Memories
For Angie, who threw down the gauntlet for some heartbreaking angst.
She can taste the salt from the ocean on her lips.
She can hear the waves lapping the sand on the beach.
She can smell the flowers blooming in the windowboxes and from the pots along the porch.
She can feel him at her back, arms looped around her waist.
She can hear him as he whispers into her ear.
"The sun looks pretty in your hair."
"It's blonder," she comments.
"Not that," he returns. He's brushing his fingers through the loose waves. "The actual sun. It makes your hair all burnished gold and pale red. It's like the light is stuck in each strand, setting them aflame."
She sighs, tipping her head forward so her hair hangs on either side of her face, hiding her smile. "Castle…" Because his words still make her shiver.
"Your skin glows."
Her fingers tighten on the railing, wood cutting into her palms.
"And you smell like… God, you smell like jasmine and vanilla."
She can almost feel the sweep of his lips over the curve of her neck. Almost.
Because he's not really here.
The phantom memories play tricks with her brain even out here. She thought that maybe, if she got away from the city, she might be able to cope a little better. But they spent time out here too so of course the reminders of him followed as she sped from Manhattan out to the pretty little house right on the beach.
She takes a gasping breath, letting the salty air burn her throat as she fights to keep herself together. She doesn't have the energy to fall apart another time.