The Unnamed Anniversary

The Good One

Brooke.

It's always a bittersweet day when her birthday rolls around. On the one hand, it's a celebration, a way to mark and acknowledge she was here, she existed, she touched lives. A sign to the world, to Brooke, that he'll never forget her. He'll always love her. Her memory lives on in him. But...

No matter how hard he tries to keep those facts in mind and fight the creeping darkness, Munk always ends up succumbing to the pain. The what-ifs. The unfairness of it all. The burning anguish and shame that he couldn't stop it, couldn't save them. The wretched knowledge that it's his fault they're gone. He'll sit with the tatters of his heart. Shaking hands trying hard to piece it back together, though he'll fail, in part because he can't see through the flood of tears, but mostly because he doesn't truly believe it deserves to be repaired.

The grief eats at him from the inside, gnawing at his bones. It's serrated teeth, far more deadly than Munk's own but instead of snapping and breaking, it leeches everything positive, anything joyful, every drop of hope from him.

It leaves him cold and lonely, and terrified because there's no end. This is all there is for him now and he knows there's no point fighting it. Because the oppressive wave of guilt will find him regardless of how high he climbs or how fast he sprints. It's cloying and unescapable, dragging him under and holding him there, laughing as he takes his final breath and watches another shard of his soul die.

But he's so sick of it all. So utterly done with the immeasurable helplessness. So tired of feeling useless and feeble. Especially now, with the strength of the beast surging through his veins. The beast that snaps and snarls whenever Munk descends into the depths of despondency. Because how dare he forget what he is, how dare he allow anything to best him? He was an apex predator and he would bow before no one. Especially not those who ripped his love from him.

A flash of white hot wrath bolts through his blood, igniting a fury that burns away his sorrow. Wiping any thought of Brooke from his mind. This time the teeth that grind are his and the guttural growl rumbling through the emptiness is a promise of danger and death. His thoughts come to rest of the demons who did this to him bringing to the surface a savage need to rip, gut, destroy...

And then, as if on cue, when the anger burns itself to ash and he's hit by self loathing. This wasn't about what had happened to him. 

Whimpering, he curls into a ball in a futile attempt to shield himself from the inexorable remorse. Bile burns the back of his throat as he realizes what he's done. He hates himself for sullying her celebration and making it about him; for momentarily forgetting what the day is. For defiling her memory in such a disgusting way.

So he starts again. Taking a breath, unlocking his muscles to right himself, ignoring the churning in his stomach and the vomit clawing to get out. He pushes every other thought to the back of his mind and concentrates on her. On Brooke. Reminding himself that she lived, she was his and she changed his life.

On and on, through the days leading up to the anniversary and for some time after, he'll cycle through these thoughts and emotions. Trying his hardest to stay cheerful for her sake, to control the beast within, to focus on the happy times. All the while wondering if his attempts to stay positive are a slight on her memory, anxiously worrying that he's tainting her legacy. Trying to ignore the crushing weight on his shoulders that this isn't the way it's meant to be.

Not this year though. He's determined this year will be different.

Pulling out the photograph of her smiling face, he sets it down on his pillow. The familiar clench of his heart is accompanied by the tightening of his throat. Scorching tears sear the corners of his eyes as he holds them at bay, swallowing past the massive lump in his throat. Not today. Not like this. She deserves better.