown, hands smooth and soft, and overall figure was fairly built. Or
maybe it was with the clothinga black, long-sleeved shirt, dark, formal pants, and
leather shoes. What was wrong? I couldn't tell right away. There was something, I knew.
But...fine...I'll stay, for now.
The night grew deeper, and the man had still not awakened.
After the rain, it might be a good chance to escape this responsibility. I had barely
finished thinking this sentence when he roused.
He looked at meout eyes met, and shivers ran through my spine at that momentbut
he didn't speak. I was confused. No 'thanks'? It didn't matter, I didn't care anyway. I
looked outside through the hole. The rain was still not giving up. He raised himself to a
sitting position and leaned against the roots. I did wonder about him, although I was
thankful it didn't show. I felt him watching me. The back of my head felt some tension. It
was him. I sensed it.

"Casey."
I turned my head sharply at the sound. "What?"
"Hi Casey," he said again, and laughed.
My face was contorted into this awkward expression. How did he know? I shook my head
and ignored him.
"Talk to me," he said, "Casey?"
I ignored him. Soon enough, the rain would stop, and I could leave him to be as weird as
he wants.
"Sorry," said the man. He edged closer to me. "I won't talk to you again. Promise."
Alright. But I ignored him. Let him wait all he wants. I wasn't talking to him.
At long last, the rain stopped. I climbed out of the hole, and he followed. His eyes were
asking, "Where do we go now?" But as you might have predicted, I didn't take notice. I
headed down the path towards home. I haven't told you why I was out in the woods in
such weather and at such a time. I was gathering firewoodit was a pollutant but cost
less than gasoline for cooking. I was secluded from the rest of humanity by this forest,
which people seldom endured discovering. I didn't want them to come close anyway.
Neither did they.
The grasses eventually thinned, as did the trees. I was close. I left behind the firewood I
picked up earlier, and I realized I left the man somewhere behind too. I heard him
following me, but I didn't notice the footsteps dying down, or turning to another path
as if there were any other paths. This was the only one.
I shrugged and locked the door.
I threw myself on my bed. I had no more intention of bathing or changing my clothes. I
was tired. And hungry too, but that didn't seem to matter as much. My brain was
nagging me, "Casey, you could have helped that man." But what could I have done? I
would have been too afraid to come close, too conscious, too wary of any mistakes I
might makeand I was prepared to make any. But still. He came and left discreetly,
carrying himself with grace even in pain. He even laughed at himself, he was open to
me.
Open to me...
The doorbell rang.
My feet were heavy as they dragged me down to the door. I pulled the knob without
thinking who it waswho else was it, right? I was right.
"So," I began, and looked down at my feet. I glanced at him. He was watching me. I
scratched my head and yanked my gaze away. "Do...do you wanna come in?"

He remained standing there. The rain had regained power, and was thrashing the earth
in all its fury. He smiled.
What now? I didn't know what to say, but it wouldn't be right to just turn back. "I'll leave
the door open if you change your mind."
What? I actually said that? I admit, it was the stupidest thing I had ever said. My face
felt hot. I walked briskly to my room and shut the door again. Meanwhile, I didn't hear
the front door close. He was still standing there? I didn't know, and I didn't want to look.
My reputation, my self-perception, and my esteem were all at stake.
But suddenly...it didn't feel as important.
I sighed again. After I changed into dry clothes, I rummaged in my wardrobe for any
getup that might suit him. Ahh, was I really bothering?! I don't know whether I was
finally changing, or if the rain still extended my adrenalin-rush. Even if I had wanted to, I
never cared, I tell you, I never cared.
The front door was still open, but there were muddy prints on the floor leading to the
bathroom. I heard water running from the faucet. He was inside.
"Excuse me," I called, "I have some clothes for you here, after you come out." That
didn't seem as awkward. Maybe I was getting used to him. Are you stupid? He's a
stranger! But no, really. "Hello?"
I pushed the door open. "Oh no," I let out. I could have reacted more strongly, though. I
was shocked, deep inside, I swear. He was unconscious on the floor. Blood from his
mouth stained the tiles deep red, but the overflowing water washed some away. "Ddamn..."
I dropped what I was holding. I dropped to my knees. I didn't know what to do. I can't
save his life! I can't, I don't have the power...I don't have the guts.
"Wake up..." I took his wrist and checked for a pulse. "No pulse..." His hands were very
cold. Why should I care? I hated myself for the question. His life lay in my hands. But
what should I do?! Someone give me an answer! If I can just will him alivebut that
was stupid.
I found myself crying over his body, over this stranger's deador dyingbody. And I
waited for his breathing to subside. It grew weaker by the minute. For a moment I
almost thought it was actually gone. I didn't know how long that took, but my eyes were
painful when he stopped. He was dead.
I killed him...

Chapter Two Michael Perry

I drifted asleep. Asleep on the bathroom floor.
"Casey." I almost thought I heard someone call my name. "Casey." I recalled suddenly
how he first called me. "Casey." I never said anything. We never met before. It crossed
my mind a lot, the question of how he found out.
"Casey!"
I opened my eyes. I sat up, and to my biggest surprise, there we were, the man and I,
sitting, watching each other. "You're..." I didn't know how to put it. Alive? Not dead? A
ghost? I blinked, and I realized I was still crying.
I didn't even wonder what he was doing, alive. He was dead. Or so I thought.
I shook my head and pulled myself to my feet, and he did the same. I looked at him,
and he echoed the action.
I ran for my room again, with all intention of forgetting everything that happened tonight
with the remaining contents of my bottle of sleeping pills. I was confused, outrageously
confused What happened? He was dead. I know it. But what did I know? To ignore
people? Is that it?
I held the bottle in my right hand, and shifted it to the left. Then again to the right. I had
every urge to down the whole bottle, but something stopped me. I didn't know. I was
still wondering: How? Why? What now? Who is he? What is he to me? What am I to him?
A knock on the door halted my thoughts. "If that's you, please don't bother me," I
called. I observed the light passing through the bottle of sleeping pills, and noted how
distorted they seemed inside.
I didn't hear him walk away.
I held my breath and shut my eyes tight. Somehow, I couldn't take saying, "Leave me
alone!" I had a lot of questions. On the other hand, I didn't need answersright then, I
wanted to know why he was there.
I trembled when the doorknob turned, and in came the mysterious man. He looked over
me, something in his eyes bursting with gentle concern. He was still quiet. He came
closer, one step, then two. I backed away. He reached for my hand, which twitched when
he touched them. And he drew me near him; I could feel his warmth, his heartbeats,
his...emotions. I couldn't believe he was...happy.

I hadn't realized that I'd been standing for hours now. The evening passed, and a dim
morning came, with the rain showing no intentions of stopping anytime soon.
And I couldn't move. I mean, come on. Not every day do you get visits from the 'other
kind' of peopleno offense, but I've never experienced it before. Little did I know just
how much truth there is to my statement. That's because when I could finally move
again, I decided to talk to him.

"What's your name?" I asked casually. He was on one end of the dining table, drinking a
glass of room-temperature water. I stood on the other end, observing him. He swirled his
water, in an effort not to look at me. Something was different about him today, I
thought. Luckily for me, it was my turn to ask the questions. "Who are you?"
He stopped what he was doing. It had struck me before that asking someone's name
wasn't the same as asking who they were. His personality appeared so secret for him to
react like that: he gave me a look, as if pleading, "Don't ask."
I shrugged and took a seat. "You're still not going to talk, are you?"
He made a bad attempt at smiling and shook his head.
"Alrighty then." I made to stand up, when suddenly he spilled his water all over the
table. "What?!" I let out. He quickly spelled out his answer in the water with his finger. "I
promised you last night."
I found the motion sweet. A man who really kept his promises. "Don't worry. I was just
scared last night. You can talk now."
"Sure?" he wrote.
I smiled. "Yeah." Sure, he might be a bit odd, and some circumstances were...shall I say
'unnerving'. But an honest, sweet, promise-keeping man sounded like an ideal
companion.
Wait, did I just think that?
He seemed to read my eyes, or at least the questions in them. He offered a real grin this
time, and began, "My name is Michael Perry. You'd rather not know how mean and
selfish I was in the past, but I will say that those days are over and that I'm trying to
make up for it in every way I can."
"Oh." Cool. Reforming his life, honest, sweet, promise-keeping. Check. "What were you
doing in the forest last night?"
"I like to walk, a lot recently. I follow one path and never turn back. Last night it rained
really hard. It was nice. I went for cover and found you. The rest is history."
"You walked even in a signal number two storm?"
"The stronger, the better."
Some quirks he's got there, I smiled insideat least until I noticed how bitter his face
looked. Did I dare ask? Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. No, come on, seriously? Yes, try for
friendship's sake! "What's to like about the storm?"
He shook his head, erasing any evidence of his expression with another skin-deep smile.
"Part of the past I'd rather not tell." He stood up. "Thank you very much for letting me
stay and all, me of course being a stranger especially after...last night."
"Tell me," I pressed, standing up myself. "Tell me what happened last night." Wow, I
have never been that insistent with other people's business. I was usually the one being
asked, if ever anyone asked.

He considered for a moment whether or not he should answer, whether or not the matter
was my business at all, and for a long time I sensed a polite refusal was coming. It
startled me that he slowly answered, "I'm not a good person, I'm not who you think I
am, no matter what I appear to be. Call me crazy, but it won't be a lie."
Why? Why do you have to be this honest with me? I hated awkward moments. I
remember much of my childhood to be filled with such moments. My father always
scolded me even in public, saying that I should learn this, learn that, it was all common
sense. So I learned, but I've since hated being outside, being among other people, afraid
they'd embarrass me too
"But I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. I didn't mean to put it that way," he added. I looked
up. He must have noticed me blushing, or preparing some self-justification. I wiped a
drop of sweat trickling down my cheek, thankful for the gesture.
It occurred to me then that he found out more about me from my reactions than I did
about him by asking. Weird, I thought. But yes, he was nice.

I'm the obnoxious, lovesick type of girl who's in love with love. In love with any man who
dares to pay attention to me for longer than a minute. And this man stared at me for
three.
I didn't bother asking when he'd leave, if he'd leave at all after the rain. Frankly I didn't
care. To think I wanted him gone in the first place, that I almost didn't care that he was
out in the cold when I arrived at my house, which before him I never really considered a
home. Truly, you can't judge a book by its cover.
I hung around the kitchen on the pretense of cleaning up for himwhich was only partly
true. I was listening to him, for anything from him while he waited the rain out in the
living room. I was sure he wasn't delirious anymore to actually try to kill himself in the
bathroom again. But on the other hand, I never even bothered to ask if he was doing
better at all. After washing the dishes, I took a peek in the living room to find him,
sleeping on the couch.
I was free to admire him. Reforming his life, aware of his past, honest, sweet, promisekeeping. Check. Maybe those were the features that I found odd about him when we first
met. He was dressed like a rich man yet he behaved so humbly. Maybe he had a nice
family that oriented him to the right values early on, I mused. Or what if he suffered a
major, life-changing loss that drove all the things he wasn't proud of away? The second
felt vaguely dark and melodramatic. And hey, I was free do to that with my life, but I
couldn't judge him. His hands and face were smooth, the marks of working in a sheltered
environment. Yes, the symptoms of a rich man...but he was so humble. Too humble. I
won't dwell on the cause, but...as I knelt over him, observing every detail of him, I felt a
strange kind of peace inside. And I knew he was a good man, no matter who he was.
"Casey?"
"Huh? Oh, sorry," I mumbled. I half-wondered if my thoughts bothered him that much.
"Really sorry." I scrambled to get up, move away. I was on my feet, then he grasped my
hand. Hey, this was all too fast
"It's alright."

"What?" You can't really...alright? Too nice, I decided, he was too nice to me. To me. I
hated myself for so many reasons, perhaps as much as he disliked himself. But me, I
don't really deserve...no one's ever paid attention to me, no one's ever been this kind,
this considerate of me...
"It's okay. I'm sorry I fell asleep."
And he was excusing himself! "Wait," I said, my heart beating like a power drill, my face
red and hot. But now I had to pay him back with the only word I was capable of saying.
"Thanks."

Chapter Three Confrontations

So I'm back at square one. The unfortunate square of doubts and unanswered questions.
Those questions, "Who is he? What does he want? Why here? Why now? Why me?"
I was content with the hour-long stupor in front of the mirror as I thought about him,
holding the bottle of sleeping pills again. It was funny how I never noticed the loud
thunder, or the rain beating on my little, isolated house. But at its height, the storm
managed to cut off all power that even the generator died. We were submerged in neartotal darkness in my house of few and small windows.
I was going to call him when it occurred to me...I didn't remember his name. Casey was
very bad at name-recall and face-retention. Sure, his face was really memorable, from
that still, bloody pose in the ground floor bathroom. But his name, he only ever
mentioned it once, when he introduced himself. Other than that, the name he kept
saying was mine.
"Grace!"
I heard the cry from downstairs. Startled, I let the bottle of sleeping pills scatter on the
sink, watched it dissolve for a moment in drops of water.
Who or what is Grace? I crept down the stairs, and as expected, there was the man. I
was also expecting something new from him, and I got it too: He had changed back into
his still-wet clothes from last night. If he was alone, I wondered, then who was he
calling? Who was Grace? I watched him from the semi-darkness; he hurriedly unbolted
the door and suddenly dashed into the rain.
"Michael!" I yelled, myself surprised. I ran after him, but he was oblivious to me or any
of my attempts to call him back. "Michael!" I yelled again. He was running so fast I
worried he'd trip on some root and get injured. What was going on? What was driving
this madness?
I had two options. Turn back, let him go. The easy one. He wasn't my obligation. I can
then return to my dreary life as it was before him. But there's a line between passion
and insanity, and quite from the start I knew he had crossed it. I can't let him go.
I had just about given up when my eyes chanced on familiar form on the forest floor,
curled into fetal position, rocking back and forth. His eyes were blank, or rather, they
were seeing something beyond this desert land. "Michael!" I called again, and again he
didn't hear. It was strange. At that moment, I just wanted to embrace him. Not that it
would make anything betterand it won't, I knew thatbut he needed it now. To be
honest, so did I.
I came closer. He was mumbling something under his breath. I couldn't hear it, but
reading his lips gave enough clue, "Grace, Grace..." He hugged himself closer. He
flinched when I touched his shoulder "No! What do you want?" he yelled, "You want my
money?! Here, take it! Take it!" I retracted. What can I do, Michael? What do you want
me to do? I felt probably more helpless than he was. Maybe it showed. But he didn't
notice.
Nobody ever does.

I began the long trek back home, wet, muddy, and cold, but I didn't care. It took longer
than I thought. Had we really run this far? After what felt like three hours, five
kilometers, someone tapped my shoulder. I didn't look back. After everything he'd let me
feel! Respect, security, a little infatuationbut not love. Maybe people like him couldn't
love. Nope, I didn't look back, keeping my pace steady and my gaze straight ahead.
"Grace, I love you!" he called out, "I will marry you, if that's what you want, Grace"
Without thinking, I spun around and punched him in the face. He staggered backward,
tripped on a fallen branch, and fell seated on a gnarled root. He looked up at me, up
at me. Ignoring the "Where are we? What was I doing?" combo he displayed, I yelled, "I
am not Grace! You don't love me!"
It fairly stung my eyes the way he blinked uncertainly at me. I had said the wrong
things, I knew. I thought I could, I wanted to, but I can't love him. Forget the checklist I
made. He was crazy, crazy for that Grace person who didn't seem to love him back
anyway.
"Casey," he whispered. I wondered for a moment how I heard his soft voice in this
furious weather, or if I had just imagined this dramatic scene to come up. No, I won't
look back, not this time. "You know," Michael went on in the same low voice, "she walked
away too."
"I don't want to hear it," I snapped. I suddenly recalled how cold it was, how hard the
wind blew. We could die here, and I didn't want that. "Can we...just go home?" I heard
myself say. It barely surprised me anymore; since he came, I'd been doing things I'd
never really do: talk to strangers, be friendly, fall in love...
I felt an embrace from behind. God knows, I wanted that moment to last forever. Maybe
I did love him, even if it's that Grace he loved. This might sound selfish, but it's love, I
know it. I've never been this happy, this peaceful inside. Well, no one embraced me like
that. I don't know, what did he mean by it?
"I'm so sorry, Grace," he told me. No, darn relapse! "I'm really, really sorry."
I elbowed my way out of his grasp. "I'm not Grace!"
"Don't leave me this time, please? I won't be able to follow you into heaven!" he gave,
before he finally fell unconscious.

I looked at him. I looked hard. What was it about this man that endeared him to me?
I had guessed righthe was very sick, no pun intended. But what could I do now? I'm
no doctor. This place was miles away from civilization. Was that it? Was to watch all I
could do?
It hurt to know I had no power to help him. I couldn't save his life if I wanted to. So I
just sat there, watching his still sleep, listening as he repeated "Grace, Gracie, Gracie..."
until his speech got so slurred the name sounded like "Casey".

Chapter Four A Failed Achievement

Evening. The rain still hadn't abated. I swore I was getting a good massage in the city
after all this. I fell in and out of sleep; each time, I dreamt of Michael in the rain. I'd
suddenly wake up, have my eyes land on him, pale and motionless. I had to use every
bit of willpower I had not to kiss him. As if my kiss would miraculously be the cure. In
my life, I had only kissed two people. Those were my parents. They're both dead, which
was why I own this house and could do anything I wanted. Except kiss him now.
Even in the candlelight, I could see the contours of his face, the shadows dancing in
random patterns. The power was still out. There was nothing to do.
If I held his hand, would
He woke up!
"Casey, earlier, the rain"
"I don't need an explanation," I said, releasing my grip. He must have noticed. I offered
a nervous grin.
He took my hand and laid it on his chest. I felt his warmth, his heartbeats. "But I need to
tell you," he pressed, "Whatever we had today would have no meaning unless you
know."
I blushed. "Is this the secret you've been keeping?"
"Yes."
"And you want...to tell me?"
"I want to. If you'll listen."
I wished I could say something to take off this heavy load I sensed in him. If only he
knew I was willing to do anything for him right then. If only he knew. "I'm listening," I
said.

An hour. He told me in an hour. Grace. Late in the office. Their last night together. The
rain. The weeks he learned to endure without her. His promise to change a million lives...
And there sat Michael and I. I wondered which number I was among his million, if he
remembered, and if he knew every other girl he touched most likely loved him as I did.
Even if he were... "insane". Split personality disorder? Amnesia? No, by far he was the
kindest, most sincere, most sensitive, most passionate man to have entered this world,
my world. I couldn't begin to believe he was actually the one who needed help!
Outside, thunder shook the cold Earth while lightning painted the sky a bright orangepurple. I jumped into his arms, thought twice about reclaiming my seat, and rejected it
both times. Part of me wanted to take back the action, but the rest wanted to remain
enveloped in his strong arms.

He exhaled. "I hope what I've told you doesn't change the way you look at me as a
person," he said hesitantly.
I held my breath. "Of course not!" It was his hesitation that let me know he was thinking
about himself for the first time. It was always me, and I let him, because I needed it.
How can I put into words what I was feeling without offending him? I had to answer fast.
Anything. "You didn't have to tell me any of that. But you did." Not that it's his fault.
Maybe letting me see that he was also vulnerable made me love him more. "Because of
that I think we've become closer." Was that the right thing to say? No, maybe not. I just
wanted to hug him forever, my darling angel, who saved me even if he carried these
things in his heart.
So dare me. Dare me to be stronger, dare me to fight my introversion, dare me to
interact with the world again. Dare me, Michael! I dare you to dare me. I will fight for
you!
"Good." He seemed to want to add more, to justify himself, but he didn't. He instead
took my hand, I let him have it. He squeezed on it, I squeezed back. If only to let him
know I was there for him. That I'd do anything for him.
"Oh Casey," he whispered in his lowest voice yet. I wondered for a moment how I heard
it, considering the storm outside, and the thoughts that were trying to blow up my brain.
But it came to me: He was special. He was connected to me in the way only true friends
are.
"Will you do something for me?" he asked. I was brought back to reality.
"Anything," I told him. I hesitated pulling back, then decided to do so anyway. He was so
warm and fragile, but I needed to let him speak. I wouldn't mind giving anything now to
keep him with me.
"By tomorrow, the storm will be gone. I don't...want to hurt you. I won't remember you,
or anything we did today. Tomorrow's a new day. Even if it rains, I won't remember. I'll
be the Michael whom Grace left behind," he explained.
"I don't understand."
"You have to bring me back to the hospital. My mission isn't over. I don't know if it will
ever be. But for Grace..."
It hurt to listen to him speak. I knew it hurt him, to have to keep working for something
he lost and will never get back. But most of all, it hurt me. Because I loved him dearly.
Yes, the obnoxious lovesick girl is coming back to play. But I know love when I feel it.
But if I don't oblige, he'll suffer the consequences. Either way, to acknowledge what he
wanted seemed to be the best option. "If that's what you want," I said sheepishly. He
hugged me tighter. Maybe he was just cold, but I understood it to mean, "I love you,
Casey."
"I'm sure she's very proud of you, wherever she is."
He was quiet for a while. He looked at me, maybe trying to pinpoint exactly why I cared.
"No" was all he said.
"But you really are"

"Not what you think! I'm still Michael Perry and nothing can change that!"
At the end of the day, he still thought of the monster that looked back at him in the
mirror. I felt powerless in the wake of his guilt; it scared whatever sense and security I
had built all my life. I loved him because he taught me to love myself. I wished I could
give back as much.
What else can I do? I held on to his hand, willing to stay awake as long as I could,
because tomorrow would be the day I'd have to give him up.

I opened my eyes with horror to see sunlight shining through the window. I gave a yawn
and realized Michael wasn't beside me. I had no intention to leave him in the care of
unconcerned doctors, I thought indignantly. For once, I wanted to prove I was capable of
taking care of someone. Take care of him. Prove he was worthy of being loved too.
I looked in the adjacent rooms. He was in one of the guest rooms, sitting on the window
sill, his back turned to me. The wind blew his chocolate-brown hair gently, creating this
mysterious, movie-like aura about him.
I stepped inside. He heard my steps and faced me, no recognition in his eyes. "Who am
I?!" he yelled. Not quite the expected, "Who are you?" I was prepared to answer with
"It's me, Casey. Remember?" But of course he didn't. I came forward. He drew back,
nearly fell off the window. I just caught his hand in time.
"Good morning Michael," I said.
The wary look became softer. "Is that my name?" he asked. I looked up at his face. He
was still the same. Maybe a bit disoriented, a bit shaken with the memory loss, but the
same nevertheless. It crossed my mind that I had to do this every single day if I wanted
to keep him. Or that I had to keep my promise to him as faithfully as he had with his
promise to Grace.
"Your name is Michael Perry," I answered. I led him into my room again, let him lie down
comfortably before tucking him under the blankets. He needed rest. After one last hour
I'd take him back to the hospital. "And you are a very good man," I added, finally
earning a decent look from him.
-END-