"We can go anywhere,"
Her eyelids flutter a few times, taken aback by the presence, let alone the admission. She finds herself staring at the silhouette standing by the corner of her bed.
"Canada, Europe, Australia; whatever takes your fancy."
She takes a calming breath, adjusting to the darkness. What hour is this?
"Tessa.."
"As long as I'm with you, Mariah, I don't care for where I am."
Turning her attention to the ceiling, she tries to compose herself; to rein in this feeling of being exposed. She could lash out for the unwelcome visit, pretend like nothing happened in the last six hours; as if she hadn't had her heart ripped out, but she has, and nothing can reverse it.
Pulling the duvet to her chest, she wishes for this to stop. This is all too much for her heart to take. Her eyes close tight upon remembrance.
"You chose Noah, you can't just come in here and change your mind; its not fair to either of us."
"I know I hurt you."
The bed dips and she inhales, waiting for it.
She can sense her, feel her breath on her skin. How did she get to be this close? The proximity hurts, she wants it so bad but not like this. Its such a mess.
"I hurt myself too. This isn't how I wanted things to go down between us." She wills for her heart to calm down, for the emotion to simmer. Its a wonder to her still, how Tessa can be the only one to captivate her this way. To move her so deeply, and ignite such intense feelings of passion, longing and temptation.
She has never experienced anything quite like it.
And so when she spoke with her earlier — truly bared her soul — she hadn't expected to have that feeling reciprocated and then immediately shut down. How Tessa can just condense what they shared into a neat time capsule, when all she wants to do is relive the memory over and over again, is beyond her.
So to now have her turn up like this, saying all these words, is just plain torture.
"This feels a lot like whiplash to me."
"I wish I could explain it, I wish.." Tessa is so impossibly close, she swears she can feel the lightest of touches taking place: the subtle fingertips trail through her hair, the stroke so delicate, she can't be sure if its real.
She reconciles with it, though, regardless.
"You wish a lot for someone who isn't really here."
"But I am, Mariah."
She knows when her eyes open, when the light pours in, its all going to be over.
But she's not ready for it to be over, and so she turns over and digs herself deeper into bed, praying for the moment to stay just a little while longer.
"Always."
Do not move, do not go. Sink within this moment. Hold it for ever — Virginia Woolf.