Cherries

Chapter 1

Summer

His hand caresses me lovingly on my cheek as I smile and lean into his touch. His body rests comfortably on top of mine, perfectly moulding us together and making me feel incredibly warm and safe. His mouth is close to my ear and I feel him breath deeply, inhaling my scent. His deep, yet quiet voice draws a contented sigh from way down in my chest.

"I love how your hair smells so sweet," he says in my ear, breathing deeply again, taking me all in.

He moves his head slightly and presses his wet, soft lips to my neck, kissing me slowly once, twice, three times.
"I love how your skins tastes on my lips," he says and I can feel him smiling into my neck.

He brushes his nose against mine, still smiling as he lowers his soft lips onto mine, pressing into me then gently pulling away.
"I love how your mouth feels against mine," he says as he moves himself further down to my chest. His hand leaves my cheek.

He kisses the skin between my breasts, letting out his own contented sigh.
"Fuck, I love how good your body feels against mine," his voice cracking a little as he keeps kissing lower. The weight of his body curiously lifts up and away from mine.

He kisses me again on my stomach and as he lifts his wet lips away from my skin I feel a shiver of cold trickle over me. I lift my head from the pillow and look down the bed towards him but there's nothing there. I feel his breath suddenly at my ear, so close to me.

"I miss every...single...inch of you."

"My everything."

"Finn...?"

"Finn...!"

"Finn...!!!"

My whole body lurches violently awake and I frantically scan my bedroom, whipping my head from side to side. Searching. My chest heaves in pain and my hands clutch my t-shirt to try and help the burn. I swing my legs out from under the covers, every part of my skin feeling sweaty and sticky. I lower my head towards my knees still attempting to pull more air into my lungs. My hands reach for my hair, gripping and tugging as I rock back and forth.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.

My breathing slowly starts to even out and I lift my head to stare at the blank wall in front of me. I breath.
In and out.
In and out.
In and out.

I pull myself out of the nothingness and glance over to the closed bedroom door. The sheets are thrown back further, as I quickly move towards the door, confirming that the dead bolt is still firmly locked. My fingers running over the cold metal, testing, checking, ensuring everything is as it should be and I release another heavy breath in some relief.

2.17am

There'll be no more sleep for me tonight. I enter the ensuite bathroom and shut the door behind me, latching the dead bolt into the locked position. I tap my fingers against the door and turn to pull open the top drawer of the vanity. My handgun rests between the towels and I check it's loaded and ready, and return it to the drawer. I let out another breath, reassured that I can now shower with a feeling of safety and start my day. The warm water washes over my body and I can't help but think back to my dream. It felt so damn real. He felt so real. His hands, his mouth, his words...made me feel so damn good again just for a little while. But it never lasts. Because the love of my life, my beautiful fiancé is nothing but a memory now. I'll never be touched by him ever again. And although it's nearly been eighteen months, the water of the shower hides the torrent of tears that inevitably come. Like a tide I have no hope of stopping. My empty house is the only witness to my sobbing cries as I hold one hand to the shower wall, the other hand caressing my heart. It was once full of hope and love and now I fear it's holds nothing but emptiness. I shudder and drown some more in this never ending pool of grief and pain.

Finn is dead.

He's never coming back to me.

The kitchen sensor light switches on and the motion camera begins recording as I flick on the coffee machine. My eyes wander over the papers swamping the countertop and I wonder if I'll ever get my shit together again. I fight back against the threat of more tears and I then notice an old birthday card poking out from the clutter.

Devon Rogers.

Not only was he a great friend of my parents before they passed, but he had also taken on the roll of a sort of father figure in my life. Always there to give advice, someone to lean on and rely on. He was dependable and trustworthy and had a lifetime of experience I valued and appreciated. And of course, he was here on the very worst night of my life. The night those two men broke, entered and stole the life right out from under me. And I know they are still stealing my life from me all these months on. I can barely function, can't hold down a job, rarely able to venture outside and carry so much anxiety on my shoulders I can hardly breath.

Several hours later, once the sun is finally up and shining, I grab my phone and give Devon a well overdue call.

"Hi sweetheart. What's got you up at the crack of dawn and callin' me? Everything okay?"
Always the detective, asking the hard questions first.

"Hi Devon. I'm okay. Just woke early," I try and sound positive.

"Not sleeping sweetheart? What about that doctor you were seeing?"
I was a therapists dream. Anxiety, depression, PTSD, insomnia... the list goes on.

"I don't like taking the pills Devon. They make me too drowsy and I need to be... alert. You know how it is..."

"I do know. But you need some rest sweetheart."

"I don't need rest Devon. I need...I need some control. I want some control over something. Anything. They took it Devon. They took everything from me. And...and I need something back. Something that is mine..."
Furiously I wipe away more stupid tears. And I wait. Wait for him to help me work out what I can do.

"...I know a guy that might be able to help. His old man and I go way back, as far as the old military days. He's ex-military himself. Runs a gym now. Boxing, training, self defence. How about some simple training? Get your body strong. Then perhaps it might help with all the other stuff? What do you say...?"

It wasn't a terrible idea. Perhaps getting fit and strong would help. I could learn some basic defence moves. That in itself might be what I need to feel more in control and less vulnerable to the entire world. I could only try.

"That sounds okay Devon. Will you talk to him first. See if it's alright?"

"Of course I will. I'll um... I'll probably need to let him know a little about your background. Just because then he'll be better prepared with a program tailored just for you..." He pauses to gauge my reaction. Great. More pitiful eyes feeling sorry for me. I guess that's just my life now.

"Sure... thanks as always Devon. This could work and I want to try."

"I have complete faith in you sweetheart. You're stronger than you realise."

I scoff at this last comment. I may have a gun but I nearly vomit every time I touch it. I may have survived a night of violence but I can't remember large parts of it. I may have cradled my fiancé with every part of my body but it didn't stop him from dying. I may be breathing and walking around but I'm hardly living.

We say our goodbyes and I mentally begin preparing myself to start something new. To get control over one aspect of my life. My body. And I promise myself that I will do everything I can to make this happen. To be stronger and smarter and more able to help myself.