Always the Rain
It was the rain. It was always the rain. Nothing else could summon the memories like the first cool drips of a midnight shower, and when they came I knew what it would mean for me: It meant sleep would be lurking thousands of miles from me, teasing me in its twisted game as it laughed in my face as I was resolved to letting fountains sprout from my eyes.
Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt so much if I had known it was coming. This is the lie I keep telling myself as the rain grows in intensity. Its claws tapping horrendously upon the windows startle me; I cringe. That is the last act of defiance I can make boldly before succumbing to the memories.
“Do you love me, babe?” His words were indifferent to my ears- uncaring of any true answer, yet yielding for my response anyway.
I smile at him, looking up, ignoring the fact that I don’t need to answer, but knowing that I’ll answer anyway. How can I not when I see the distant look in his eyes? He’s miles away and I think that perhaps my answer shall have the power to bring him back, though chances are it won’t. “Baby, if I didn’t love you why would I be here?”
He swiftly glances at me, and for a fleeting moment his eyes have returned to actually taking in the scenery rather than looking at what only he can see, and I’m captivated in that second as his hazel eyes stare deeply into my soul. I begin to question what I see beneath the depths of forlorn solitude. A hint of depression? A subtle note of longing? Guilt? Hurt? Pain? Or maybe just fear?
My mouth opens once more and my voice sounds foreign to my ears: “What’s wrong? Why are you so lost?”
This time when he brings those hazel globes to mine I’m unprepared for what I see, and the hair on my arms begin to stick up in fear, shock and loneliness. Why did I see anger? Better yet, why didn’t I run?
His face turns away from me once more, and I feel as though I’m under a spell. Don’t I love him? My heart questions me, and at that point I know that something is desperately wrong, but I don’t know what any of it means.
After a few moments of silence I begin to look around. The beach truly is a wondrous sight at sunset, but for some reason, I’m having a hard time focusing on the waves as they stretch their eager fingers’ towards me, the gulls as they circle overhead in search of a nice meal to bring their day to a close or even the beautiful crimson ball as it sinks beneath the waters as if the ocean has finally claimed victory over the only thing that keeps many people going.
The silence draws on, and now I’m desperate to hear his voice, but I don’t think I’ll have that luxury, but I muster up the desire stored deep within the crevices of my heart to try anyway. “Sweetheart, you have to tell me what’s wrong! We can’t just keep on sitting here and pretending like there isn’t anything wrong… We just can’t…” My voice drifts away like the loss of a leaf in the wind to a faraway land.
He doesn’t speak for a few minutes longer, but I keep my silence. Patience is excruciatingly difficult for me, but somehow I manage it, and finally I am rewarded in the worst of ways when he says: “I don’t think we can do this anymore.”
I can feel my heart ripping into a million pieces under the stars, and, though the cold is biting through my scanty clothing of a bikini and a transparent cover that barely passes my swimwear and merely remains strapless much to my displeasure, I shiver from his words. The shaking becomes violent, and I don’t know how long it’s been before he wraps his arms around me- further torture to my aching soul- and attempts vainly to warm me up.
“Don’t do this to me.” I finally manage to allow the words to pass beyond my lips. It has been perhaps as long as two hours or as little as fifteen minutes, but I’m uncertain of the time that has eclipsed since his words have pierced my heart.
His breath is warm on my neck as he speaks: “I don’t think I can take it back now…”
Something in his voice makes me stop shivering. Perhaps it is because he sounds as though this isn’t what he wanted, but maybe it is because it is what he needed. My mind wanders to a distant land- much like the one he had travelled to before returning with the devastating news- and I start to wonder if maybe I’m holding him back from his dreams.
“We can’t sit here all night.” He gently speaks these words, afraid of sending me away from him again, frozen and unable to move, but I have finally recovered.
I whisper the words that I know will separate us forever: “I know.” Before I can get up, though, he brushes my strawberry blonde hair away from my tearstained cheeks, and I am shocked at what he is doing. My heart thumps loudly in my chest as he caresses my neck with his lips. We have never kissed, and I’m scared of the emotions pounding within me.
My body begins to respond to him of its own accord, but I’m biting back tears: How is it that he can torture me further after he’s already announced that we are through? I begin to shiver again as he rocks me gently, but suddenly he stops as if suddenly realizing that he’s making a grave mistake.
Without any further romantic gestures he gets up and gently lifts me to my feet. As we walk in silence, it begins to pour. The violence of the storm knocks me into him, and suddenly he’s holding me tightly, and it feels as though I can’t breathe. I’m confused with all of the emotions welling up inside of me: Desire. Passion. Fear. Longing. Hate. Love. Shock.
With the storm’s intensity, I’m suddenly soaked through to the bone, and I know that if we don’t keep moving then I’ll suffer frostbite. Maybe I’m over exaggerating, but when the wind whistles and the rain comes down in heavy blankets on the coastline, I can’t help but fear that Mother Nature is trying to add the cherry on top of the worst and most confusing moments of my life.
Another gust of wind comes at me and him from the front, and as I fall to the ground, he falls with me. He nearly lands on top of me, but is lucky to have stretched his arms out just in time so that he is suspended above me, and I am once more forced to stare into those eyes. This time, they burn with mad passion and desire, and I’m afraid. His look is that of hunger, and I wonder what will happen next.
Before another second has passed, his mouth is on mine, and I finally have had my first kiss at the age of twenty-three, but it is nothing like I thought it would be. It is raw; it is power; it is hunger; it is fear; it is hate; it is not love.
I could detail the things that happened that night as the rain poured in deep rivulets upon us, but words are not necessary to describe how the wind howled; my heart thumped; my lungs ached; the ocean screamed and the pain I felt. Confusion is what is most clearly etched within my heart as the tears lull me into an uneasy sleep.
It was the rain. It was always the rain.
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