[The End 8/13] Remembrance

He could feel the cold brush against his skin. The constant cold. He wasn't sure whether it was in his mind, or whether it was real, but either way, the cold was his constant companion, along with the ticking. Every day he got worse and worse, and he wasn't  blind to that fact. Within a week, he'd probably be completely mad. A year? Even he didn't know.
It had been half a week since Chava died, and still, the ticking of that clock reigned over his mind. Very few days he'd been able to sleep since then, and nightmares reigned supreme. The only thing he ever really did was watch over the kids. He never went to work, never cleaned up the house, instead making it worse in fits of sadness and rage.
Sometimes Damien forgot Chava was dead. He would wake up some mornings and reach over for Chava only to remember she was gone. Sometimes he would be watching over the kids, and he'd see something that made him laugh, or shocked him, and he'd call out for Chava, before remembering that she was never coming. He hated days like those. He never wanted to forget, and the fact that he forgot at moments here and there made him fear for the future. What if he completely forgot about Chava?
One day he'd had enough. The sadness and the misery dug and dug into his mind and rooted there like a tree that would never go away. He thought about what he wanted to do for several minutes, before grabbing his dagger, and making his way down to the basement.
He stared at the blade for several long moments, before turning it around and placing it at his chest in a move that almost seemed routine. His hands started to shake, and tears began to roll down his face. So many times had he pulled this on Chava trying to shock her out of whatever was bothering her. It worked, but he usually earned a slap or two.
Without any more hesitation, he plunged the blade deep into his chest, though not where he had intended. Instead of hitting a heart or a lung, where he would most certainly die if he didn't get help, the blade slid between organs, never cutting either.
"Of all the luck," he muttered to himself before pulling the blade out and readying to try again. A thought sparked in the back of his mind, and he lowered the blade. If he died now, who would stop Lucedio if he decided to kill the kids?
"FUCK!"
Death wasn't an option for Damien. Not now. Not yet. There were far too many things he had to do first, though mainly just one. If he couldn't protect Chava, what use was he? If he couldn't even die, what use was he? Just someone trapped in the void of life, instead of being where he really wanted to be.
Even if he couldn't kill himself, Damien Thorne still had one option. One thing he had to do. He had to make sure he never forgot Chava. It wouldn't be easy. It would even be painful. But what choice did he have? Forget Chava, and hate himself in death? No.
Once again, he pulled the blade up towards himself, though instead resting the blade on his arm. With a deep breath, he started moving the blade along his arm. Two straight lines and a curve. R. A curving line that ends in a straight one. e. More and more letters were added to his arm until finally, the message read out: Remember Chava.

If ever his message started to fade, he would carve it out again, over and over and over. Just like the ticking in his mind. He would never forget. And when Lucedio was dead, he would go to join her.

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