The Heart Of The Lonely

CHAPTER 10

Her breathing was uneven, labored, as though her lungs were desperate to be filled with air. Her reverie had taken her to a place she hadn't been in a long time.

Of course she'd fantasized about those moments more than she'd ever dare acknowledge it, and to have said that it had been the first time would have been a lie, but none of them had been this intense.

Her shirt clung to her small frame, strained from the sweat her body had created in reaction to the images in her head. Though, as the instant she had most anticipated finally arrived, her eyes shot open in pure panic and she let out a desperate gasp, gripping the arms of the chair on which she sat.

She panted, her chest rising up and down in response to the conflict between her mind and her body. Where was she and why wasn't he with her? Had it all been a dream?

She looked around in confusion, soon coming to terms that what she had believed had been very real was only the result of her imagination. She was in a trance, dreading the torturing thoughts that she knew were soon going to be bombarding her head.

She was a Christian woman, in a happy and healthy relationship, why was she having those type of dreams? Why now?

Although she hadn't been able to see the face of the man showing appreciation to her exposed body, she knew. She very much knew who the stranger making love to her was. And he was truly no stranger.

Or was he now?

Barrett had been right, she'd gotten so far and had had a long journey to recover from having her life thrown off balance the way it had and at the present time, she felt troubled, the most she had ever been in her life.

The thought itself was enough to take her where she knew she'd be better at — her little wonderland, the one in her mind that pushed back the dark and negative ideas that she could encounter and that had shielded her when she had been at her most vulnerable.

But tonight, after that dream, she was struggling. The not-so-happy thinking was just as loud as the one she'd have preferred to focus on. She wondered briefly, when in her life, she had signed up for that terrifying yet thrilling ride she had been embarked on.

Under the obscure moon, she contemplated the horizon and what was left of her life. The time machine was in her hands, her existence flashing through her eyes.

There she was, reminiscing about her earliest memories, the birth of her younger sister, her first bike accident, eating in the kitchen after school on her mama's favorite sunflower tablecloth; she could even remember the smell of dust and coffee bungling her nostrils when, after finishing her homework, she'd venture out in the stables to check on her daddy and help him around the ranch.

She had gone far in her thoughts, jumping from a year to another. And now, she was 32 again, her red locks framing her face — her "Jacked-Up-To-Jesus" hair as she called it, — while her right hand held ever so tightly a small bouquet of flowers.

The memory was vivid, as though it had happened yesterday. She could feel the slight nausea she had felt then as the boat she was standing on swayed graciously, mocking the movements the water was creating.

She loved him, he loved her. And nothing else around them mattered, as the world, she thought, was at their feet. Their hearts beating time to the rhythm of the sunny Tennessean days. She could sense the freedom that was being offered to them, the lightness of their innocent souls floating over their guests' heads.

They held hands, humming a waltz-y tune, this cheerful melody that made them dream of somewhere else. They tasted every second, savoring the moment, everything was nothing but insouciance. And frankly, not a damn was given for life, they believed, belonged to them.