"And if the sky should ever die.
We'd make our own light,
You and I."
~John Mark Green
April 30th, 1972.
Morning came sooner than expected, the blinding rays of the sun seeps in through the translucent curtains.
The brightness shone onto Pierce's eyelids as he groans, rubbing his sore eyes that barely got any sleep. There was always a voice at the back of his head that pushed him deeper and deeper into the despair that was his reality.
It was absolute torture everyday he awoke to an empty bed, to the smell of his aftershave and coffee that stained the bedsheets.
It was a new day, a new day to get angry, wallow in self pity and slowly lose memory of the things that once brought him happiness.
Today he settled on anger, it was easier to rage than lay in bed all day and let despair slip in. It was one thing to be so deep, too deep and become numb and was another to yield to the temptation of drinking, cutting of sensitive skin and drugs.
He didn't blame her for leaving to let off some steam but he couldn't say he saw it coming either.
"Fuck me."
His trembling fingers reach out to pull at the strands of hair. He almost loses it, seeing- feeling the atmosphere for something that could still be there. For some sort of aura, scent or reminder that she existed, that something so perfect laid in his bed.
Sometimes he can still smell her cooking, hear her hum while she works. He was going insane, he needed her, she gave him a will, purpose.
"What're you making?" Her back turned to him, stirring the pot, her eyes gazed out the window in a daze, totally unaware of her surroundings. Pierce slowly moved forward, hugging her from behind, he placed a lingering kiss to her cheek.
Her body jerked. "You scared me."
He blankly stared at her face, he wasn't a fool. He saw right through the facade, the 'I'm fine' gimmick. It was only two days since they've been home together, he'd didn't expect things to be how they were before.
He wished they'd talk about it more, but she always shuts down the idea of opening up. "I've been talking to you for a while, are you okay?"
She nods, "what were you saying?"
He falters, sizing her up. "You're different." He lets her go, his brows furrowed in an attempt to figure her out. He expected her to agree with him but was taken aback by the smile etched on her lips.
"What do you mean?" Her voice faltered a bit but Pierce was quick enough to catch it. She licked her dry lips, perking her eyebrows waiting for a reply. He wouldn't answer to her dumb question when indeed she knew the answer to it.
She turned back around to continue cooking as he stood behind her, hoping she'd fall apart only for him to pick her back up and dust off whatever soiled her mood.
He frowned deeply, a crease forming on his eyebrows. She had looked him in the eye and chose to act oblivious to her change in attitude. She loved him enough to tell him everything now she kept her pain locked away, not even him could see.
YOU ARE READING
Not more than strangers✔️
Historia Corta|Completed| What happens when you drop a pebble in still water and the rippling effects of its presence can't be ignored. Meeting someone would have been coincidental, could have been fate or perhaps a mistake like bumping shoulders in a mass of peo...
