Remember

A state of suffocation and a severe, throbbing headache pressed him too hard against the soft surface of the bed. He kept lifting his head, kept looking around. But his vision was blurry. Everything around him had sunk into a looking-glass, distorted world. The laughter grew louder. A loud, sickly cough was heard.

"Who's there?"

"It's okay." It wasn't Celeste who said that. Those words belonged to Jean.

"Jean? What are you doing?"

"You are so beautiful, my friend." A kiss covered him, making him forget everything. It was hard for him to breathe as Jean slowly continued his gentle actions.

"That's enough. I don't feel well."

"We're trying to make you feel good here. And you say you feel bad. What more do you want?" Jean asked. His face was covered in sweat and his strong shoulders, like a wall, shielded him from prying eyes. "I know that's what you've always wanted, isn't it? I've always known there was more than just friendship between us. Adelard, you look at me strangely. Your gaze always stops in all the wrong places. But you never knew that. And now you know everything."

"Celeste."

"I'm here. It's okay." Their voices were calm to the point where Adelard was beginning to fall asleep. Or he was already in a dream. Sleep was pulling him to the bottom of the ocean in the form of many hands. Hands wrapped around him, hands sought his innermost places, touched his lips. Through his ajar eyes he could see the faces of people he did not know. But these people were smiling; they were kind, they did not wish him harm. They only wanted to admire him. And to own him.

"Celeste I'm tired," he whispered. But all he got in return was a hug and a strange feeling that stole his consciousness with a wave of pleasure.

"Adelard, I will always be there for you," someone whispered right into his ear. That voice belonged neither to a man nor to a woman. That voice was quiet, soothing. Through the red that now touched his face, Adelard could see many people. They were sitting not far from him. They were staring without taking their eyes off him. Hungry, ravenous eyes continued to watch as his body continued to be snaked under the hands of Jean and someone else.

"Stop, please," Adelard continued to whisper, losing strength with each word. Feeling strong hands on his back, he clutched the pillow while Celeste carried his pain away with gentle kisses.

The quiet morning took away all worries, leaving only pleasant dreams. The aroma of fresh bread, along with the sunshine, woke him up. The scent of bread was always a symbol of wealth and gratitude. More than anything, Adelard loved to inhale that aroma and slowly wake up. And then to slowly get to his feet, as if afraid of the chill of the wooden floor. Still with his eyes closed, still sleepy, he makes a few movements toward the window and two maids, with ears like cats, are already standing outside the door, ready to say: Good morning Monsieur! Then, with the sun not leaving his face, forcing him to walk with his eyes closed, he quickly puts on one of his suits, which are in a large closet and only then opens the door. The cool breeze immediately envelops him so pleasantly that all drowsiness passes. And the happy girls say in one voice, "Good morning Monsieur!"

"Adelard! Hurry up and come here!" This joyful voice belongs to Nicholas, who is waiting by the round table with the white tablecloth. As if he were a child, he runs down the stairs scaring the two maids, who are so anxious for him to fall. But when he makes it safely to Nicholas to give him one of his happy smiles, they calm down and go back to their work. Thus goes an ordinary morning, after which, come new opportunities and adventures. After a light breakfast of fruit and bread and butter, Adelard sits on his bicycle or carriage and strains his memory to remember all the things he has to do for the day. And so it is all the way to the factory, to the strange smile of his best friend Jean, who is ready to carry him in his arms all the way to the office. Here, among all the cauldrons, among the smell, which is not exactly pleasant, Adelard finds his wings. For it is here that he labors, not only for himself, but for the good of others. And these colorful, little soaps in gold wrappers, ready to be in every home, in every country. It was a world that belonged only to him, it was a wealth that was lovingly handed down only to him.

Through the steamy, unpleasant smell that passed into the sweetest fragrance, one could always see the happy smile on Adelard's face. And also to hear words of kindness, generosity, and understanding. No, it was not a factory. It was a very real home, where everyone was equal, where everyone was valued and most importantly, where Adelard continued to love and respect everyone. The greatest family in the world that would never betray. Such a perfect world was all that surrounded Adelard's tall figure.

But every time he entered his office, he would sit down at his wooden desk and immerse himself in a world of numbers, a world of business and a little science. The door would close quietly, Adelard would pick up his papers and work until Jean began to speak. Such was the beginning of today. Right after a wonderful event at the new theater.

"Adelard, how are you feeling? You gave me such a big scare yesterday. I almost had a heart attack. Okay, we can't go on like this, we're going to the hospital today," Jean said, nodding his head. Clutching the pencil firmly in his hand, thus, he broke it and then grabbing the other, he looked at Adelard's calm face. "Adelard?"

"Yes. I can hear you."

"Is there nothing you want to tell me?"

"What am I supposed to tell?"

"What happened yesterday?"

"I don't remember. I only remember that I felt so bad that I thought I was dying."

"I thought you were dying too. You gave me such a scare. But in general, you scared everybody. Especially Esma. She's so emotional. Even though she only knew you for a few hours, she was crying so hard and so loud that people were already starting to believe you were dead. It was horrible."

Adelard tried to remember how he ended up in his room, but his memory became stubborn. So he didn't strain himself; instead, he directed all his attention to the papers in front of him.