Easier to Run
With each deep breath in, there was a shaky breath out. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the floor, his shoulders hunched around his ears. It had been more than a day since he'd eaten. A twisting nausea had taken root deep in his stomach, replacing the hunger that should have been there. His mouth was dry, but the notion of drinking was foreign, painful.
Inhaling yet again, he found the breath absent of air. His throat was tightening and his chest was constricting. Opening his mouth, he forced himself to breathe, forced oxygen into his body. He would not cry, he would not let himself cry.
His vacant gaze suddenly shifted, focusing. A pair of shoes. Running shoes.
The pain increased and he struggled not to blink. He wouldn't submit, wouldn't cry. It was too late, far too late. His chest continued to quiver with suppressed sobs.
One by one, his muscles tensed. He stared at the shoes, his mind flying back. He recalled the days he'd gone running in those sneakers. The dazzling grin she threw at him as they raced along the esplanade was crystal clear in his memory; the only detail in a colourful world he hadn't noticed. What would it be like to see that smile again?
Two nights ago, she'd been sleeping in his arms. He hadn't known it would be the last time. If he could go back to that day, go back and touch her again...
A single day, and in that time his body had never been completely still. The shaking in his hands. The trembling of his shoulders. The heaving of his chest. It never stopped, he never stopped. Right now, there was only the slightest quiver of his tightened muscles, but it was something.
Standing abruptly, he lifted his gaze from the floor. Within a stride he was at his drawers, pawing through crumpled shorts. His fingers fumbled when they found their target. He felt so useless, it was no wonder he had trouble with a pair of socks. His breath came in deep, harsh gasps as he slammed his feet into the running shoes. Adrenaline screamed through his body, and as soon as the second lace was tied he was up and out the door.
He knew she wouldn't be there. He wasn't going in the hope of seeing her. Movement, he just needed the movement.
He left the house unlocked. What happened in his absence didn't concern him. He probably wouldn't be gone long. Maybe he wouldn't come back.
Outside, the air was thick and heavy, promising a storm. Soon the clouds would fall. As he broke into a jog, he could see tiny droplets of rain already drifting down. The idea of running into the rain, soaked to the skin, was tempting.
His shins groaned as he trotted along the pavement. He should start slow, he knew that. He usually did. But not today. He needed every part of him in motion, needed every muscle to work overtime.
She was gone.
Gone, gone. His feet thudded against the ground, matching the rhythm of the words in his head. She's gone. Gone, gone. She's gone. Or maybe the mantra was matching his pace. And then both suddenly changed, his feet slamming down and propelling him forward. Gone. Gone. Gone-gone-gone.
Not enough air to run and cry, so he kept running. His lungs heaved, his stomach twisted, his heart cried. He wanted – needed – to scream, and pushed himself harder.
So slow, he thought, studying the houses he passed. Another burst of energy. Each stride had him pushing with his toes, and by the time he reached the esplanade he was moving flat-out; faster than he'd ever gone before. He hadn't even known this sort of speed was possible. There was a piercing pain in his side and he reacted to it by pouring more of himself into the movement.
He could see the ocean. And the naval base. Damn her! If only she hadn't joined the Hammersley crew. This wouldn't have happened. He would never have invested so much of himself into something they both knew was practically impossible; and impossible in terms of practicality.
Gone! Barely breathing at all now, the pain flew through his legs and sides. He didn't stop. As soon as he stopped, he'd fall to his knees and never move again. He couldn't stop. If the movement stopped, he'd be dead.
Some guy cheered as he ran past. What, they thought he was training for the Olympics? No, no. He'd be dead long before then, because he couldn't keep this up forever. It was a fact of life, something he understood instinctively. If he stopped moving, he would die.
The mantra had fallen away. He couldn't think any more. His body screamed in protest. Picturing her face sent another spike of adrenaline into his body. Almost there.
He saw it ahead and tried to speed up. The intersection of two routes, where their paths crossed. She wasn't there. Of course she wasn't. He couldn't stop, couldn't go around it. So he had to go straight ahead – and, for the first time in many, many months, he wouldn't stop and chat to the woman standing, waiting.
The water to his left had changed. It was no longer glittering blue. Instead, there were massive, roiling waves being slammed against the docks. Always moving, he thought vaguely. The sea is always moving, even on the calmest of days...
Above, the looming clouds were lower than ever. It was as dark as night, but somewhere beyond the storm was sunlight.
Right ahead, he realised. Don't stop!
Close your eyes, run straight through. Faster. Run faster!
But his body had had enough. Ignoring his brain's vague instructions, his pace slowed. He couldn't feel his legs, but when he glanced down – as if questioning why he was no longer sprinting – he saw them shaking. Like a drowning fish, he opened his mouth, searched for air. His slow jog fell back to an unsteady walk.
Then his weary legs folded. Before he knew he was falling, his knees and palms were brushing the dirty concrete. His elbows, bruised from the impact, kept him slightly upright.
Above, the sky screamed. A second later, it fell. Billions of tiny shards; falling, terrified, dying.
He rocked back onto his knees, his back straight. Looking up, he felt the rain running down his face. Even now, he wouldn't cry, couldn't cry. He saw her face, grinning at him. I love you. She'd said it! How could he be here? How, even after she'd said it?
That had been a long time ago. Then she stopped saying it. They had fallen in love. She had fallen out. Two nights ago, he had held her, with no idea of what she was about to do to him. Two words and then she was gone.
It made for an odd sight, though there was no-one to see it. A lone man, sitting in the rain. He appeared entirely still, entirely motionless. Droplets of water trickled through his hair and slid down his face to drench his clothes. His closed eyes didn't even flicker at the wetness. If he was still breathing, the inhalations were too small for his chest to be rising. Water was slowly puddling around him.
It was invisible, miniscule; but there was movement. Deep within his chest, deeper than the pain and the tears. It lifted, pulsated, slowed. He felt it, felt the blood moving through every vein. He could hear it thumping through his brain, pulsating through every part of him. And if it stopped, when it stopped, there would be no movement and he would die.