The Lonely

"Why do you keep doing that?" She asked. The pale moon illuminated her as she stood by the open window. She was furious, but beautiful still.

"Doing what?" I asked her. I could not think of a better reply. She was enraged. I did not know what to do.

"Blowing the candles, shutting the drapes, opening the windows at night. You know I hate it when you do those things," she said as she struggled to pull the windows shut.

Her hair was ruffled by the wind, her face wrathful, and her eyes sharp. She looked at me and I can tell that in her mind she is ripping my flesh and pulling out my heart. "I'm sorry," I whispered as I brushed her hair away from her face. I looked at her. She was  perfect, even with her angry eyes. I knew she was cold and I had to keep her warm so I leaned over to kiss her on the forehead, but it seemed that she felt even colder. I put my hands on her shoulders so I could warm her but she put my hands away and said, "I thought we agreed on this." With that, she left me in the cold darkness where I truly belong.

The windows, I have to get them repaired. Every night I have to wake in the middle of it because the wind has opened my windows. I'm sure there are just some loose screws. Somehow I can't get this place warm and brightened.  The cold atmosphere in the house always blows out my candles. Opening the drapes do not do much difference. And then there's a shadow. It's as if it was following me everywhere I go, watching everything I do. I was never sure about it until I arrived home late one night.

I went up to my bedroom and lighted a candle. Just as I was starting to undress, I noticed that the window was open and the wind was blowing through the drapes. I walked towards the open window and there, just behind my drapes, stood a young man. He was tall and skinny and his skin was pale. He scratched his head which ruffled his hair even more and extended his hand. "I'm the Lonely," he said. I gazed at my guest. His hair was dark and so were his pants, his coat, and his tie. He seemed odd, but he looked nice. "Felize," I said as I shook his hand.

I made soup for both of us that night. "Why do you sit across me? You can sit closer. I won't mind," I motioned for my guest to come nearer. The dinner table was very long and my candle illuminated only a limited area. I couldn't see his face clearly.

"It's too bright," he answered, pointing to my candle.

"What did you say your name was again? I'm sorry, I don't think I got it right."

"The Lonely."

"The Lonely? Who would name their son like that? I'm sorry. Am I being rude? I'm just excited to have company in this cold and dark house."

"You can call me Tristan if my name bothers you," he said with a smile. It was the first time I saw him smile. He looked shocked and bewildered since we met upstairs.

"Tristan sounds nice. Hey, you haven't touched your food yet!"

"It's too hot."

"Really? I've already eaten half of mine. It's tastier when it's warm," I said as I took another sip. He grabbed his spoon and began to take a sip.

He began living with me. Or I began living with him? I'm not sure. All I know is that he has been living there even before I bought the house.

"Tristan!" I called out. "It's dark. Why didn't you light even just a few candles?"

"You're back early. Come, I made dinner." He took off my coat and led me to the dining room. I looked out for tables or chairs I might bump into, but it looked like he has cleared the path for me. "How can you cook? I thought you hated warmth and brightness?" I asked. He lighted a candle and gave it to me. He took a few steps back and I moved closer to the dining table."Sherbet!" I exclaimed. I placed the candle at the far end of the table and we began to dig into the frozen treat. There were lime sherbet, orange sherbet, pineapple, raspberry, cantaloupe, strawberry, grape, you name it. The evening was just like him, cold but sweet.

"Where were you?" I asked as I felt his weight sink on my bed. "I've been looking for you."

"Just out," Tristan replied coldly.

"Just out? You were out for a whole month! I walked the town every night, searching for dark places where you might be lurking." I raised my voice this time. He moved his finger towards my lips to silence me, but he quickly pulled away as soon as he touched my lips. It's as if I burnt his finger.

"You're sick. I knew you couldn't take the coldness; I had to leave. But you searched for me each night, now your health has gone worse."

"Why don't you just keep the windows shut? And keep the candles and the fireplace burning?"

"Please don't be mad. You know I have to live in cold and in darkness."

"Stay away from the light then. And find a room where you can keep the windows open all night long."

"It's not just the chilly wind outside. My presence alone makes this house cold and unpleasant."

I arrived home late again. The fireplace was lit and Tristan was sitting across the room, by the shut windows, gazing at the moon. It was full. I walked towards him and stroked his messy hair. "Why don't we go to the lake tonight?" I asked him.

"It's freezing," I said as I wrapped my arms across my chest to keep the wind from blowing my coat. The moon was shining brightly upon Tristan's pale face, but he didn't mind. He was untying the small row boat from the dock. He helped me into the boat and started rowing. Soon we found ourselves in the middle of the majestic lake, under the large moon which gleamed on both of us. "The moon is the only radiant thing I enjoy seeing, next to your smile," Tristan said turning to me. I burst into laughter because I wasn't used to him teasing me. He was always cold and serious.

It was freezing outside. I closed the door behind me and lighted a match. "Tristan?" I called. I found him sitting by an open window, the drapes and his hair being blown by the wind.

"Why do you keep doing that?" I asked.

"Doing what?" The shadow replied.

"Blowing the candles, shutting the drapes, opening the windows at night. You know I hate it when you do those things," I said as I struggled to pull the windows shut. It was chilly and the wind was blowing hard.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as he brushed my ruffled hair away from my face and kissed me on my forehead. It was the coldest kiss. It felt as if my face were frozen.

"I thought we agreed on this," I said. I put away his pale hands which were clutching my shoulders and left him to bask in the comfort of his darkness.

I went straight to bed. I didn't want to deal with him anymore. He knew how much I loathed the darkness. He knew how much I couldn't stand the cold. He knew that it makes me ill. Why does he keep doing things that he knew would hurt me?

I woke up the next morning to find out that something in the house seemed different. My furniture were still in their same positions - the drapes, the couches, the tables. But something in them has changed, their colors were more vibrant. The drapes were tied to let the daylight in and brighten my house. The sun was shining on me as if it was restoring my health. I have never felt this warm for a long while. It was like I had been frozen for years! I knew then that Tristan had left for good. We could never live together. For I was fire and he was ice, I was day and he was night.