Chapter 1
If Marc could describe the first years of his life, he would need only a word
Warm
Warm were the days
Warm was his dad’s smile
Warm was his little brother’s laughter
Warm were his mum’s words
Everything around him was so gently and welcomingly warm
Until it was not
Not anymore
And it was all his fault
Marc remembers that day perfectly, he will remember it for the rest of his days
The day when any resemblance of warmth started vanishing from his life
As he and Roro rushed to the cave a chilly wind moved their hair
The rocks were wet and unwelcoming that day
A warning of what was to come
And the water
It was so cold
A coldness he thought would never go away
A coldness that soaked thru his clothes, sinking in his bones like Roro’s screams in his brain, never leaving
That day, Marc discovered how cold death could be
That day, Marc was miraculously rescued from drowning
He rationally was aware of that
He was on land
He was not drowning anymore
But it didn’t feel like it
He didn’t think he ever stopped drowning
Not completely
As his body shivered and coughed, desperately and violently trying to get all the water out and far from him, he noticed something
He was not the only one soaked in that cold water
Everything and everyone around him was
They were all drowning in that icy cold water
And it was all his fault
It became clear to him at Roro’s funeral
The previous days had passed by like a blur to him
A blur where the only thing he could remember was the feeling of deep coldness unforgivingly surrounding him
It was alright, he did not think he deserved any kind of forgiveness anyway
Marc dressed just like his dad wanted him to
The jacket didn’t bring him the smallest warmth
Since Roro was gone everything felt cold, too cold
So Marc tried to think of the warmest thing in his life
His mom came to his mind
Warm words as she cheerfully replied to his “later gators” with an “in a while crocodile”
He missed the warmth those words never failed to bring him
He missed the silent complicity between them
He really hadn’t seen her for the past few days
He missed her warmth
He silently prayed she could wash away the coldness of death and guilt that made him feel as if he was still sinking in those cold waters
Holding that hope close to his chest, Marc silently stepped down the stairs
Small steps heavy with such guilt and fear made his limbs feel cold and numb
He just wanted to feel the smallest warmth
Marc looked up from his feet, young eyes seeking that source of warmth, for that sort of reassurance
This is all your fault!
He found none
This is all your fault
His mother looked up eyes filled with a cold fury that he could not comprehend yet at that age
The kind of rage no mother should ever look at their child with
“What are you doing here? Mhm?”
The tone colder than ice made Marc freeze
“You were supposed to keep him safe”
He knew, he knew he was supposed to do so
He was supposed to protect his little brother
But he failed
Marc felt his breaths speed up but he couldn’t move
He could not gather enough oxygen in his lungs to move as he just observed his mom’s face contort into a horrific mask of resentment and disgust
“You let him drown”
Marc felt like drowning all over again
Why was it so hard to breathe?
His father moved, he was saying something to his mom
But Marc could not register it, his brain numb to everyone and everything else
“This is all your fault … This is ALL YOUR FAULT!”
The words felt like a bucket of cold water as he ran back upstairs to his room, his mom’s screams persecuting him
Somewhere in his mind, in his heart, he had realized back then that his mom was not warm
Not anymore
And it was all his fault
If Marc could describe his life from that day onwards, he would need only a word
Cold
A part of him had hoped, back then, that one day that coldness that was drowning his family would disappear just like a dark cloud hiding the warm shiny sun
For how gloomy the sky may appear, the light would always find its way thru it eventually, right?
That was what he would always tell Roro to comfort him whenever he got upset on gloomy days
He did not like gloomy days as they were not allowed to go out to look for adventures like Dr. Grant and Rossel
Roro was not there anymore to complain about rainy days
Even so, Marc blindly believed that after a long gloomy day, a spiral of light would eventually make it thru
It had always happened up until that moment
So Marc waited and waited, desperately trying to keep his hopes up, silently seeking warmth in his dad’s rare sad smiles
It was not enough, but he tried to not be greedy and just be patient
“Your mother … she needs some time”
He would always say and Marc would be obedient and listen
Sometimes it was not only a single rainy day, sometimes it lasted a few days or even a whole week
He could wait
But as hours stretched into days and these turned into weeks and weeks into months, Marc’s hope started flickering, slowly but inevitably dissipating like an oasis in the middle of the desert
His 11th birthday arrived
Marc observed his dad light up the candles on the cake, trying to not let his eyes dart to the empty space(s) at the table
He quietly and intensely stared at the candles, nearly as if just for an instant he wanted to rob them of their timid warmth
Marc faintly heard his dad attempting to convince his mom to come out of their room, but to no avail
“She is not coming”
It wasn’t a question
Marc was not stupid and his childlike naivety dissipated quickly in the suffocating house
“Your mother is not feeling well Marc”
He knew she was not
She never was
“We will have to do it just you and I this year, okay?”
Marc nodded slightly, stopping his gaze from lingering on the empty plate in front of him
As his father gently encouraged him he decided to blow on the candles if only to please him for a brief moment
The warmth of the candles vanished in a blink of an eye
Just like his brother
Just like his mom
A last candle remained
Marc could not bring himself to blow on it as well
He wordlessly observed it until his father blew it for him
Was only in that instant that Marc started wondering if maybe the sun was not going to show up that time
After that day Marc stopped looking for his mom
He would be alright, he did not need to bother his parents more than he already did
He sometimes still hoped that one day his mom would leave her room for more than a few minutes
She never did
But it was alright
She would never look at him
But it was alright
Marc started forgetting what hiding in her welcomingly warm embrace was like
But it was alright
Guilt and nightmare still kept him up at night
But it was alright
When he showered the water sometimes was a bit too hot and it would redden his skin until it hurt
But it was alright
His smiles were always a bit off
But it was alright
His dad seemed happy enough with those
His smiles were off as well so it could not be that bad, right?
And just like that, the cycle began again
Hours stretched into days and these turned into weeks and weeks into months
His dad attempted to sweeten the pill as much as he could and ended up doing a good enough job for Marc to be willing to keep up the facade
To everyone else, they may seem a family slowly recovering from a tragedy, slowly getting better
But it was all a lie
A show to hide how everything was falling apart
A little fantasy to ignore the empty bottles with a strong stink that soon started filling the whole house
A little fantasy to ignore the screams and crying and hysteric attacks of his mom
A little fantasy to ignore the deep cold that permeated every corner regardless of how sunny the day was
His father seemed to think that if he believed in that little fantasy enough it would become real
Marc tried to believe the same as well
Acting as if nothing was wrong, that was his life
Playing pretend
He wished there was a way to make it real somehow
He would do anything to make that little dream real, even for just a mere instant
Eventually, his 12th birthday arrived
“Can’t have a birthday without your favorite cake!”
His father exclaimed seemingly overly hyped up about the event, maybe because his mom was for once out of her bedroom
“Get started on these, okay son?”
Marc let out a small chuckle, the ghost of a smile, a near giggle
He played his part well
And then what used to be his mom sat at the table with him
It was not to wish him a happy birthday, not to give him a gift, and surely not to embrace him in a warm hug
“You were always jealous of him”
She spitted coldly
Marc quietly stared at the candles still not lightened up
He did not dare to look at her
The ghost of what she used to be
A cold mocking resemblance of his mom
“Ever since he was born”
She rarely spoke to him
She usually did not acknowledge his existence
Whenever she did, he wished she had not
She was the constant reminder of his sin
Of his failure
Of what he had not been able to protect
And he wanted to hate it so bad, even back then
How powerless her cold words made him feel
How that entity would wear his mom’s face
Because she couldn’t be his mom right?
His mom had drowned with Roro
And whatever was left kept drowning, bottle after bottle until her body could not take it anymore
“I … I should have known you would do something like this”
Marc could barely keep it together as he stared at the turned-off candles
Too cold
Her voice was too cold
He needed to move or he would drown
Marc committed the error to look up at her
Her expression
Her mom’s expression
Marc got up abruptly, hot boiling rage and sorrow filling his mind as he was unable to keep up the pretend game
The show was crushing down on him
He was tired of only feeling that deep coldness born from pain and loneliness in that house that was supposed to be his safe space, that was supposed to be his home
Marc’s survival instinct kicked in and he ran away, away from the source of his torment, away from the cold
Before he even realized it, he was in his room, slamming the door behind him and throwing his toys on the floor as a way to try to release some steam
And then the banging at the door started
The heat of the rage dissipated as the feeling of fear and dread quickly replaced it in his heart
He hadn’t noticed when his breath had started picking up as he curled in a corner hugging his knees, attempting desperately to keep some resemblance of warmth
He could not stop a whimper from leaving his lips as the banging intensified and he glanced at the door
“It’s not my mom, it’s not my mom”
That is what he kept repeating himself under his breath
That was not his mom, it could not be his mom, right?
Marc, open this door
Marc wanted to hide, to run
But there was nowhere to go
He was alone
It was just him and his reflection in the mirror
Marc, open this door!
“It’s not my mom, it’s not my mom, it’s not my mom, it’s not my mom”
He kept repeating it over and over again like a mantra, trying to be like his dad
Maybe if he repeated it enough times those words would become real
He knew that wouldn’t happen
He was alone
And no lie, no little show, to pretend game would save him from this
He was not fearless
He could not take this, not as the knocking and yelling intensified
Marc, open this door RIGHT NOW
He was alone
He was cold
He was so cold
He was drowning
Until he was not
Not anymore
Over the yelling, over the knocking, over the terror
There it was
A spark of warmth
“Bloody hell”
Marc tried to follow that voice, to let his consciousness sink into it
For the first time since Randall died, he was not drowning
“Look at the state of this place”
He was not anymore under deep cold waters
He was in a field
And the sun was shining
And it was warm
A faint, but gentle, newborn warmth
He was not alone
Not anymore
“Better sort it out before mum sees it”
Marc observed as if he was outside of his body his own hands picking up the pencils and colors he had thrown and putting them back in their place
Such quotidian simple act hypnotized him
And then the door burst open
The bubble broke
Marc wanted to sink away
To run and hide from the being he could not accept was his mom
It would be so easy
Is what he wanted after all
A chance to run and hide
But then he heard his mom peace around the room, getting close to that tiny vulnerable spark of warmth
There wasn’t really a decision to be taken
Before he knew it, Marc was once more looking at his hands back moving at his own will and quietly finished the task that spark of warmth had started
And he did not falter
He did not back away
Not even as his mom approached him
He was not fearless
But maybe he could fake it for a bit
Because even as the cold leather slammed against his body, he could feel it, safe in the back of his mind
That newborn spark warming his soul