Exile

The Reminder

Four years of my past flash by, for lack of a better cliché, a blink of an eye. It takes a moment for me to adjust to the present. But my eyes are still firmly on his. A bittersweet smile spreads across my face. A gold medallion, hidden beneath my clothing, is warm against my chest. I should be crying or laughing nervous or run away in the opposite direction, but I'm firmly in place.

His looks haven't changed at all, yet something has changed. He seems more…mature, refined, and handsome, like he's come into own in four years. He must have graduated college by now – he was in his second year when I left – and that's probably why he seems more grown-up.

It isn't safe to say…but it seems like these last four years have done well by him. At least, that's what I'd like to believe.

I feel his eyes upon me. My face tingles in response. I look down at my hands kneading themselves over and over in my lap. The pain has already faded. That familiar softness spreads all over my body. Desire lies in wait.

I guess some things never change, no matter how much time passes.

Once again, I bring myself back in the presence. I may be weak in the knees, but I can't stay on the floor forever. The pain returns as I struggle to get back on my feet.

"Wait! Let me help." When Alex cups the undersides of my arm, the raw electric currents threaten to knock me off my feet again. He is not at all immune; it unsteadies him, challenges his sense of equilibrium. "Whoa…did you feel that?"

"Ah…" I choose not to answer the question. "Thanks for helping me up."

Graciously, he lets it go. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to knock you down. I wasn't paying attention."

"No, it's my fault," I say, dusting myself off. "I should have paid more attention to where I was going." It takes a lot for me to meet his gaze. I tell myself to feel strong, to be strong. "Did I hurt you?" The question hangs in the air. The minute I realize what I've said, I want to take it back. I stumble and backtrack. "Well, what I mean is…"

"I'm fine." His smile assures me that he knows what I meant, but I'm not convinced. "I think you took the brunt of it."

He's right in more ways than one. "I think you're right."

I find myself wilting under his stare. He's looking me over. I know he is. Where his eyes go, softness blooms.

"You cut your hair," he breathes finally.

"Huh? Oh." I run my fingers through my hair. "Yeah, I've had it like this for a while now. I needed a change."

"Oh." I feel like he wants to say more, but the words never come out. "You look really nice."

"You think so? Or are you just saying that to be nice?"

My playful smirk catches him – and myself – off-guard. "No, no, I mean it. It's really nice! It suits you."

"Relax, I'm just playing with you!" The tension eases, and I am able to laugh. "But while we're on the subject of hair, it looks like you've cut yours as well."

"I've been cutting mine for a while, and you know it! It's been a while since I've had raver hair."

"If you say so."

His eyes challenge me. "What do you mean 'if you say so'?"

I smirk. I can meet his gaze now without fear of combustion. "You heard me."

We stare at each, challenging each other's gaze. And then, we start burst into a fit of giggles that seems to go on and on. I'm tense but I'm also at ease in his presence. It's both frightening and enlivening all the same.