Like I said before, this chapter is massive! Please do let me know if you enjoy! :)

My strong-willed nature allowed me to almost completely detach myself from any feelings I held for her, and somehow we even managed to become friends, neither one of us daring to ever mention our past life together. It was as though we had silently agreed to start anew, and that's exactly how it was. For a while.

"I have been instructed by your husband's lawyer to serve you with this divorce petition."

I couldn't help the little skip that my heart made that those words, and instantly hated myself for it. She looked to wounded, so vulnerable that I felt emotional just looking at her, imagining the pain she must be going through, as I had with Edward. That bittersweet suffering, the achings of betrayal and regret interlaced with hope and relief at finally being free to love again.

She seemed to deal with it easily, her usual steely resolve in place immaculately, impenetrable and untarnished. How I envied her ability to do that, to completely disconnect and beat down ones feelings and walk away unscathed. If only I had been the same.

That evening, I took her for a drink in Albies to relax a bit - she would only be going back to her hotel, after all. I wanted to ask her if she'd like to stay with me, but felt as though that would be stepping over a boundary which was best left uncrossed, for now at least. But that night, after losing count of the amount of wine we had both consumed, was the first time since we met again that she acknowledged our history together. I suppose we were never good with boundaries anyway.

Let's dance

Put on your red shoes and dance the blues

She looked over the rim of her glass at me with a half-grin, her head rested one once hand and her eyes bright and nostalgic.

"This wasn't half overplayed," she said, meeting my eyes in a way which let me know exactly what she was talking about. "It was on about three times a night, wasn't it?"

I gazed at her intently, carefully choosing my words and fighting to keep my steady nerve. "I recall I counted five once," I said lightly, nonchalantly. "I'm surprised you remember."

She seemed almost wounded at that, but quickly recovered herself. "Oh, I remember a lot of things," she replied, her gaze falling to her glass as she took another large swig.

"Really?" I asked seriously, with an air of scepticism. She set her glass down on the counter.

"How could I forget?"

She looked up at me with eyes that seemed more watery than usual, and I felt my heart tugging, felt my entire centre of gravity shifting, pulling me towards her.

In that moment, that instant, it would have been so easy to kiss her, to close the gap between us and allow thirty years of frustration and anguish to come rushing out. I wanted it, almost painfully so. And I could tell that she did too.

If you say run, I'll run with you

If you say hide, we'll hide

Because my love for you

Would break my heart in two

But this wasn't right. We were both hurting from our recent break-ups, and both more than a bit drunk. History mustn't repeat itself.

"I really should be going now," I said quickly, standing from my stool and purposefully half a step further away from her. "Can I get you a cab?"

She seemed to let out a large breath, and I realised that I too had been holding mine and now felt slightly dizzy. "No, it's fine. I'll walk," she replied with a slight smile, avoiding my gaze.

I felt like I should wait for her, but was afraid of what would happen if I did. "Right. Well, I suppose I'll see you tomorrow then," I said shortly, shrugging on my coat. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." She offered me half a smile, but looked quickly back to the remaining wine in her glass. I rushed out of the pub, taking a brisk walk home, back to the cassette that lay waiting in my living room.

::

For the three weeks that followed, 'Let's Dance' was top of the charts and seemed to play everywhere; in the club, in shops, on the radio. We danced to it every Saturday, throwing our arms up in the room as we swayed and twirled around one another, singing with the crowds and feeling on top of the world, then for the next week not being about to stop humming it under our breath, sneaking knowing glances at one another across the classroom as we did so, just managing to get it out of our heads in time for it to be firmly reignited the following Saturday.

We had gone out that first following weekend carefree, laughing about the previous week like it was an old dream, ridiculous, a mistake. And it was a mistake. It shouldn't have happened, and we mutually agreed that.

But that didn't stop us again, at 2am, spilling out of the club and round the back, hands desperately clutching and grasping before we even managed to get out of sight. In all my life, I still haven't had butterflies like it. It was pure excitement and arousal, attraction, knee-weakening and heady, and when she spun met around in her arms and pressed me against the wall of the club I felt like melting, every limb loose and languid with want.

The next weekend we tried harder not to let it happen, promised each other and ourselves. But, sat together on an empty top deck of the night bus, our thighs pressed together as we slumped down on the back seat, her hand somehow came to rest on my knee and I couldn't tear myself away from her, pressing myself closer and closer to her, until we found one another's eyes and could hold back no longer.

And the third weekend we even managed to get off the bus and onto our short walk home before we had bumped into one another just too many times to separate again, and dangerously we kissed in the street, in full view, before I dragged her with me into the woodlands just before our neighbourhood, my hand fumbling with her zipper before we were even completely out of sight.

We were drunk all of these times, and there is no doubting that it wouldn't have happened if we were sober. But the hangovers seemed to progressively lessen, and after the second week I wasn't even nauseous when I awoke, simply nursing a sore head and dry mouth. If you had asked me at the time, I would have insisted that my body were simply becoming used to the amount of alcohol consumed, and so more easily able to process it and leaving me with less after effects. But the truth was that we were just drinking less. We didn't need to be blind drunk to get together; both of us were completely aware of our actions, though the next morning we always swore otherwise, and by the third weekend we didn't even have any shots, both conscious of saving our money for the casino next week. But still we found ourselves, in the early hours of the morning, unable to resist one another, and remembering it the next morning my lips even curled up in a smile. I loved those nights with her.

Jonty Dean was one of the more wealthy students in school, but still upon arriving at the casino the following week I was taken aback by the grandeur of it. His parents had rented the whole place so that it was only invited guests in the building and even in my reasonably expensive red, fitted dress I felt under-dressed, though Bernie assured me with a glint in her eye that I looked "beautiful as always", causing a little flip in my stomach and a blush to rise in my cheeks.

She arrived separately to me, taking a car with the rugby lads as was expected of her and kindly paying for my cab. The casino was a way off the other side of town to us, further than the bus route went, and I had absolutely no idea where I was going, but she ordered the cab to drop me off right by the door and was waiting for me with a grin when I arrived.

She wore a long, black gown, with detailed lace around the neckline which ran just below those collarbones which I loved so much, and was gathered in at the waist, accentuating her hips and falling down loosely to her strappy black stilettos. I had to steel myself for a moment, climbing out of the cab. She looked stunning, breathtakingly so, and I smiled affectionately at her.

"You scrub up well," I grinned, as she offered me her hand getting out of the cab. "Who would've thought it?"

"Shut up," she smirked, taking my arm. "I feel like a right wally. Dresses really are not for me. And these fucking heels! I've nearly broken my ankle twice. What's the point of having a heel that thin? I can't seriously be expected to balance on that."

I chuckled lightly at her ranting. "You'll be fine," I said reassuringly. "Just put your weight on the heel first, then you get a chance to balance it before putting the rest of your foot down."

She eyed me sceptically. "Yeah, because that makes complete sense, going on the unsteady bit first," she said sarcastically. "Anyway, you don't look so bad yourself."

I laughed. "I feel a bit underdressed, now," I replied, glancing around us as we stepped into the lobby. "I didn't realise it would be so fancy."

"Oh, don't be daft," she said, not looking at me and instead seeming to search the crowd for something, before continuing on through the large double doors to the gambling floor. "You look beautiful, as always."

The blush in my cheeks was inevitable, but I was certain I saw a slight reddish tint creeping up her neck too. I quickly cleared my throat, deciding to divert my attention elsewhere. This wasn't the time or the place for things like that.

She eventually seemed to find who she was searching for, and dragged me across the room to wish Jonty a happy birthday. After that, she took me round the various tables set up around. Roulette, blackjack, poker, and various other card games that I had never heard of. I beat her twice at blackjack before dinner, to her frustration, but she somehow managed to win it all back at poker afterwards. Then we decided to work together, and with each throw of the dice she held it up to my lips beforehand for a blow of good luck, just as they did in the movies, holding eye contact the entire time. I felt closer to her and more a part of her than ever.

About half way through the night, I had left her to go to the bathroom, finally orientated enough to feel confident finding my way back to her afterwards. I was happy, elated, and left the bathroom with a smile on my lips as I headed back to find my best friend.

But it couldn't last.

I was stood on a slightly elevated balcony of the room, searching down and across the sea of heads to find hers before I were to attempt my was across. She was stood at the other side of the room, with Jonty and his grandparents. I smiled to myself at how graceful she was, how everyone in a room with her seemed to love and admire her, respect her, look up to her.

Then the group of waiters stood in front of them dissipated, and I felt a shock like a bullet to my gut as I saw his arm around her waist, the way she was nestled into the crook of his shoulder, both of them as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Her smile illuminated her entire face, genuine and carefree, happy.

I could be getting the wrong end of the stick, I told myself, she wouldn't do that, would she? Not to me. I had never seen them together before in my life, not even heard it through the grapevine at school. Surely I would have?

But then, just as I was beginning to reassure myself, his grandmother seemed to say something that made them both smile bashfully, causing her so look to the floor shyly before looking back up, straight at Jonty, tucking her hair behind her ear as she did so. Even from here, I could sense the warmth in their gaze, the fondness there, and I felt sickened as, almost in slow motion, they met for a short kiss so tender and familiar that it was like they were some long-married couple sharing a greeting kiss, held back only by their public situation.

I let out a sharp, choked breath, unaware that I had been holding it in as I stared in disbelief and agony, my head spinning and my knuckles white, clutching onto the banister for support. How could she do this? And, more importantly, why did I care so much? It's not like we were an item; we had just drunk too much and made mistakes. I wasn't a lesbian. I liked men, and was sure of it. We were just friends. But why did it hurt so?

I felt suddenly suffocated by the heat of the room, with its bright lights and bustling crowd, and rushed to the front doors for some air. The night was cool and crisp, and I breathed in big gasps that shocked my lungs. I felt shaky, unstable, my knees weak and my heart hammering. I needed to calm down. I recognised a boy from Bernie's rugby team standing just inside the main doors, and nipped back inside to cadge a cigarette from him before going back outside and sitting on the low wall out front. The taste of the tobacco reminded me of her, and made me feel both revulsed and hungry all at once. I was so angry, bitter, horrified, but at the same time agonised and yearning for her, to put my arms around her and kiss her and for her to tell me it was a mistake and that she loved me and... Wait, what? Love?

"Crikey, you must have had too much," I heard her voice ringing playfully from behind me. "Smoking at this hour?"

I gritted my teeth, desperate not to get emotional. "I'm quite alright, thank you," I replied stonily, praying for her to leave me at that. She didn't.

"I was looking for you," she continued, coming to sit beside me on the wall, and I consciously shifted slightly away from her. "I thought you'd gotten lost."

I averted my eyes from her, looking in the opposite direction as I flicked some ash onto the floor. "No, I just needed some fresh air."

She let out an incredulous laugh, and I saw her nodding towards my cigarette out of the corner of my eye. "I'm not sure about fresh," she said jokingly. I pursed my lips, not responding.

A semi-awkward silence ensued, my stomach churning and her watching me with concern. I took deep, shaky breaths, trying desperately to calm myself, to rationalise, but I couldn't.

"Are you o-"

"So when were you going to tell me about you and Jonty?"

My words were icy, bitter, and she looked at me open-mouthed, frozen like a rabbit in headlights.

"Or do I not mean enough to you for that courtesy?"

"Serena-"

"Don't bother," I said forcefully, stamping out my cigarette and standing up quickly. "I quite understand."

"No, you don't," she said desperately, standing up and grabbing onto my arm as I began to walk away. "Serena, please-"

"Do I mean absolutely nothing to you?" I turned on her, fury shaking my every limb. "I was under the impression that we were friends-"

"It's not what it looks like, please," she begged, looking at me with frantic eyes. "I- I'm... It's complicated."

I tugged my arms out of her grasp, throwing them up into the air incredulously. "I'm all ears," I said, hating the thickness that had suddenly appeared in my voice, giving away how hurt and betrayed I was.

She took a deep breath, standing a little taller and glancing around herself self-consciously. I heaved a sigh impatiently. She laughed nervously, making my blood boil. I hated her.

"This is..." She trailed off, running a hand through her hair. She cleared her throat. "I'm his beard, okay?" She said simply, looking at me with fear disguised as exasperation.

"His what?"

She looked around her again. "He's gay," she said pointedly, her voice hushed. I froze, baffled.

"But... I saw you," I stammered, my mind racing. "That didn't look like... Like a gay man with a woman. I-"

"His parents walked in on him and Adam a couple of months ago," she explained, her eyes pleading. "They'll throw him out. We have to convince them it was a one off, a mistake. He's a mate, so I agreed to help him out. It means nothing."

"You kissed him."

"Keeping up appearances," she said genuinely.

I paused for a moment, processing this information. My pulse throbbed in my ears, my breathing laboured and sorrow and mournfulness suddenly overcoming me as I realised that I should have trusted her better, and realised that I wanted her, all of her, despite how terrifying that was. My heart twisted and tugged in my chest with my feelings, and I couldn't keep my mouth shut.

"And us?" I said suddenly, my voice cracking with uncertainty.

"What about us?" She asked, frowning.

"What is this, Bernie?" I asked slowly, sadness lacing my every tone, and I looked into her eyes just in time to see her heart breaking. She shook her head.

"I don't know what it is," she said, her voice quickening towards the end to disguise her choked breaths and the lump in her throat. She blinked quickly, clearing her eyes of any tears which threatened to form. "But..." She trailed off, taking a deep breath. "But what I do know, is that my parents..." She gulped. "My parents follow a religion which explicitly states that... this... is sin." She looked up towards the sky, blinking again and letting out a nervous hum. "And what I do know is that I want to build a career in the army, Serena, and homosexuality in any form is strictly forbidden. I've wanted this all my life; I can't... I won't throw it away." Her eyes looked anguished, her jaw solid and her shoulders tensed as she begged me to understand, to support her in this. And I did. I saw every point she made and I agreed with it, and I knew that this was how things had to be. It still didn't stop the hurt though, the new weight on my chest. I wanted to wrap my arms around her, tell her that it would be okay, comfort her, but at the same time it felt as though a new barrier, a boundary had been created, and I didn't know just where the edges lay.

"I'm sorry," I said on a sigh. "I just... I don't know what I'm feeling at the moment. It's fine. I'll be fine. I am fine." She looked unconvinced, reaching out to give my arm a squeeze.

"We'll get past this," she said confidently, tipping my head to look into her eyes so that I could see the steely determination there. I nodded, biting my inner cheeks to prevent any more emotion from spilling out. "And I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I just didn't know when would be the right time and I couldn't..." She trailed off, looking up to the sky and blinking again, as if her composure was slipping.

"What?" I asked, looking at her with a slight frown and concern.

Her gaze fell to the ground. "I..." She seemed to struggle with herself, to articulate her feelings, and let out a choked laugh before looking at me with a small smile. "I was absolutely terrified of losing you." Her eyes were warm and emotional as they met mine, and I smiled back at her. Something seemed to shift, to snap in her eyes, then - a realisation - and I noticed them quickly seeming to fill with moisture before she coughed, clearing her throat, and looked away.

"We should go back inside," she said quickly, looking up at the doors to avoid meeting my confused gaze. "It's bloody freezing out here. Let's go get a drink." She hugged her arms around herself, as if to illustrate her point.

I nodded to her, walking towards the door as she threaded her arm through mine. I eyed her knowingly as she began to put her weight on me. "Sore feet?" I asked, with a smirk.

She gave me an exasperated look. "Agony. As soon as his grandparents leave I'm going barefoot. Unless she makes another remark about how rugby isn't for 'nice young ladies like you' or about my 'unladylike gait'," she mocked the woman's tone. "Then she can stick it - I'll take them off right in front of her, the old boot."

I laughed at her, giving her arm a fond squeeze. "Someone's rubbed you up the wrong way," I smiled. "Why don't you just go the whole nine yards and punch her?"

She glanced at me, the corners of her mouth curling upwards mischievously, before looking back down to watch where she was putting her feet. "It had crossed my mind, yes," she replied as we ascended the steps to the bar. "But I'll probably never have to see them again after today. They've come up from Devon. And his parents are alright, really, minus the raging homophobia. I can just about suffer them. Plus, Geraldine makes a lovely Shepard's Pie."

I chuckled lightly. "Well, I can't fault your priorities," I smiled, untangling our arms as we both climbed up onto our bar stools, her ordering us both a large glass of Shiraz. She told me all about Jonty and his family, how him and Adam had been together almost two years, a secret kept strictly between their close-knit rugby team. Then one day, the week after we'd been to the Glenn Miller concert, Jonty's parents had come home early from a meal and found them in bed together. Jonty's father had broken Adam's nose and given him a nasty black eye, whilst threatening to cut off Jonty entirely if he were to continue their relationship, and so they had formulated the plan that Bernie would pose as his girlfriend so they they wouldn't feel the need to breathe down his neck as much. And it worked beautifully.

Despite this, however, and despite understanding entirely where she was coming from, I still felt a deep sadness surrounding the whole thing, and when she was, after a while, dragged away to meet yet more of Jonty's family - his parents seemed to be somewhat showing her off - I felt that my parting smile was unable to quite meet my eyes, and felt instant guilt for it. Who was I to hold her back from her ambitions? Even now, when she was talking about her team and how close they were, always looking out for one another, and the unbreakable fraternal bond there, ("Hence why we haven't won a game in living memory," she had joked with a fond smile. "We're more a family than a rugby team. No one gets in, no one bails out; we stick together.") I could see how perfect she would be in the army, how far her team spirit and ability to bring people together would get her. It was her nature entirely, and I was selfish to want to hold that back.

Yet I did want to hold it back. I wanted to never lose her from my grip, to hold her and have her by my side eternally. Just the thought of being torn apart, as was inevitable come September, when we would both be leaving for university, made my eyes sting and my throat thicken, my heart racing with loss and anguish. I felt stupid, really. There was nothing to be done. It could not be changed, and didn't change. I just had to face up to it, which meant making the most of every second we had left together. Still, I couldn't quite bring myself to smile about it. Not yet.

As the night drew to a close, I remained half-slumped over the bar, having finished both her's and mine and making full use of the free drinks. I felt slightly unsteady, but practically sober compared to how we usually ended up on a Saturday night. My mind raced back to last weekend, to the heat of the club and her in my arms as we danced, barely able to hear the music over our racing hearts and aching desire. Then getting off the night bus, 'accidentally' standing too close, fingertips brushing as our arms aligned, drawing one another's attention to the fact that they were there, ready to elicit a scream from whoever happened to give in first. And when we kissed in the warm glow of the streetlights, my hands delving beneath her coat for warmth whilst she held my head in her hands, both tenderly enjoying one another in a kiss which made my heart flutter and my knees go weak and my eyes sting with the sheer depth of it, I should have known, should have recognised that we had crossed a line. I should have seen myself getting in too deep, and pulled away. I should have said no.

But the kiss was so entirely different to what we had experienced before that it was too good to retract from. It was captivating, earth-stopping, mind-blowing. It wasn't a needy kiss in the way that all of our others had been; it wasn't lustful or prurient. We weren't wrapped up in the aching need between our thighs or lonely desperation for intimacy. It wasn't an accident, or a coincidence. We simply wanted one another, as we were, just like this - tired and cold with messed up hair and makeup and just completely, rawly us in our most basic form. I looked at her, at the lipstick smears on her cheek and the clumps of mascara that had fallen below her eyes, at the dampness of her hair at the roots that the sweatiness of the nightclub had caused, at every tiny imperfection etched into her skin - scars from sports injuries, blemishes, scrapes - and she was beautiful. Absolutely, unequivocally, heart-stoppingly beautiful, and I kissed her because she was her, and because I cared, and because she was my favourite person in the whole world and I wanted her to know that. It was a kiss of love.

This, though, was instantaneously fought against, the very prospect of any feelings arriving to complicate our relationship striking through both of us like a bolt of lightning, leading us to retreat into our usual routine of fistfuls of hair and grinding of hips and bumping teeth in order to distract from and forget that anything could be out of the ordinary. But the way in which she fucked me, so hard and fast that my vision flashed and my legs numbed, meaning that I had to hold my arms tightly around her neck for support as she ran her tongue and teeth across my collarbone, whilst at the same time being most tender, somehow gentle sex that I have ever experienced - both with others and by my own hand - betrayed our better efforts to disregard our feelings, to ignore them, as we could not stop them from seeping out into our actions, seeping through every pore until we just felt the ache there. Perhaps that's why I was so quick to snap, to give in to irrational anger and resentment at the sight of her with Jonty. Perhaps that's why I was then so filled with sorrow. With loss.

I was just returning to the bar area from the bathroom when the DJ announced the last dance, and so changed my course to go and fetch my coat from the cloakroom ready for leaving afterwards. I was tired, more than a little drunk, and just ready to sleep.

So true

Funny how it seems

Always in time, but never in line for dreams

Head over heels when toe to toe

"Serena?"

This is the sound of my soul

This is the sound

I turned around sharply as I felt her hand on my arm, slipping smoothly down my arm and interlacing our fingers, tugging me gently with her to the centre of the dancefloor, so that we were obscured by the slowly swaying sea of bodies surrounding us. I stood there dumbfounded, bewildered, and she offered me a fond smile before taking hold of my other hand and leading them up to rest on her shoulders, untangling her fingers from mine and placing her own hands on my waist, as we always did on a Saturday night, anonymous amongst the sweaty crowds of the Starlight club.

Why do I find it hard to write the next line?

Oh, I want the truth to be said

We were silent as we swayed together, her thumb absent-mindlessly drawing agonising circles in the sensitive skin of my waist whilst our heads rested devastatingly close together, and knowing that I couldn't kiss her, show any sign of affection, was killing me. Our cheeks lightly skimmed one another from time to time, our breaths loud in one another's ears and our hearts beating in unison against one another's chests. I eventually gathered the nerve, the composure to voice my thoughts.

With a thrill in my head, and a pill on my tongue

Dissolve the nerves that have just begun

"What are you doing?" I murmured, glad of the lack of eye contact caused by our positioning. I felt her tilt her head slightly, so that our cheeks were pressed intimately together and her hair tickled my nose, the scent of her shampoo sending my head spinning and her breaths shallow on my ear as she spoke.

"It wouldn't be a Saturday night if I didn't have the last dance with you."

This is the sound of my soul

This is the sound

I tensed up against the emotion that filled me, the heartache and the regret and the loneliness, ever so slightly leaning my cheek closer against her cheek, almost for comfort, closing my eyes to savour the sensation.

Always slipping from my hands

Sand's a time of its own

Take your seaside arms and write the next line

Oh, I want the truth to be known

Her hands found themselves slipping away from my waist, around and slightly up my back as she pulled me tight into her, clutching to me for dear life as we both wallowed in the feelings that could never be vocalised, that could only be communicated through this desperate embrace before being disregarded forever. And neither of us wanted to ever let go.

We didn't even notice when the music ended, only jerked back to reality by the lights brightening around us. As she pulled back, I notice her wipe a tear from her cheek, clearing her throat forcefully before announcing that she was going to say goodbye to Jonty and his family and telling me to hold the taxi for her. My own cheeks were streaming, and I avoided her eyes as I wiped them, smiling faintly as she gave my shoulder a comforting squeeze before disappearing down the stairs and out of sight.

The taxi ride was silent, and our legs rested against one another in a way that would have been sexual if it weren't for the tenderness that it communicated. It wasn't unusual for us to be unable to prise ourselves apart from one another, but tonight lust was nothing to do with it. We couldn't separate ourselves from one another because we knew that when we did, that would be the end, and that was too much to comprehend, just yet.

But the end had to arrive, and as the taxi pulled away from the end of our street we stood for what felt like hours staring at one another, our fingers intertwined and our hearts tearing apart. I wanted to, needed to kiss her, to taste her just this one last time, but I couldn't do it for fear we would lose control. Eventually, she cleared her throat, murmuring goodnight before placing a tender, chaste kiss on my left cheek. I leaned into it, turning my head ever so slightly in the hope that she would meet my lips, but she pulled away, nodding to me before turning, loosening her grip on my hand and allowing it to slip free before retreating into the crisp air of the night.

::

I was snapped out of my daze by the cassette clicking off, thankfully indicating the end of the first side of the tape. The heaviness in my chest had become too much to bear. The feelings that accompanied the memories dragged up by these songs were so vivid, so intense that I could practically feel her on my cheek, her hand slipping from mine all over again until a fresh wave of loss came over me, leaving me feeling empty, and cold. Normally, I would always count on these feelings dissipating quickly, on them being purely a side effect of the wine and the recollection, but this felt so real, and I felt such a shift, that I was lost in a unintelligible cocktail of emotions that could only lead to one thing.

And now she was getting divorced.

How selfish was I to feel so jubilant at that?

Then came the first time I allowed myself to entertain the possibility that things could work out between us.

I could see her, feel her, lying with me on the sofa as I was now, her head in my lap, chatting away about plans for the weekend, or how someone or other had wound her up at work. I would smile down at her, my fingers lightly tangled in her hair, glowing golden in the firelight, and I would lose focus of what she was saying, simply gazing at her instead, immersed in how beautiful she was and how much I loved her and how happy I was that she was finally here and mine. Then she would stop, frown up at me as she realised I was no longer listening, and I in response would simply lean down and place a delicate, warm kiss on her lips, my thumb lightly caressing her cheek as I did so, until she lifted her arms up around the back of my neck, deepening the kiss, a small groan escaping her lips as I pushed my tongue inside and our heart rates quickened in unison.

And then I would take her to bed. And I would love her. And I would wake up with a smile, and her in my arms.

This fantasy prompted me to realise something.

I wanted her back.