She glances at the clock for the fifth time in as many minutes. He always used to be so punctual. She ponders how many other changes there have been in him. Her eyes drift upwards, catch the ornamental butterfly, encased in its glass, hanging upon the plain wall. She smiles.
The doorbell rings and she glides over to meet him. Formalities are exchanged and she hands him a mug of tea. They settle down at the table to review the confusing anatomy of the abdomen. Yet, as she stares at the schematic image of celiac trunk branches before her, she contemplates that this has rapidly become the least complicated part of her life.
Time passes. Tea turns cold. Animated chatter floods the room as she dutifully answers the questions he poses. And more quickly than either would like, the midnight hour is upon them. He's actually working the early shift and knows he should leave. She sees him succumbing to the first clutches of sleep and knows he shouldn't stay much longer. As he rises from the table she thanks him profusely. She didn't expect him to come after their last experience alone together. He'd still shoot the moon for her.
Pleasantries are exchanged and she passes his jacket causing their fingers to brush fleetingly. She inhales sharply. He grasps the door handle as tightly as though it was his lifeline. The door opens, he steps through and with a smile, he's gone.
The door closes and she exhales as she falls against its hard wood. And like a switch has been flicked, she knows in that instant why she kissed him in the darkness. She puddles to the floor and cradles her head in her hands. Abigail Lockhart is in love.
A sharp knocking startles her from the fetal-like position. The hammering becomes more persistent as she rises and throws open the door. Quizzically, she stares into his chocolate eyes. He gazes lasciviously back. Her breathing becomes rapid and shallow. He crosses the threshold. Nervously, she pushes tendrils of hair behind her ear. His gaze is so intense she fears she will crumble beneath it. He catches her. He always catches her. In a heartbeat his lips make their familiar descent down to hers. And though her head is screaming at her to push him away, that the situation is wrong, that it can never be right, her heart is singing, lyrical ballads that will not be silenced. And so she kisses him back with all the ridiculous, inconvenient, all-consuming love that she feels. And he responds in kind.
Silhouettes dance against the wall, a black-and-white depiction of colourful complication. Moans escape her lips as butterfly kisses creep across porcelain skin. And soon a steady stream of clothing trickles its way into her bedroom. Shadows swim in a deep sea of blankets, rediscovering contours thought long forgotten. And for a few blissful hours, she's home.
