Anyway, just because I was inspired to expand on the depressing-make-you-wanna-slit-your-wrist theme, here's a little addition to the previous untitled blurb. As before, it hasn't been proofread, and as always, feedback is appreciated.
Thanks,
Ren :)
Missing
She shivered lightly and poked at the fire as she huddled further into the woolen quilt wrapped around her shoulders. An old fashioned oil lamp glowed from the table behind her, the merrily bouncing flame casting unrecognizable shadows on the walls around her. But she didn’t notice. She only stared into the blaze in front of her, inside the fireplace.
She’d always loved the seclusion the small cabin offered, tucked away out in the densely wooded mountain range. She’d been coming here since she could remember, and was thrilled when her parents had given her the deed a few years back for her college graduation. Since she’d moved into the the heart of the busy, noisy city, she’d found a new appreciation for the quiet solitude that welcomed her whenever she made the trip. And it seemed as though she couldn’t get enough of it as of late.
She pulled the quilt tighter around her shoulders and looked down at the paper in her hands, wrinkled and worn to the point of near tearing in places. The ink, now dry, had been smeared in some places, resultant of renegade teardrops.
She sipped from the nearly empty wine glass as she reread the elegant words for the umpteenth time. If she read carefully, she could almost convince herself that the words were written out of love. In fact, that’s what parts of the letter sounded like. That he was leaving for her benefit. That couldn’t be true though. Even if that were how he had intended her to interpret it, she was sure it was only to ease her pain. She was surprised when the ink suddenly started to run again. She hurriedly folded the letter and tucked it away, angry that her own body was betraying her. The words themselves she didn’t need to read. She could recite the entire letter verbatim at this point. It was his handwriting she was entranced with. The slant of his f’s, the way he crossed his t’s- it was so beautiful. She wished his scent still emanated from the paper, but it was long gone. She’d inhaled it so much she probably took the smell right out of the fibers.
Aside from the crackling of the fire, the cabin was so quiet she could almost hear the snowflakes piling up on the windowsill outside. At the rate it was falling, she was very likely to be snowed in for the weekend. There were non-perishables in the cupboards, but nourishment was far from the forefront of her mind. Time didn’t seem to mean anything here. Maybe she could just site here forever and the world would stand still for her while she grieved for her loss.
What she would do, just to able to breathe in his scent one last time. She breathed deeply now, trying to imagine it, but all she smelled was the crisp winter air mingling with the burning embers of the fire. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t fool her olfactory into imagining, remembering the once all too familiar mix of pine and vanilla and peppermint.
She closed her eyes. She could still see his face. Thank heaven for that, at least. He had the most beautiful brown eyes, almost a light milk chocolate color. She could get lost in those eyes forever, it seemed. At least until he would laugh and look away, which was usually only after a few seconds. Always much too soon. And his smile, his dazzling gorgeous smile that could make her melt, when his full lips pulled back to reveal perfectly straight, white teeth. He had his mischievous smile, too, which made him look like a little boy up to some kind of troublesome plot.
And his laugh. The sound of his laugh was so infectious. She could never help but laugh with him, at whatever stupidity he seemed to find hilarious. What would she give to hear that laugh again? Or rather, what would she not give? That might involve a shorter list. She couldn’t think of anything she wouldn’t do, just to have him here with her, to hear that laugh, to hear his voice, just to hear him breathe.
If only she had him nearby. If he were only close enough for her to hold those soft, warm hands. She smiled faintly when she remembered how she would think of him as her personal space heater. He would tease her for running a few degrees cooler than average, she would tease him for running a few degrees above. Then he would wrap his strong, comforting arms around her and she would be toasty warm within minutes. She snuggled into the wool quilt and pulled it even tighter. It was a lousy substitute.
She opened her eyes. The fire was burning lower now, and the lamp behind her was growing dim, the bouncing shadows on the wall fading. She looked out the window, over the small snowdrift on the will to see the purples and pinks of an approaching dawn. She sighed and turned back to the fire. Through the heavy silence, if she concentrated hard, she could fool herself into hearing his voice call her name. She closed her eyes again and smiled a small smile of contentment.
Then, she startled when a loud knock on the door echoed loudly through the one-room cabin.
Nobody knew she was here. She’d called in a couple sick days and hit the road with no explanation.
Forest Ranger, maybe? That had been a bad storm last night, after all.
She reluctantly stood with the quilt still wrapped around her shoulders and walked to the door. The snow on the windowsill next to it was high enough to obstruct any view of her visitor. Trembling with cold and lack of sleep, the turned the knob and opened the heavy wooden door.
Her mouth fell open.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I may be the most selfish man on the plant. But I can’t stay away. I need you.”
She felt her face break into a wide grin. Her feet propelled her forward, closing the small distance between them until she crashed into him. His arms automatically wound around her, holding her tight as their lips met.
After a moment, she pulled away.
“Don’t ever do that to me again,” she said.
“Never,” he promised.
