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At Your Door

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She thought about him so many times, she lost count long ago. Every time feeling more guilty, more remorseful for what she did. She thought about him every time she was alone, evert time some little thing reminded her of him, every time she let her mind run free, even if for only a few moments. Her mind would go running to him, like it needed to do that because she didn’t want to forget any detail, she needed to do that in order to survive. Although there were days when she wanted to forget him, his physical absence wasn’t enough. He was as alive as ever in her. Every night, when she lay down on her bed, after yet another exhausting day, he was there. It was enough to close her eyes to imagine he was sitting next to her, looking at her, with his charming smile, his eyes telling her how much he loved her, how much he wanted her. She almost felt his smell, although it vanished long ago from her pillow, the touch of his fingers caressing her skin.

She often thought about what he was doing, in this big world, apart from her. In the evening, when she poured herself a well-deserved glass of whiskey and finally took her shoes off and put her legs up on the table, she inevitably thought of him. He used to sit like this, with his legs up, on her table. She used to gave him a disapproving look, then smile and cuddle next to him, resting her head on his chest. Used to…it was so painful using this word, she used to know him, he used to be hers, maybe they even used to love each other.

She often wondered if he was thinking about her, just like she does now, if he moved on with his life fast or if he still waited for her for a while, hoping that she will change her mind, that she will one day show up at his front door and tell him what he wanted to hear, that she does in fact wants to go away with him, that she does love him and wants to marry him. Other times she thought that he must have moved on with his life, in all fairness almost a year had passed, only in her imagination was he still alone, waiting for her, probably another woman entered… She never quite finish that thought, but she always imagined how that woman would be like, how that woman surely offered him what she never could.

And now she is sitting here, alone, at this table with this red annoying light surrounding her, penetrating her eyes. That and the few glasses of wine she drank while waiting made her a little dizzy and afraid of what she was about to do.
Jack didn’t meant anything to her, she knew that. Jack was only a distraction, Jack was her way of trying to prove to herself that she has gotten over him. She wanted to believe that another man’s touch would forever erase all of his touches, that another man’s whispers, will erase his ruff voice, his reverent words whispered in the darkness. Deep down she knew it, she knew that no man could do that. He was the best she’d ever had and no one would ever erase their story. No one could erase his touches, they were scratched on the surface of her skin and deep into her soul, she knew that no one could ever replace him, she knew it with the same certainty she knew she made the biggest mistake of her life the moment she decided to let him go.

Maybe it was better this way. Better for him. To find happiness with someone else, to have the opportunity to find the right woman for him. And yet, her body, her mind, her soul, her whole being ached for him, often she longed for him so desperately that she only wished to see him, just once. Even from far away. Every time she walked the court’s halls she felt the hope rising in her, she hoped that maybe this was the day, the day she will just bump into him or even see him from the distance. Maybe this was the day when the prosecution would call him as witness, maybe she would just see his name on the list of witnesses, maybe they will lay eyes on each other in the restaurant where they bought often ate. Maybe…But it never happened. There were days when she would catch a glimpse of a silver haired man or a man with a brown jacket passed by and her heart stopped for a second every time.

She stares at the phone, unsure of what her actions should be and finally the need to just see him wins and her hand reaches and grabs the phone fast, as if she is afraid not to rethink this. She looks straight ahead, wondering if this is the right thing to do, afraid that he might reject her now, after a year of silence. She has to stop her mind, so in one quick motion she unlocks her phone and dials his number. For a moment she feels like she can’t breathe, her heart pounding louder and faster than ever, she thinks that he could actually hear her heart through the phone. She thought about this moment so many times, and yet she still has no idea what will she say to him.
“You’ve reached the voicemail of Kurt McVeigh”.