Maybe he never realised, but he really loved her. Especially on Mondays. Mondays were spent on the verge of madness. In between kittens and cakes, singing songs about rainbows and reindeers, watching films about movies and madmen… she never made any sense at all, but somehow it was just right. Every time the phone rang she would holler and scream, in a futile attempt to drown the noise. When the neighbours dog started to bark in response she would throw back her head and laugh. She always had been able to lose herself completely in a laughing fit, and he loved to see her like that. The little wrinkles around her eyes would frame her face like sunbeams. Later in the day, when the phone rang again, she would quietly unplug the electrical cord and leave the room. He never asked her why.
On Tuesdays, she was very quiet. The morning sun would wake them up and they would drink coffee together. Sometimes outside, on the little balcony, but only if it was warm enough. The phone didn’t ring on Tuesdays and they spend the day talking about every little thing they could think of. Atoms, molecules, dwarves, kittens…. She wasn’t what he had expected at all. Neither earnest nor playful, neither close nor distant, neither right nor wrong, she just was. And that was enough.
On Wednesdays the barely talked. Sometimes they would sit in silence, staring out the window, watching the day go by. Sometimes he felt like he was missing something. Something important, something he wanted to take responsibility for, but she would’t let him. Because she wouldn’t let him in. Sometimes he tried to read her, then he turned to face her and looked deep into her eyes… but he was always the one to drop his gaze first.
On Thursdays she was happy. Because that’s the way she wanted to be. He admired her for it. And envied her. And loved her. Sometimes he wasn’t sure if he could trust her happiness. But he could. On Thursdays he could.
Friday was just another day. They had no routine they followed on a Friday, and it almost made them feel like a normal couple. Normal in a sense of, something different to what they were. Very different. And different was good. Or so they thought.
Sleeping in on a Saturday was something that normal people would do. And they wanted to know what that would feel like. So they had breakfast in bed. And they stayed in bed after. Saturday was their safe haven, their fortress, their shelter from the raging storm that was life, that was society, expectations, and everyone else. They treasured these hours when they felt untouchable, unreachable, unbreakable… and they tried to believe that they would always be together.
On Saturday night she didn’t sleep. Neither did he, but he made sure she never knew. In the early hours of the morning, she would get up, get dressed, take her bag and leave. He would hold his breath until he’d hear the sound of the door snap shut.
He never learnt what she did on a Sunday. He wouldn’t ask, and she wouldn’t say. All he knew was that on Sundays she was not within his reach. Not that he was ever able to truly reach her, not even when she was sitting next to him, but on Sundays, she just wasn’t there. And deep down inside he dreaded the thought of knowing something that she just didn’t want him to see, and that he probably wouldn’t have been able to bear. He never said a word when she returned late at night. He never asked, and she never cried. On Sunday night they went to bed without a word being said. But he really loved her. Especially on Mondays. And especially on Sunday night.