She thought about how he used to hold her body tight to his. Head on chest, chin resting on top. The pressure of him all around her released a little bit of the tightness within. It worked its way up from where it sat restless in her stomach. Sometimes she was freed of it completely. Sometimes it only got as far as her throat where it stopped, hot and thick. Finally she heaved herself up. Her body left a shallow imprint in the mattress. She stood in the shower and stared at white tiles on the wall. The water was hot on her skin and it felt good. When she got out she was mottled with pink all over.
The truth was she didn’t need anyone. She’d always been fiercely independent, one of those kids whose gaze said she meant business. Furrowed brow, tight fists, fingernails pressed into palms. Determined and never that good at accepting help. The type that always made grown ups laugh.
But things had felt a bit better when he was around. Slow mornings sipping coffee in bed from tiny cups, short and bitter. Come la vita, he would say. Just how she liked it. Nothing in the fridge so they’d walk to the market and dip plastic spoons into pots of fresh yoghurt sweetened with chestnut syrup. Walking home with a giant broccoli sticking out of her backpack.
Evenings spent waiting for a text.
Meet u at margot’s in 20?
Shoes already on she’d grab her scarf and fly out the door, slowing her pace the closer she got. Fizzing with nervousness.
BACKGROUND IMAGE SOURCE: CAROL VANHOOK/FLICKR