Hiraeth - (noun) a homesickness for a home you can't return to, or that never was
{You see me in hindsight
tangled up with you all night,
burning it down.
Someday when you leave me
I bet these memories
follow you around}
He thought about it often, the way she tasted. Perhaps his most selfish regret was giving himself another sensory detail of her. Another part of her to miss. Now whenever the breeze caught even the slightest tendril of warm vanilla, he remembered more than the way she sipped her coffee on cold Monday mornings or the music of her seldom laughter. Surely he had signed his own death certificate, because now with every reminder of her, he could feel the way her lips trembled against his as they connected for the first time that night, filling a twelve year void.
He had wondered what it would be to kiss those lips. Though in all of the accumulated fantasies, none had included the taste of saltwater tears as they poured from his eyes, from hers. He never pictured Jenna Fox's blood in the crevices of his fingernails the first time his hands would brush up her thighs, hearing his name on her tongue like rainwater after a drought. It was twisted and dark, too heavy with burdens and baggage, and yet - he couldn't imagine it working out for them any other way. They had always been the perfect storm. Rain hit the window as red-stained clothes hit the floor, all labored breathing and desperate hands, wondering how something so unexpected could feel so inevitable.
{I thought, heaven can't help me now.
Nothing lasts forever,
But this is gonna take me down.}
Part of him clung to that night like a leech, sucking out every remnant of her taste, her touch, until the memory was withered and dry. A dead flower in a broken vase - much like what was left of their partnership. He could hear her footsteps as she chased him down the hall, bare feet desperate against hardwood, robe clutched loosely to her skin, calling him back to a home to which he could never return. It was ironic, he thought, that after twelve years of dead bodies and broken spirits, the most haunting sight he would ever know was the image of her standing in that hallway, lips swollen from kisses too heavy. And those eyes. Judging by the vacancy in her stare, he had to wonder if some part of her had known in that moment that it would be the last time she ever saw him.
It had been selfish. There was really no denying that. Even if the desire was entirely mutual, his advances completely reciprocated, his actions that night were an act of deception. It wasn't as if he had planned it - to walk out like that and leave her broken. To treat her like nothing more than a cheap one night stand. That was far from the truth. He still wasn't sure exactly what had come over him, but somewhere between the feel of her body beneath his and the reality that came crashing after the ecstasy faded, he found himself pulling away, detaching. Swiping his blood stained shirt off her carpet and pushing away from the bed, away from her room, her apartment, her city - Each step he took separating two hearts that had beat in synchrony for twelve years. This wasn't Oregon. It wasn't a month at computer crimes or a lengthy undercover stint. It was clear in the moment that this was different. That things had changed irreversibly.
{I can see the end as it begins.}
He left her, another casualty in the wake of his destruction. He had never meant to do that. To cross that line, and to do so without so much as an ounce of delicacy.
His mind had been a thick fog. He hadn't even registered what he was doing in the first place until he found himself standing outside her apartment door, heart beating, staring at the remnants of blood on his hands when he knocked. He hadn't wasted a second, scooping her into a kiss the moment she had opened the door. Maybe it was because they had to acknowledge, on some level, that it had been one hell of a long time coming. Maybe it was because the day had been charged with uncertainty and adrenaline that still lingered in the air around them. Or maybe it was because they both had the nagging intuition that they were one thread away from their lives ripping apart at the seams. Whatever the reason, he had thanked every deity in the sky when her brief resistance fell away and she snaked her arms around his neck, kissing him back.
She had been against the wall in a matter of seconds, fumbling to lock the door with a blind hand as his fingers went for the buttons on her shirt. He wanted more of her. He was greedy in his exploration, pulling, squeezing, digging to discover more of her, lapping her up as if she would evaporate into thin air. He longed to pull her into him, to rid himself of the fear that he would ever have to say goodbye. Now that his hands had touched her skin, he wasn't sure he was capable of ever letting go. Things were getting too heavy, the train rolling too quickly downhill, and there was no stopping them now. Kinetic energy had taken over.
But the tides had changed in an instant. The airtight seal shattered around them, and suddenly it was all mumbled apologies and disentangling limbs and her voice asking him what was wrong, where was he going, "Elliot, come back. Stop." Those eyes. That voice. At last, he had poked a hole through the cloud of adrenaline, and he was blinded by the harsh light that met him on the other side. The sweet intoxication of her was fading fast, and all he was left with were his two hands and reality. Hands that still tingled with the memory of her skin. Reality that it would be the first and last time. He was a monster. And Olivia - dear God, Olivia deserved better than the sin laden hands of a monster.
He could only imagine what she thought of him now. It's hard to believe that he could dismantle twelve years of rapore in one vicious swing, but he couldn't blame her if that was the case. It's been two years, and he will never forget the pleas of the woman who had never begged for anything in her life. Her only request: stay.
A stir from behind him rustled the bedsheets enough to pull his attention away from the memory. A slender foot slid up his calf in a half-asleep attempt at seduction, and he turned over his shoulder, looking into the woman's unfamiliar, brown eyes. She was new, that much he was fairly certain of. Her features were indistinguishable from the mess of brunette locks and brown irises that comprised his memory of the last two years, but then again, they all were. She, like the rest of them, was but a pixel in the blur. Just another reach to fill the void. Another hit & miss.
Putting up his best front of genuine arousal, he turned away from his nameless bedmate and took a long swig from the bottle on the nightstand. A few more swallows, and maybe he could see her face this time.
{Say you'll remember me.}