He's gone
She stands at the window. Cheeks glazed with tears, eyes staring out to nowhere. Hands shake while clutching to a worn, frail blanket; something that still has the essence of him.
A creak that echoes through the room causes her to turn slowly; hope
He stands a few feet away from her. His eyes are dark with sorrow as they look. His face is also frowned; sadness etched into his wrinkles.
She sighs. Her heavy lids cause more tears to fall as they close and re-open slowly. Her jaw seems to tremble as she speaks.
"He's gone"
He moves without ever knowing he's moving. His hands are sliding under Molly's robes, trying desperately to find bare skin. She murmurs something. Yes, no, he never really hears. He has her robe off, and is skimming his fingers across the thin lace that covered her breasts, while burying his face in her neck.
She has beautiful fingers. Long, delicate but shockingly strong. Now those fingers are on his back, finding the knots that cord his muscles. She has his shirt off, and know working on his pants.
She's too slow. He is hungry, desperate. He needs things he can't name but knows she can give to him.
Funny how he's always been so delicate with her before. Her skin is fine china, her beauty too pure to break. Now he rips the nightgown from her body. He sinks teeth into her rounded shoulder. His hands grip her firm buttocks, pushing her up, lifting her against him.
They go down in a tangle on the floor. He gets the bottom, she claims the top. Her mouth devouring his chest, her small, pale body writhing against his tall frame.
She's poised above him, pushing down on him. Her shoulders are thrown back, her breasts thrust out. She needs him. He needs her.
At the last minute he sees his son.
At the last minute she sees her baby
Molly comes with a guttural scream. He catches her as she collapses upon his body, and they lay there withered on the floor, feeling a darkness that goes on without end.
