Rosemary and Rue | Wing'd Cupid Painted Blind

He remembered. Even the smallest, most insignificant details that I've mentioned in passing.

I don't know if he realizes what he is doing for me. I don't know if he knows how I was able to hold it all together because of him. I don't know how to tell him that; I don't know if I ever will.

But I'm grateful to be seen and to be known. To be known - flaws and all - and to be understood.

Photo by Erwan Hesry on Unsplash

Imperceptibly, the tenor of their quiet world began to shift.

Tension inserted itself into the smallest of lapses. His hand would linger a heartbeat longer than necessary when passing a book. Or, his fingers would brush against her temple - tucking away a stray hair with a slow, deliberate touch.

His touch suspended time. Their surroundings came to a standstill, charging the air with static.

Every such instance elicited a fever-heat in her- a warmth she had long ago deemed buried in the dark, desolate chambers of her memory, now pulled, unbidden, rushing back into the light.

They'd ordered the parfait after dinner just to stay longer, but let it weep into its glass, untouched. Lost in hushed conversation, eyes only for each other, the pretense melted away - just like the sweet excuse on the table.

Lights were dimmed as the waitstaff hovered nearby to clear the tables - it was closing time. The check slid in between them, a cold intrusion upon their fever of violent delight. Still, it did naught to smother that longing fire inside.

She didn't want the night to end. She wanted to stop the clock; she just wanted to keep on basking in the sweetness of it all.

The wine had done its work, emboldening her heart and uninhibiting her pulsing madness; they were running wild.

She forced a reluctant goodbye and climbed into her car, her lousy performance of normalcy buckling under the unutterable weight of what had been kept in the dark.

One hand rested on the wheel, the other white-knuckled against the handbrake - refusing to let go, wishing someone would simply take away the option of leaving.

She sat there with the engine idling, lost in thought, until his ringtone jolted her out of her rumination.

They were deep in conversation until a shift of shadow made her look up - and there he was, standing just outside the door. His eyes were on her, as though she already belonged to him.

Her heart was thumping in her ears - like a biological glitch.

She held her breath, trying - and failing - a useless attempt to slow it down. Her face felt searingly warm, like she'd spent the day baking under the sun; it must have been bright red by now.

O, it was mortifying..

Resisting him felt like a war against herself. It was her body revolting against her mind, stepping out to meet him without a single thought of consent.

The outcome was decided long before this night. No matter the detours, they were always going to end up here.

Those old feelings from that spring, long since reduced to gray ash, roused to life again - coming full circle to catch them at last.

©Britt H.

Thank you for reading this.

More about the person behind the writing in My Introductory Post

If you’d like to support my writing — you can consider buying me a coffee here Any support holds immense significance for a disabled neurodivergent like me.