Disclaimer: I do not own The Lovely Bones.
His skin tasted exotic, like the golden mangos of his homeland that he used to talk about years and years ago. When they were both young, kids really, they had talked about it. It, was it all came down to in the end. She kissed him again, her breath heavy against his flushed cheeks, and leaned toward the nape of his neck.
"Do you think about her?" Her whisper came softly in his ear. He bristled, involuntarily. "Yes," he said thoughtfully, though there was not a single trace of hesitation in his voice. She smiled lightly, knowingly, as she mused, "Still." It wasn't a question; there were no more questions anymore. His face broke apart, only for a moment, and she saw the little girl running in his eyes. In her eyes. Forever running. "Still," he repeated. He brushed back a single strand of her hair, tucking it behind her variously pierced ear. He frowned slightly, then caught himself and looked away. It wasn't the same.
"Even with me?" Her words were tender, but it was never enough. This time, he knew the answer. It came instinctively on its own, the way he used to cry to the heavens - to whatever that was up there - when no one was around. He wondered if the little girl was listening now.
"Always."