Her Personal Reminders
It was funny, and at times frighteningly annoying, that she went through her day trying to get him out of her mind, only to be reminded by something so small and trivial.
And not just one something. There were a lot of somethings.
She often passed by a liquor store on her way to work when she decided to take the quick route. It made her wonder how stocked his cabinet was, and if she still owed him a bottle of his preferred whiskey. She'd get him some, anyway.
She listened to music when she was just doing busy desk work, and subconsiously more often when he was away and she knew she wouldn't see him for a while. She would catch herself, though, when a string of songs came on, things that he had once told her reminded him of her, or things he simply stated he liked. Stabbing Westward, Nine Inch Nails, HIM... that Coheed and Cambria song that made her think of that coma. Flames was the hardest to hear. That station was just being spiteful, she was sure of it. She'd often turn it off and work in silence for the rest of the day. But sometimes she'd turn it up and let a smile play on her lips.
She rarely watched TV, but she liked the background noise in her empty apartment. Sometimes she'd come home to Pee Wee's Playhouse showing as soon as she turned it on. Only then would she actually curl up on her couch and laugh through the episode, half wishing he was there with her, if only to hear him laugh, as well.
Sometimes when she left her window open at night, she'd hear someone drive by blaring old rap, and she'd just chuckle at the inside joke they often shared over such music, turning over to bury her face in the pillow.
Certain mornings she'd wake up with a headache, sometimes mild, and sometimes blinding and almost incapacitating. She'd stumble her way to the medicine cabinet, hastily downing a few pills of migraine medicine, and wondering in the back of her mind if he was gonna have another of his headaches that day. She'd hope not. She'd have to do her best to make him laugh when she got to talk to him. He always said it helped.
She smoked way too much. Sometimes it would startle her when she noticed how many empty cigarette boxes she'd accumulated in a messy pile on her coffee table, and then she'd remember that he often liked to make furniture out of them. She'd make sure to save them.
The color red. It was everywhere, and she often found herself comparing the shades to that of his fiery hair. It was disturbing how often she caught herself doing that, but it could hardly be avoided the color was so god damn eye catching. Red cars, red signs on the various businesses that occupied the streets... she purposefully avoided candy aisles in stores, heaven forbid she come across a box of Red Hots.
It was hopeless. Everytime she tried to distract herself, she was reminded of him again, knowing that he kind of liked that she thought about him. He seemed to find it disgustingly cute.
Secretly, she didn't mind, either.
(A Valentine's present. For Tiger.)