The bench was hard and cold.
Like her heart.
A sneer disfigured her beautiful lips as the words echoed in her head in a never-ending mantra.
Hard and cold. Cold and hard.
Lizzie’s vision blurred. Tears filled her eyes. Pain of loss had long invaded every fiber of her being.
Lost. She was lost. She had lost herself. Would she ever feel complete again? Happy? Alive? Loneliness enveloped her. A cold and harsh blanket.
Cold and hard. Hard and cold.
Familiar arms hugged her from behind, pulled her back against his chest. Lizzie sighed and leaned into him. How she had missed this. His touch. His presence. It’d been too long.
One arm held her against him while the other hand roamed her body. It squeezed her breast. First one; then the other. Brushed her tummy and disappeared between her legs, cupping her sex. Through the fabric of her clothing he massaged her labia; ran his finger through her slit; found her clitoris.
Cold and hard.
Warm. Wet. Wanton.
Her eyes closed and mouth open, Lizzie surrendered to his hand. His touch. His demand for her body to respond. Her heart beat hard, fighting the fear, craving to feel once more.
Her legs spread slightly. His touch grew firmer; her breathing more labored. Unreal feelings pushed reality to the background. Tears and orgasm mixed together into a crescendo of pain and pleasure. Intense sobs stole her breath as the cold ripped her heart out for the umpteenth time.
Hard and cold.
He was gone. Lizzie pulled her cardigan closer around her body, hugging herself. Consoling herself. He was gone. He had been gone for so long, but every time she sat on this bench – a place to remember loved ones – he was there. His ghost was there.
He had always known what she needed before she did.
He still did.
And always will.
© Rebel’s Notes