Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one. The characters are borrowed but the story is my own.
That Night
They found each other at her lifeguard station, twenty-seven days, fifteen hours and forty-three minutes after they last saw her. She sat beside him without a word, staring at the silver flask in front of him. She took it without a word, unscrewing the top and bringing it to her lips.
"It's empty," he said, not looking at her. "It was empty when I found it."
She screwed the lid back on and placed it on the wooden floor. Her thoughts drowned out the pounding of the waves.
"I'm glad it was you," she finally said. "She would have wanted it to be you." He was silent. "She loved you."
She glanced over at him and saw him look down at his hands. "I know," he mumbled. He glanced over at her. "Did she..."
She nodded. "It was never over for her." He looked back out at the sea. She followed his gaze across the dark water.
"Me neither," he said.
She nodded, pulling the sides of her jacket closer around her. "You saved her. Do you know that?" He shook his head, and she saw his eyes glisten in the moonlight. "When you came here. When you loved her. You saved her."
He leaned his head back against the hard surface of the building. "I never thought anything could hurt this much."
She shook her head. "Me neither." She looked at him. "She's everywhere you know? Everything in my room. My house. Everywhere in this city. Every memory I have."
He sighed.
"I can't get away from her." She looked away.
"It's when she was the only one there, that I..." he began. "At night, sometimes, I think I feel her with me. I can feel her breathing against my neck. But I open my eyes and she's gone. And no one will ever feel like that again."
She reached a hand toward her hair. "I remember, from sleepovers, when we were little. She used to braid my hair. No one else feels like her." A tear finally fell from her eye, cascading down her cheek.
In silence, his hand found hers resting on the wooden boards and squeezed it. She looked left and he looked right. Their eyes found each other. His other hand reached out and touched her hair, brushing it away from her face. Her other hand reached out and touched his neck.
"This would be so wrong," he breathed as they stared at each other, millimeters apart.
"I know," she whispered. Their lips meet slowly, uncertainly, and as he pulled her bottom lip between his, he tasted the same strawberry lip gloss that he remembered every night.
The pace was quick and passionless. His release was dulled and mechanical; hers never came. Each time she felt the pressure mounting, she would remember where she was, who he was, who he wasn't, and come crashing back to reality. He moved steadily within her, his motions filled with sorrow as he clung for all his life to the person that wasn't who he needed, but only smelled vaguely of the shampoo she had left behind. He made love to a ghost as she was held by the only other person who knew what it was like to be haunted by Marissa.
When they pulled apart, they could not look at each other as they straightened their clothing and sad their goodbyes. To look at her lover and see blue eyes would admit her betrayal. And the sight of her brown eyes would admit his loss.
It was weeks before they looked at each other again.