1It was April now, and like clockwork, it would rain. Over time, he had grown to hate the rain. It reminded him of her and now that spring was here, that reminder would come more frequently.
It has been a month since her death and it seemed as though it were yesterday that he heard Sonny utter the words. Then, he almost didn't believe him, and he probably wouldn't have if they hadn't been in the middle of an epidemic. He'd seen how deadly the virus was; there was no reason to disbelieve Sonny.
Jason walks to the window by the balcony doors. The rain falls down the clear pane and he wets his lips with his tongue. He can still feel the rain sliding down his face as it had done those days. There were two, one in October, the other in May, the first a beginning and the latter an end. He hadn't noticed it before, but their end had matched their beginning perfectly. And he could remember every detail as if it had just happened seconds before. The way her lips had felt when he kissed her, and how she managed to bring every emotion in him to the surface, every dormant or forgotten feeling. She had the ability to make his body ache for her desperately. He remembered the feel of her fingers on his wet face, slipper as she responded to his demand for more.
Jason groans and realizes his mouth is dry. He pulls himself out of his memory and goes into the kitchen for something to drink. He finds one last bottle of beer, opens it and returns to the living room and to his spot by the balcony as the rain continued to fall, with no sign of letting up. He stands there for only a few moments and then he feels a warm, wet tongue lick his hand. He scratches the dog behind her head and she whines softly, nudging his hand with her nose. She wants to go outside. Jason sets his beer on the edge of the pool table, grabs the dog's leash from the top of the desk and she leads him to the elevator and out the front doors of the Harborview Towers.
The rain drenches him as soon as he and the dog step outside. It is a sweet, yet bitter rain and the earlier warm temperature had dropped. He licks his lips often, tasting the droplets as they run down his face into his mouth. He walks the dog to a nearby park so she can stretch her legs and do what dogs do when they go outside. Jason's clothes are heavy with rain and he waits only a few minutes before leading the dog back to the Towers at the first sign of lightning.
Both are wet when they return to the penthouse and as the dog shakes the water droplets free from her fur coat, Jason doesn't bother to scold her. He removes his jacket, replacing it on the back of the chair at the desk. He walks to the balcony doors, grabs his beer from the pool table and sits down on the floor this time, one side of his body leaning against the clear glass. A flash of lightning brightens the sky and he can see the rain drops hit the cement outside. The golden retriever finished drying herself off, water droplets splattered over the floor and pads over to him. She whines, licks his arm and lays next to him, putting her head in his lap as he pats her head.
"You miss her, too, don't you?" he asks.
Rosie whines as her only response, as the rain, and the memories, continue to come down.