This was never supposed to happen again.

She had made a decision to never allow this to happen again.

Yet there you are. Happening. Standing at her door - so casually - so nonchalant - so composed -

Everything I remember and more.

You left. You came back. I sent you away.

- right in front of her rapidly perspiring face.

This wasn't supposed to happen again.

The history.

She can almost feel the warmth of your breath radiating from your parted, glowing lips. Please, step closer.

You're both frozen, gawking.

What you're wearing sends her over the edge: an opaque, skintight, pencil skirt - keenly clutching your curves - somehow managing to mold your perfect shape into an even more perfect form. Louis Vuitton heels, size 9: black on top, crimson underneath. Both traits wed, illuminating the muscles of your calves, ever so subtly. So you.

Some things don't change.

You raise a hand (that has forever been littered with strong veins) into a tender wave. A soft smirk, artfully diffusing across your features. You are art.

Fresh fingernails, at the end of each long digit, trimmed so short - as if you're prepared. A bouquet of pink peonies - her favorite - fastened underneath your ageless, toned bicep. Your long, blonde locks splashing into gentle waves at your shoulders. Fuck.

"Alex." Your name nearly knocks her teeth out of her mouth.

She hears the echo of her own gasp. Tears flood, then sprinkle, over her dark eyelashes. We've been here before.

It's like clockwork.

xxxxxxxxxx

She can't stop staring. You stare back. Your cobalt eyes, glazing over with a film that screams "appetite," jut back into her own milk chocolate orbs. You tease her with your intensity.

I wish I could've made you stay.

When you left me, I thought I was going to die.

Maybe I did die. Maybe this is all a dream. Wake up, Benson. Wake up. Wake. Up.

She pinches herself. Yet there you are, still standing there.

xxxxxxxxxx

"I have a confession:

I wanted you to save me while he burned me with his cigarettes.

And as I beat him with that metal rod, I pictured Jim.

He never fucking deserved you.

Neither did I, but -

I needed you to save me from myself."

She inches closer to you.

"I think this is the definition of insanity."

xxxxxxxxxx

You reply. "Hi, Liv."

She's weak in the knees. You fucking own me. You can't seem to hear her, but she still declares it.

"I missed you."

I knew you would hate it there, without me.

But I think you only want me when it's convenient.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Bet I missed you more," she utters, at the end of a sharp inhale.

Down the rabbit hole.

They're building up inside of her - bundles of hypotonic cells - ready to burst.

You tell her, "most of my days, I exist in a thick coat of guilt."

Guess I'll always be a sucker for a professional blonde woman in a pair of high-heels.

She tells you, "me, too."

She adds, "You belong to me, and you always have."

You know that.

xxxxxxxxxx

Pink petals fall to the ground when you grab her by the waist. As blue pierces brown, you place the pad of your thumb over her wet, smooth lips.

You whisper, "shhhh."

She complies, as her eyes dry.

Olive skin, prickled in excitement.

You lean into her. An overdue embrace.

She can feel your ribs - so sharp, they leave bruises the color of you.

You kiss her; an apology for how long it took you to come back. God, you're heaven.

She deepens the kiss, both of your mouths gaping with enthusiasm. She explores the roof of your mouth with her tongue, pulling you closer. You dig your heels into the ground, bracing yourself.

You pull away. She frowns. "Do you forgive me?" you inquire, centimeters away from her face.

"Welcome home, Ice Queen."