And her heart got heavier and heavier with each day passing by, slowly increasing the ache that she wishes to forget. In every person she met, she saw Bea. Everytime she enters a bar, everytime her body gracefully moves to the rhythm, to the beat, she remembers how Bea had held her hands, her hips, her face and taught her how to dance, taught her how to be herself, with every gentle mindful touch, she melted in Bea’s arms.
Prayer, the act of worship, the one thing that she swore not to engage in became a part of her. Every night she kneels before an entity that she doesn’t believe in, pressing both her palms together, she would ask selfishly, “Please, bring her back to me.” bowing her head in shame, her core filled with rage, her eyes with tears and agony of being left alone in a battlefield to fend for herself with sticks when only yesterday she had learned how to take her first step. It was cruel, but a part of her, the realist part of her, the part that Bea once described as ‘witty and clever’ had always known the outcome, the consequences of being dependent on someone, latching onto them like a leech, sucking out all of their blood leaving them dry and empty did came with a price, a price that was too costly to pay.
“Bea? I came back. Where are you?” She asked a question to her apartment that used to be filled with Bea’s warmth, her unspoken words haunted the walls, the same walls that echoed both of their laughter months, years ago. What do I do now Bea? How do I go on? She often thought to herself, how was she supposed to steer a ship without a compass or the captain? How was she supposed to navigate through the uncertainty? How was she supposed to keep herself warm when the storm hit? How?
Suddenly she wanted to crawl back to the orphanage; where she hadn’t known what being loved felt like, where she hadn’t known what kindness felt like, where she hadn’t known what warmth felt like, where she hadn’t known what happiness and freedom felt like, where she hadn’t felt anything at all. She wanted to forget the one thing that she desired for her whole life; to have feelings. At least at the orphanage, Sister Francis was mean to her, her needs were neglected, she was treated like a plague; when she wets her bed Sister Francis would leave her unattended for hours, soaked in her fluid but she never once felt saddened or hurt, she would just brush it off as another bad day or a nightmare.
But Bea was different, Bea held her in her arms like a newborn, singing her lullaby. Bea was patient, she threaded her sentences carefully every time she spoke, for every unthreaded sentence, she apologised sincerely. Bea who took the place of a mother when she needed care, Bea who took the role of a father when she needed a good scolding, Bea who advised her like an older sister, Bea who made her laugh until her stomach hurt like a best friend would, Bea became her family, Bea became her world.
Now her world is just a floating rock filled with ghosts of her own regret and misery, waiting to get hit by a million year old meteor breaking it down to bits and pieces, crushing her from within.