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"we both tell the same story but to your ears,
his version will sound different "
- me
Warmth.
The warm scent— something like vanilla, roses, and honey... her scent had always been so recognizable and intoxicating to him, and then the feeling of being held— but as his dream climaxed, there was a sudden change in his environment.
Just as the sea washed away the things that dared to linger too close to it, her scent was emptied from his mind; and all he could smell was the stale sense of nothingness that consumed himself and his room just the way he took. He opened his eyes, wrinkling his nose at the scentless, icy air washing through his palette. The dull roar of his air conditioner was now filling his senses, and today, for some reason, just the simple event of his air conditioning whirring to life was enough to overload him.
He rolled over onto his back, thrashing away from the warm blankets that had consumed him up and snatched him away into such a peaceful sleep. He hated to depart from them so soon, but the least of his worries at the moment represent the sudden lack of warmth. Stumbling into his hallway in nothing but a t-shirt and shorts, he frantically turned off his air conditioning as fast as he could, his perpetually clammy fingers fumbling with the control panel.
After a few tense moments he managed to turn it off, and once he found himself encased in silence once more, he merely stood there for a while. He doesn't even completely understand what the rush was anymore, turning off his air conditioning didn't do anything but make his house quiet again and leave him more alone with his thoughts.
Did I really think...? he pondered, lumbering back down the hall to his bedroom, shivers at present taking over his body, did I really think that turning off my air conditioning would bring back her scent? I've been washed of it for years. I've been sober of her for years. A simple altering of my surroundings isn't going to bring back anything but the resounding pain that I am a lone being.
He laid down on his bed after rearranging his blankets into a more established state, his feet nearly hanging off the edge of it as he stretched out and stared at his ceiling. The days where he dreamed about her were always more hard than the normal ones. He was left reminiscing and thinking of his own lonely eternity for the rest of the day afterward, sometimes even the day after.
His life and his existence had been so full of danger and love and lust and adventures, but the longer he was left to rot away in his own home while enslaved to his 'career' that he held so close to his heart, he began to wonder if he was ever meant to feel those things again.
