The dim lights on the bar created a perfect atmosphere to match with the mood of the woman who sat at the counter. She drank her whiskey pure. The amber liquid caressed her taste buds gently, almost as if in a trick to fool her right before burning all the way down through her throat. She chuckled at the irony. Oh, yes… The color, the promise, the remaining feeling right after swallowing it. That drink reminded her too much of why she was drinking in first place.
Green eyes focused on the empty glass that rested on top of the counter as her mind drowned in memories.
The laugh. The smiles. The light flip of the hair. The arms. The waist. The legs. The eyes… How much she missed the eyes. Sometimes they looked like they were as black as the night sky. Sometimes, they were like melted chocolate. There were the times when they were like liquid amber, the exactly same color of the whiskey she had been drinking the whole night.
But no memory could be compared to her voice. It had always been what she loved most about the physical part of her. It soothed her when she needed comfort. It defied her when she craved a challenge. It aroused her when she whispered a simple "Good morning" at her. It incited goose bumps all over her skin. It was a pleasure. It was an unsung song. It was her heaven. It was her hell. That voice filled her best dreams and her worst nightmares.
She closed her eyes when, right behind her, that voice reached her unprepared ears.
"Is this seat taken?"
She shook her head without daring look at the woman who made the question. She could feel the movement next to her. She could see long, toned legs being hugged by the black fabric of an expensive dress, even if she tried not to. She could feel her heart clenching tightly in her chest.
A hand touched her shoulder tenderly as the voice spoke again in a concerned tone.
"Are you feeling well? You look very pale, dear."
She closed her eyes and hoped that, when she opened them, the woman next to her would simply disappear, as if that was nothing but a dream. Her green eyes shot open and, through her dizziness and haze caused by the booze, she saw those eyes. She saw those full, red lips. She saw the perfect shape of her delicate nose. She saw her gracious neck, her elegant shoulders. She saw the black dress that suited her perfectly. She saw the curves of the body she once could touch. She saw the goddess she once had in her arms. She saw the woman who once had claimed her love.
"Regina…"
Her throat was constricted. She wanted to cry. She didn't believe on what she was seeing.
"I'm sorry; you must have confused me with someone else." She furrowed in confusion at the blonde woman.
Emma blinked and stared at the stranger woman who still had a hand on her shoulder. She blinked again. That couldn't be true. She had lost her. Again.
No… Please, tell me that this isn't happening… The first tear came down as green eyes kept looking at the woman's face. "Regina…" She said again, this time looking back at her glass.
"Miss? Who's Regina? Do you want me to call her to pick you up?" The stranger asked again. It wasn't her voice anymore. It weren't her eyes. I wasn't the dress.
"You can try." Emma answered, not even noticing what she was doing.
"Who is she? This Regina." The brunette woman asked again, now more curious than anything else.
Emma swallowed thickly. She glanced at the woman at the counter as she got up to her feet.
"Just somebody that I used to know."
Somebody that I loved with all my heart. Someone who had my soul. Someone that know is dead.
