It’s been one year to the day. She can still remember his marred face as though the accident happened yesterday, attached to a stump of a body laying naked on the stained white sheet when she had to identify it as him. Though he had to work the day of their anniversary, Mike had promised that when he came home, he would make up for it. Funny how it all ends in one large ball of fire, and as she gripped the table, lowering her face to his, she couldn’t cry out, nor would the tears come.
At home, she’s in the tub, with nothing but the light of the candles she loved so much when they fucked to celebrate with. They illuminate her glassy eyes; she’s slipping into a dream world. A single tear trickles down her face, as the very thought of him wrenches at her insides. She misses him. The candles flicker and dim, almost going out, then slowly return. There was no draft, nothing but her hot breath against the still air. A subtle chill ran through her but it only scraped the surface of her dazed mind. Finally, she allows her eyelids to slide gently shut. All she can think of is him. Her toes find the stopper, and allow the water to drain; she imagines his hands on her, tracing from her feet, around her thigh…up her stomach, and lingering on her breasts. They burn with the touch. She feels his breath on her neck, and gasps, snapping her eyes open. What just happened? Dismissed as a mind-game, she retreats to her bedroom.
