Moonshine

Pending Surgery, First Call is Hanging

She lay there, violently quiet, but just loud enough for her own thoughts to betray her. The weight of him on her chest, his arm draped over her, instinctively pulling her closer, as if no amount of closeness could ever be enough. His breath slow, deep, while hers remained shallow, caught somewhere between wanting and fear.

Usually, moments like this would be poetic. She'd find some romantic solace in the way they fit together, the quiet comfort of his presence. But tonight, she could only feel the aching absence. She missed him—missed him in a way that words couldn't touch. Not just the man lying against her, but the pieces of him he always seemed to leave behind.

Her mind, dangerous and restless, whispered confessions to the dark. She'd been the one to bear the weight of every hard conversation, bleeding through each one while he buried himself in his work, his endless pursuit of perfection. They were a perfect balance, though—him, the storyteller; her, the silent observer. She absorbed everything he gave, noticing all the details, listening to the secrets he unknowingly let slip.

But somewhere in the shadows, something was always waiting for her. A ghost, a memory she thought she'd locked away. It was the past, creeping up, blowing the dust of old wounds back into her face. She thought she was free. She thought she had outrun it.

"I loved you the most, though you're already a ghost."

Yet, here it was again. The biggest twist of all—just when she thought she was finally moving forward, the past pulled her back into its prison. The shadow of someone she used to love, a ghost that still lingered, even though she'd moved on. Or had she?