The smell struck before anything else. That heady smell of lilacs and fresh laundry greeted me like an old friend. Stepping through the doorway I breathed deeply, my mind flooding with memories of nights spent by the fire, laughing and whispering soft secrets into a lover’s ear.
Shaking off memories of his touch, those warm, rough hands, I walked across the living room, heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Bracing myself, I flung open the bedroom door. Scenes of nights long since past swam behind my eyes.
“You’re the only one I want.”
Rough hands, squeezing soft, paper-thin lace against my skin so tightly. Soft sighs and the scent of his skin… the images surged and crashed into one another, leaving me breathless.
I crossed the room and stood in front of the old antique dresser. I’d found it at a consignment shop down the road, and although it took up a huge part of the room (always a point of contention between us), I loved it. The drawer squeaked as I pulled it open, that same sharp sound of wood on metal. The familiar smell of cedar met my nose, and I inhaled deeply.
I looked down at my treasures, folded neatly in rows. Rich satin and delicate lace in soft, muted tones greeted me, their beauty almost painful. I gingerly reached for one, savoring its feel in my hands, remembering those bitterly cold nights spent keeping one another warm. That dance, the ebb and flow; we’d rise and fall together, trying to pull away, but always falling into one another again and again like careless ocean waves.
I snapped the lid of the suitcase shut, and walked steadily to the door. With every step my broken past rushed through me. Forcing it out of my mind I remembered those soft, sweet treasures in my possession. As I stepped through the doorway and clutched the handle of the suitcase, I felt the rain on my face, cold and perfect. Walking out of the house and into the rain with a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth, I didn't look back.