Tnx for the nice words, guys! *hug* As promised, here is the new one. And, to those of you sad that I said I wouldn't make a sequel of that previous one, this is practically what I had in mind anyway, or, at least it will be once I get to the point in the story when Jack and Kate reunite. ;)
CHAPTER 2
She headed downstairs and into the kitchen. She opened the cupboard, pulled out a glass, closed it; then opened another one. She poured herself a glass of wine, then returned the bottle in the cupboard, closing it behind. She took the glass and went pass the hallway into the living room. She put the glass down on a little table in the middle, took off her shoes and placed herself on the couch, lifting her legs, pulling up the blanket and tucking herself in before reaching for the glass again. She leaned backwards, took a little sip; then leaned her head back against the couch, watching the flames in the fireplace compete with the lights of the Christmas tree as in which could flicker faster and stronger. It looked beautiful. Even as a child, she treasured moments like those the most: watching the lights of Christmas tree do their dance. She looked down on the couch and her face went sad again: last year, he was there with her too. She gently brushed her hand across the place he would usually sit. She missed him. She missed him so much. She considered going to bed, but she knew that she wouldn't be able to fall asleep, not yet, and she suspected it would be even worse upstairs, not really wanting to go to the empty bed. So she stayed on the couch, pensive, her need to have him there, have him close, growing stronger and stronger with every second passed.
She reached up behind her neck and unclasped the necklace, bringing it in front and placing a small ring on her palm. She gently brushed her finger across the little diamond on top. How in the world could everything go wrong so fast? She remembered how he looked the last time she saw him, at the airport. His clothes was messy, his eyes tired, and the beard…the beard made him look like he was at least ten years older. She wondered if he had let it grow just in spite of her, as she remembered the playful way in which he had asked if she didn't like the scruff. She chuckled. He probably did. She smiled as she remembered how he had held the towel for her; then went on to kiss her. The smile faded from her lips. She twirled the ring between her fingers; the closest reminder of him she still had. Would she forget it all one day? His voice, his face, his touches? Would she wake up one day and realize she doesn't remember anymore the way his kisses taste or the way his skin feels under her touch? The way his body feels inside of her? She shivered at the thought. She didn't want to forget, she wanted to cherish it in her memory for as long as she lived. She closed her eyes, trying to revive the moment they had made love in the shower; but it was all blur to her. With every day passed, the traces of him on her skin faded more and more. She could still picture his face or remember their moments as if it was yesterday, but it was harder with senses: his touches, his kisses, his scent. Would it all fade away completely one day?
She shook her head, trying to chase away those thoughts. She opened her eyes. She needed something. A noise. Music. Anything. Something in the background to keep the sad thoughts away. She got up and crossed the room, stopping in front of the stereo and going through a couple of cd-s, finally finding the one she was looking for. It was their favorite winter album: they had listened to it many nights while curled up in front of the fireplace together, her back leaning against his chest and his arms wrapped around her protectively as he sang the words quietly into her ear. She looked down on the cover. Sarah McLachlan: Wintersong. She smiled. This ought to revive the feeling of him on her skin and convince her she wouldn't forget it ever. She put it in and waited until the familiar melody began to play silently; then turned to go back to the couch. Passing the bookshelf, something caught her eye. She stopped, not sure if it would be the smartest thing to do. She knew it wouldn't. But even though she was aware she wasn't doing herself a favor, that it would hurt even more, she needed to have him there, with her, if only virtually. Having made her decision, she bent down and reached for something; then straightened up again. With it in hands, she returned on the couch, sitting down and making herself comfortable, before looking down at the photo album that laid in her lap.
With her fingers, she gently traced the letters carved on its cover; the words that once would evoke a happy smile on her face, now only a painful memory. Jack, Kate and Aaron: A family. She stared at the words, not able to resist the smile as she remembered the occasion he had given it to her.
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They were lying on the bed, having just made love; their bodies draped over each other; his fingers gently stroking her hair, lulling her to sleep. ˝Still sad about the photos? ˝he asked gently, playing with her curl. The day before, she had lost most of her photos, due to her hard disk crashing. She was angry at herself for not developing them, most of them being dear memories of the time spent together over the past couple of weeks.
˝Yeah. ˝she replied quietly, her face resting on his chest.
˝I have something for you. ˝he said softly; pulling her away gently and reaching for the nightstand drawer.
She watched him, confused, as he pulled out something from the drawer; then turned to face her again.
˝Go on, open it. ˝he encouraged, and she carefully unwrapped the paper, gasping in surprise as her eyes fell on a beautiful, white photo album.
˝So you never lose them again, ˝he had told her.
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Memories. How ironic, she thought. Seeing that now memories were the only thing she still had of him. She lost him, but the memories were still there: every day, every hour, even every minute. And not only in obvious things, like hearing the song they made love to the first time, or finding a piece of his clothes somewhere around the house – things that she had learned to live with; but in the smallest details too, like the sound of someone's laughter that would remind her of his, or someone brushing his fingers across his hair, a gesture he would do often too. Sometimes, she wondered if the pain would ever go away, or at least become easier to live with. Sure, there were days when it was indeed easier; days that could be described as happy, or, at least the happiest they could be, given the situation. But there were also the ones, like when she had to explain to Aaron for God knows which time why Jack wasn't there to read to him, or when she would find herself looking at the old photo albums, like now; when it would become so difficult that it was hard to even breathe.
She often wondered if it would have made any difference if she had got rid of those last remaining evidences of his presence in the house, like the photos or his favorite aftershave, with which she would still occasionally spray the pillows in her bedroom, when his scent would start to fade away. She had even considered it once, in the days that followed his departure: to take the scissors and cut out his face from all the photos; something you could see in plenty of movies dealing with the breakup. Once, she had even prepared everything: she had arranged Aaron to sleep at his friend, poured herself a glass of wine; then sat on the couch and surrounded herself with the albums – she had even taken the scissors…but once she had opened the first album, once she had seen his face smiling back at her…she had known she couldn't do it, cause no matter how painful it was to look at them, they were also a proof – a proof that it had happened, that it was real, that it wasn't just a dream.
She brushed her fingers across the cover one last time; then opened it slowly……
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Hope you like it. The same principle is the same as before – the more reviews, the faster the update ;)
