In The Arms Of An Angel
Prologue
Mark caught sight of his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He looked like a
zombie. And he felt like one too. His hair was starting to grow out the bald
hairdo he was sporting a couple of weeks ago. His usually huge, thick-lashed
blue eyes were red-rimmed and had dark circles under them. They were
lifeless, nothing but mere hollow pools. His skin was blotchy and he was
breaking out. He hasn't shaven in awhile and he could see the hollows of his
cheekbones.
He looked like hell and he couldn't care less. I'm losing it, he thought to
himself. Ever since she's been gone, I haven't had the energy to pick up my
life. He thought of her again---Gaby, his angel, the girl who he
loved---loves---truly. The mere thought of her brought fresh tears to his
eyes and a painful tug in his heart. "Bloody hell," he muttered, running his
hands through his hair. He didn't want to cry. He promised her he wouldn't
cry, that he'd move on without her. But it was just so hard.
He padded to his bed and took the photograph of Gaby that was sitting on the
top of his side table. Mark stared at the image, tracing the lines of her
face longingly, wishing she were beside him. He touched the picture to his
lips, as if it was the real person, as if doing such act would bring her
back into his life.
But it didn't. He rolled on to his side, sighing heavily. He reverted his
gaze back to the picture again. "I have to get my act together, Gaby. Louis,
Ronan and the lads have threatened to boot me off the group already." He
looked away, trying to clear his head, thinking of ways to get out of his
depression and live again. Don't ever lose sight of what you want, Mark.
Don't throw away what you have because one day, if you take things for
granted, you'll find that they're no longer within your grasp and you'll be
sorry, Gaby told him once when they spent a wonderful day in Count Mayo.
Then, all at once, memories of what they did that day flooded him
spasmodically: Gaby lying beside him, her head on his chest; Gaby laughing
at his jokes; Gaby forcing him to dance the macarena while she watched; Gaby
closing her eyes and kissing him; and, Gaby looking at him, her eyes shining
with happiness, telling him she loves him.
"This is insane," he cried aloud, banging his head softly on the wall. He
took a pen and stared at the blank sheet of paper, thinking about what to
write. He began to scribble furiously, stopping to read what he has inputted
every now and then. He went on scribing until he was satisfied. Several
minutes later, he came up with a poem, none of those rude poems he used to
write back in Summerhill College. It was a poem for Gaby and he knew this
was his cue to start picking up the pieces and live again.