Member-only story
Our Love Stood Still
Fiction
When I awoke in bed, I found Graham was nowhere to be seen. My hand lay on his empty pillow, and the bed was cool to the touch. The comforter was thrown back to reveal rumpled sheets. I flexed my hand, trying to find purchase in a place between memories and dreams, but there was nothing. Only last night, when we’d been holding each other as if we were saving each other in the middle of a storm.
I sat up and threw back the comforter from my body, edging towards the side of the bed and letting my bare feet find the wooden floor. Memories were starting to reform themselves in my mind: too many glasses of wine, laughter as I shared pieces of my work-in-progress with Graham, his wide smile as he drank me in with his eyes before he poured me another glass of wine. I had been immune to his charms for too long, unable to resist them once too much red wine coursed through my blood and made me impulsive.
“Graham?” I called once I was standing. I took a sweater I’d left on one of the chairs the night before and slowly slid it on because the room was chilly. Then I padded across the room to the door, open so there was just a crack to peek through; the door felt heavy and solid beneath my touch as I opened it the full length before walking into the other room.
