Guilt, Regrets, and Silence

Guilt, Regrets, and Silence

"Jean,.... Jean,.... Jean" Mathieu called as Jean stared off. "You are always somewhere else." Mat laughed, "And damn old friend, you look like hell."
Jean smiled at his old friend, "I haven't had a good night's sleep since..." as he faked a smile to hide a frown, "Well you know."
Mathieu stared into his eyes, "Well is there nothing to be done for it? Have you seen a doctor about it, maybe get put on some sleeping pills?"
"No" retorted Jean, "I think I will go this one on my own." At this Jean politely stood up, left a few dollars for his cup of coffee and bade his friend a warm farewell.  Although warm it lacked authenticity. And for all his good etiquette Mat knew his friend was not well. But these things could hardly be helped.
When Jean arrived at his apartment he tossed his keys on the counter and walked into the bathroom. On the counter was an overturned photograph in a pretty purple frame. A young woman with black hair and a beautiful smile was hugging a man who looked like Jean did, in happier days.
In the bathroom there were still two towels. A his and hers set from the wedding. It had been a lovely event. Beautiful Anya had looked so amazing in that white dress. Had looked so wonderful always. To the point where Jean could hear himself saying "Anya my love... Anya... please hurry up... you've been in there for hours... I'm sure you'll look fine, but we will miss the play" Or whatever..... He sat down in the shower and began to cry. The cold water couldn't hold back the tears tonight. The tears he shed for dear Anya.
Jean stood up and looked in the mirror. In the reflection he swore he could see Anya standing behind him. But not as she was, not young and beautiful, but tortured and broken. He could see the unclosed wounds where her face broke on the steering wheel.  He could see a few ribs hanging out, and cringed. The sight of it made him vomit, and brought him to his senses as he threw up in the toilet.
Jean cried out once more "Anya" but as he looked around there was no one there. He walked into a kitchen filled with little knickknacks and clutter that his dearly departed had once adorned their quiet little home with. A home Jean had been unable to alter since the accident.  He stared at a ceramic kitten, all white and pure, like his Anya had been. Then in a fit of rage he smashed the figurine on the counter and began balling.
As his teary eyes looked up he made eye contact with the same horrific caricature as before, his dear Anya, his dear Anya the way she looked the night he lost her. Jean stared at her mangled body standing in front of him judging him. Jean stuttered but finally found a few words.  "Anya, I'm so sorry." The corpse remained silent. Just judging him from those hollow eyes. "Anya" Jean continued pleadingly, "Anya, I should have been driving that night!" The tears running down his face he put out his arms to embrace the corpse of his dearest love but the image faded and Jean abruptly fell to the floor.
"Anya" he cried out again as he laid on the floor, curled up a grown man who felt as broken inside as the corpse of his dead wife.
On the night of the accident it had been raining. Jean had terrible eyesight at night in particular and made all the worse by the rain. He politely asked Anya to drive. Being the adorable couple they were, beautiful Anya gladly took the keys. They kissed right before she turned the keys and then began to drive.  She put a hand on Jean's hip as they drove. He smiled at the beautiful woman, but his mind was elsewhere. They were newlyweds, and had so much to get done the next week if they wanted to be able to go on honeymoon to Barbados.
Anya had always wanted to see the Caribbean, but had grown up so poor. Jean wasn't wealthy, but he always had enough to make his Anya happy. He tucked away money in secret over the three years of their engagement. Surprising her on their wedding day with tickets to Bridgetown.
As Anya squeezed Jean's hip again gently she turned slightly to look into Jean's eyes, but just as that happened a car from the intersection slipped, its brakes failed in the rain and clipped Jean and Anya. The side of her face smashed on the steering wheel. and her ribs broke against it. Jean hit his head badly on the dashboard. As things began to blur he felt her hand still tight on his hip and gazed at what was left of her face. Tears ran down his cheek and his memory faded.
Jean's survival had been miraculous, or so the doctors said. All he could think of was the picture of beautiful Anya dead in the driver's seat.
As Jean got up from the floor he wandered into their bedroom. There sitting on his bed was the same ghastly image. He could not get it out of his head. She seemed so real. He screamed out, "What Anya ! What can I do?" She motioned for him to pick up his journal.
Jean obeyed, grief stricken with tears running down his cheeks. Anya pointed to the pen. Then Jean felt his hand writing without his control. The hand writing was familiar, but clearly not his. He looked again, not yet reading the message. Finally he found some wedding thank you cards he never sent. It was Anya's writing. Jean read the message.
I can't be dead without you.
Jean looked at her. The mangled corpse pointed to the bathroom and vanished. Jean walked into the bathroom and stared into the mirror. Anya's corpse stood behind him in his reflection. She placed her hands on his and moved them to open the drawer. There Jean pulled out a razor blade. He stared at her reflection with tears in his eyes.  Then he moved the blades down his wrists as the ghost moved them in his reflection. As the blood ran from his wrists the Anya's reflection grew fairer, the wounds healed and she looked ever more beautiful. As he fell to the ground he stared into the mirror.
Eventually his eyes began to blur. There written in blood beside him were the words:
Together, Once More, Now and For Eternity