Let Her Go

Flicker

Flicker: [verb] to shine with a light that is sometimes bright and sometimes weak

Harlow. Hi.

With two words he had begun to destroy her all over again. She had never thought that three years' worth of carefully built defences could be brought crumbling down so easily, so effortlessly, but now she was standing there and helplessly watching as a dam burst, slowly, inexorably, and long-suppressed memories came flooding through. They swept her up and threw her down, stole her breath and her smile, sucked her into a vortex she'd had to fight so hard to escape once before.

...a pretty pink princess dress and water so cold it burned...

...another dress, this time red satin...warm hands reverently tracing her skin as it pools at her feet...

...tangled in white sheets, the moonlight washing through the windows and burnishing their curls in silver, turning their skin to dusk...

...the mantra that scorches her deep inside...I love you, I love you...

...the dying strains of a violin echoing through an empty house...

...a dim hallway, familiar shouting, crying...

...a hand slamming through plaster...glass shatters...

...a long, empty road...walk, just keep walking, don't turn back – don't you dare turn back – don't you dare—...

...Why aren't you trying? Why the fuck aren't you even trying?

As the images became darker she struggled to resurface. They're just memories now, she reminded herself. You never have to go through any of that again.

But even as she thought it, doubt crept in. How could it not when he was standing right in front of her for the first time in so long, his broad shoulders blocking out all the light and space and oxygen, his eyes watching the turmoil behind her own with an expression of wariness. His every feature was fixed and stony, and although she could guess at his thoughts, she still couldn't read him as he'd always been able to read her. It was the wake up call she needed, the reminder that, in spite of everything, they had never been equal. Not in status, or character, not in their relationship, or in experience, or in love. Not in anything that had mattered.

Harlow put steel in her spine, and even though neither of her friends could ever know what she was feeling in that moment, she took comfort from having them beside her.

"Hello, Jude." Her voice was calm, but even she could hear the ice chips in it. So could he, judging by his slight flinch.

Serves you right.

Those memories might have hurt once, might have hurt so much her body almost trembled just thinking about it, but they couldn't kill her – couldn't even break her apart.

Not anymore.

***

They were seated at the same table, which would have been awkward enough without Remi's pointed looks telling her quite clearly that there was one hell of an interrogation coming her way. Remi could make the Spanish Inquisition seem like a casual Q&A.

Just the thought of it made Harlow's stomach turn.

Through all the speeches and the awards she was painfully aware of Jude and his date sitting across from her. They made a charming couple with their blonde hair, tanned skin, and pearly white smiles. The woman was gorgeous, her red dress fabulous, her wrists and throat dripping with sparkling stones, and even if she was superficial and possessive of the man beside her, at least she wasn't openly hostile towards the other women at the table.