This was my flashfic for the week of 5/7/13.
Your hands are too high on my thigh to be appropriate for a funeral. I'm not sure if it's for my benefit or yours. You hate goodbyes and you have bad experience with funerals. They make you think of her, and that's a wound I can never heal.
On the other hand, you are here for me. You know I barely knew him, and none of those memories are good. You also know that I'm putting on a brave face for my family. I've never told them what he did to me. They think he was nice—the perfect son, husband, father. Only you and I know the truth, and the truth is that I'm not sorry to see him go.
Your fingers on my skin remind me of the now and of the way you helped me over him. They remind me of the way you were patient and kind with me, even when I wasn't with you. They banish the memories of what he did to me and how he made me feel. His fingers made me feel disgusting, where yours make me feel alive. They remind me of the good times in front of us, not the bad times that we're burying.
I wrap my fingers around yours and nestle them between my thighs. I want to hide them until this torture is over and we can get out of here.
You tighten your grip—holding me together—and I know where my future is.