Now Comest The Night

 

Author: Titania

Rating: PG-13

 

Inspired by eldee.com June challenge

 

Rob Thomas
Now Comest The Night

 

When the hour is upon us

And our beauty surely gone

No you will not be forgotten

No you will not be alone

 

And when the day has all but ended

And our echo starts to fade

No you will not be alone then

And you will not be afraid

No you will not be afraid

 

When the fog has finally lifted

From my cold and tired brow

No I will not leave you crying

And I will not let you down

No I will not let you down

I will not let you down

 

Now comes the night

Feel it fading away

And the soul underneath

Is it all that remains

So jus slide over here

Leave your fear in the fray

Let us hold to each other

Till the end of our days

 

 

 

A room without a view. The sheets on the cheap motel bed are shabby, the storm outside is still raging. He left without a word. Had to. If I was in his shoes, I would have done the same thing. I wouldn't have wanted to talk to anyone either, neither my friends, nor my family. My family. What a strange word. Did I ever have family? A mother who blamed me for everything that went wrong in her life, a clueless sister who always went asking for trouble. A husband. Oh, yes, that was definitely top of the list. But then again, I didn't need any family. I had him.

When the hour is upon us... The hour came upon us, unexpectedly. I still remember his breath on my skin, his burning kisses, the fire of his passion consuming me as we made love, the way he held me when I was crying, the way the wind tousled his hair on a day on the beach, playfully, the sun bringing out the depth of his dark eyes. I recall his features, the way he frowns, the way his lips curl into a smile when he is about to reduce his enemies to speechlessness with some witty reply. I remember the sound of his voice, softly whispering my name like it was yesterday. In fact, it was yesterday. You kind of lose track of time when you are in my situation. And yet our beauty's so long gone. I'll always remember him, his trembling hands and torn expression. Part of me is so scared. Not because it will be a long time before I see him again. No. Part of me is so scared that he might forget. The promise was in his eyes. No, you will not be forgotten. You know what they say about the spirit being willing.

He's lying on the bed, in his dusty traveling clothes, he could not be bothered to undress. It is a pity, you know, because looking at him is all that is left to me now. Things could have been different. If only.

His breath smells of alcohol. Of course. Again. Bourbon, an expensive brand. He could probably rent this room for a month for its price. But at this point, he no longer cares. Drowning his sorrows, once again. Doesn't he know it's going to kill him if he doesn't stop? Oh, the irony. There are many things out there that can kill you. Believe me. If only he stopped drinking.

His sleep is restless, haunted by nightmares. He's dreaming of me, I know. As I've been dreaming about him all this time. Despite my protests to the contrary, he conquered me the first time we met, with that boyish smile and those sparkling, sinful eyes. His eyes are closed now, eyelids fluttering. I do not need to see his eyes to know the spark is gone. They are tired, and, what is worse, without focus. He cannot see a future now. But I can see his future. Lots of pain, and some pleasures as well. And another woman. No, you will not be alone. My hands are balled into fists. I fight it with every fibre of my being, but I know I have to let go. I have to let him move on. The thought of another woman touching him drives me insane. But this is the way it is going to be. The way those stories end. Always.

He will miss me, sorely. For a couple of months, a year maybe. But he will move on.

He does not even know I'm here. My echo starts to fade, slowly, but steadily.

I have no more claims to make, I should go, and yet all I can think of is to wake him and curl up against him, feel his body heat, feel alive.

But he would only feel the chill if I did. That's the way it is with ghosts.

My only consolation is that neither his child nor myself shall ever carry the burden of his name, the name with the capital C. Oh, the irony.

I run my hand through your hair, but you just shudder in your sleep, pulling the thin blanket around you more tightly, as if freezing. You roll over to the other side of the bed, murmuring something in your sleep. It sounds like my name.

Time to say our good-byes. Time to move on for me, too. I'm not scared of what lies beyond the blinding light in the distance. I'll see you there. In fifty or sixty years' time.

Now comes the night. / Feel it fading away.

And the soul underneath / Is it all that remains.

 

 

The end.