I sat alone.
The lone candle flickered, creating dancing shadows on the wall in the glow of the evening. I sat silently, unmoving, yet I was struggling inside. I wanted the night to be over. I couldn't take it anymore.
I was haunted.
No matter what I did, he haunted me. I saw his face every time I closed my eyes. I remembered things we did, things we didn't do, every moment spent. Every moment wasted.
The people that knew had warned me, but I had shrugged off every shred of advice, which later left me grasping at straws. When he was gone. With everything I had.
Sometimes, in the dark, by myself like this, I could pretend he was with me. I could close my eyes and imagine his long, lithe fingers running through my hair, tracing circles down my spine as he used to do when we would lie in bed, after, and talk. Used to do. I shook off his presence and reached for my glass.
It was empty again.
My mind betrayed me as I poured, drifting to his piercing eyes. They were a deep blue that could be icy when he was angered. They were cold more than I liked to remember, in the end. His voice, too, usually soothing, sexy, warm; it would turn gravelly and hard, pointed, while his eyes flashed at me.
Despite myself, I replayed the last night. When he had said the cold things that left me broken. He robbed me of myself. He took me, made me better, made me believe, then whisked it all away, leaving me shaking and helpless. I felt as empty as the bottle next to me.
I glanced out the window at the dark sky speckled with stars, searching for an answer. I used to think that if I stared at the stars long enough, they would map out a path, lead you to an answer. But tonight...
The stars don't want to guide me. I shakily raised my glass to the sky in a silent toast, then finished what was left.
I didn't want to fall in love with him. I fought it at first, but eventually gave in to what I thought would stretch out to a million nights. As it turns out, he was the one that didn't want to fall.
My bottle empty, myself drained, I lay on the bed and stared at the flickering candle, watching it begin to burn out. I turned over as the shadows began to dim. The bed still felt empty. I felt as if I was sleeping with a ghost. I could reach and reach, but I could never touch him again, feel him next to me. I couldn't let go.
When would I be free?
I heard footsteps out in the hall, followed by a giggle. Then his name, spoken by someone other than me.
"JC..."
It hurt. I had been broken into pieces, and though I seemed whole, some were still missing, lost in that hallway. The night couldn't be over soon enough. A knock sounded at the door.
I didn't move. Another knock sounded, this one more urgent. I found my voice.
"Go away." Silence. Then another, more forceful knock resounded.
"Let me in. I'm worried about you." I got up, slowly, recognizing the voice. I came to a stop just short of the door and spoke again.
"I'm fine. Just go." More silence, then a sigh.
"No. You haven't talked to anyone in days...you haven't left your room at all tonight." I spoke low, under my breath.
"I'm ok...I've just been tired." The response was quicker this time, the voice softer.
"It's because of JC." I paused for a moment, debating, before swinging open the door.
"Lance..." He regarded me for a moment before pushing past me in the doorway, sitting on the bed, patting the empty space next to him.
"Sit down, Joey, you need to talk to someone."
When would this night be over?
Inspired by The Ghost of You and Me by BBMak.