As his eyes glanced over different parts of his apartment he could see her figure dancing her way throughout the apartment, clad in nothing but socks and his white Morrissey t-shirt that she loved so damn much that she took it when she left. He could see the messy bun of her hair with wisps dancing across her cheeks as she swayed clutching a cup of coffee. He could see the coy smile she would send his way as she bounced over to the record player changing the disk and wriggling her little bum as she shifted through the collection lying in a plastic milk crate. She was always antsy, never able to sit still even for a minute. He could see the small moment where she would close her eyes and sigh, inhaling the smell of her coffee and leaning against the record player as soul music would fill the room - the deep rumblings of a baritone voice filling air. He could still feel the weight of her gaze as she would open her eyes and look at him through lowered eyelashes. He could still envision the slight upturn of her plump lips, the way that her legs looked with smudges of charcoal left behind from his fingers. Good god, he was dying.
He closed his eyes and rested his head against the windowpane. The cool breeze clearing his mind for a brief minute. He looked out at the fire escape, remembering the night they had sat on the edge of it, watching the stars. He could remember the weight of her body as she fell asleep on his shoulder. He could still hear her voice as she played with his long curls and told him how much she loved his irish accent. Christ. He was gonna chop off all of his hair. It didn't matter anymore, she was gone. The red coat that he loved so much was no longer hanging by the door. Her small ballet flats were removed from their place next to his shoes. She was gone. He eyed the open water bottle sitting on his counter, imagining the countless others that had filled that spot in the past. He shifted his gaze over the countess pieces of newspaper covering his floor, cream-colored sheets covered in dashes of lines, curves of a stomach, angles of an elbow. He was a mess. His apartment was a mess. He took another drag of his cigarette.
It was raining outside. A torrential downpour, a storm that fit his mood. The rumbles of thunder filed his ears and he blew another length of smoke out of the window. He shifted his feet and accidentally knocked over the bottle sitting at his feet. Shite, he'd have to wipe that up. Feeling sorry for himself he calmly regarded the amber liquid seeping out and forming a small puddle at his feet. He could imagine the floor getting sticky, the foam floating out as the bottle gushed out small rivers of fluid. He watched as the puddle slowly expanded, dampening his sock and slowly making its way across his hardwood floor. He could officially care less.
With a sigh he got up and slipped off his socks, gathering them in a ball and trudging his way to the sink. He tossed the socks into the bathroom as he made his way to the kitchen, ripping a piece of paper-towel off the the roll. He grabbed another and ran it under the sink, watching as the water slicked over its surface, waiting to see how long it took until the entire sheet was damp. He sighed and shut off the water, wringing out the now damp paper towel and slowly made his way back to the window. Crouching, he set the bottle upright and picked up as much fluid as possible with the dry paper-towel wringing the excess into the bottle and removing its sticky aftermath with the wet towel.
He was so distracted by his thoughts that he almost didn't hear the knock on the door. Almost. Ever since she left he felt as if he was constantly aware of his door, his phone, anything that could connect her to him. The knock repeated itself and he dropped the towels, unaware of the reason why he was holding them in the first place. Like a ghost, he drifted over to the door, trying to swallow the useless hope that on the other side her face lay waiting for him. He flipped the lock nd pulled the door open.
He felt like the breath was knocked out of him. Almost as if his mind was playing a trick on him, he blinked once slowly. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, looking at him under the drenched waves of her hair, dripping water all over the floor. He breathed her name, almost afraid that she'd disappear. She looked up at him, tears in her eyes and bit her lip.
"Callum... I..."
"I thought you..."
"I couldn't. Callum, I need you."
Her words filled his body, he felt like he was returned to life. He pulled her to him by the lapels of that damned red coat and slid a hand through her hair, no longer caring for the stickiness of his fingers. Smashing his lips to hers he could only think of one thing.
Oh god, she's back. Oh god, how he loved her.
I was bored, it was raining, I was in the mood. I guess I'm just a secret sap at heart. Just a small dabble of writing.
