One Shots

Prayers for the Rain

Three knocks cracked against the door, followed by a loud clap of thunder.

James jumped out of her skin. She had been so consumed in her thoughts that she couldn't even think about who might be behind the door. However, people don't just knock on doors, especially not at-- she glanced at the clock-- ten forty-eight in the night. Her curiosity was piqued.

Quickly, she made her way to the front door. Without a peephole, she tried to stretch to her toes to look out the window on the door, but it was too high for her to sufficiently look out. She unlocked the door, throwing caution to the wind. Who cares, right?

In front of her stood the absolute last person she thought would be on her doorstep at eleven o'clock at night.

Drenched by the rain, his short hair hanging in his face, stood the looming figure of Andy. James hadn't thought of him in nearly a month, and it had taken a very, very concerted effort on her part to do so. After their split six months ago, her heartbreak had introverted her and had her spending most nights doing exactly what she had just been doing: sitting on the couch and staring into a TV. To an onlooker, it would appear that she was engrossed in a show. However, while her eyes were glued to the screen her mind was always elsewhere, if not just silent. It was impossible for her to focus on anything at night.

"Jamie," he mumbled.

She winced. He did it in spite of her. She preferred to be called James, as she was named after her late grandfather, but he insisted on slipping the name in every once in a while just as an annoying joke. This situation didn't warrant such light-heartedness.

James crossed her arms. "What?" She had to fight to keep her voice steady, as it was shaking almost as much as her knees. The breeze from outside sent goosebumps along her skin.

"You didn't even ask who it was," he remarked. "For all you know I could've been a murderer who came to rape and pillage you." It bothered him a little, his protectiveness coming out subconsciously.

"Well now that I know you're not a serial killer I don't have to invite you in," she dryly replied.

He didn't respond, instead he just watched her silently. Even in the dark, his eyes were visible. It was preternatural, James thought.

Feeling uncomfortable, James asked, "What are you doing here?"

There was another brief moment of silence from Andy before he murmured, "I had to see you."

Her heart skipped a beat. She couldn't help it when she was near him; her body was a completely separate entity around him. "You didn't need to see me to continue living, Andy. What do you want?" She could feel frustrated tears prickling at her eyes. She had made so much progress and suddenly here he was, back in her life. Why did he have to fuck up everything?

His stare intimidated her, but to him her small figure could not have been more terrifying. He hated that his pride wanted him to turn around, bite his tongue, and leave. He, however, did need to see her. He felt like each day his chest lost a rib until he was nothing but hollow. Just seeing her had given him the rib he'd shattered back.

"On the contrary," he spoke quietly, despite the pounding rain around them, "if I didn't see you tonight I don't think I would've lived to see the morning. My chest feels like it's being sucked into a black hole the longer I'm without you."

James's heart detached from her arteries and veins and lodged itself right in her throat so that she was unable to speak. He had felt the same way. Why now, though? She thought she'd never be able to look someone in the eye again from the moment he left, and it took him almost seven months to show up on her doorstep? She swallowed hard, shifting her heart just low enough to manage, "Me too."