Desperate to Touch

A girl at the bar one night talked about star-crossed lovers and ever since she rattled on about it, I wondered if that’s what we were meant to be. Because every time I’m around her, it hurts and I know it hurts her too.

It’s like falling down a spiral where nothing else matters; I can’t even see anything but her when she’s in front of me. But I know I’m falling. Some falls you don’t recover from.

Last night, sleep evaded me, the image of the flowers and reckless thoughts haunting me every time I closed my eyes.

My phone pings and I’m grateful to be ripped from my thoughts. The message I get isn’t what I want to see though. Cursing under my breath, I don’t respond.

Declan’s got nothing.

The box the flowers came in was in the trash in her kitchen. I searched for it the second she passed out last night. It didn’t have any identifying information. No note, no nothing. Declan can’t find a record of any flowers ordered online to be delivered to Laura’s address either.

It doesn’t sit right with me.

If she wants to believe they came from me though, I’ll let her believe it.

It’s something more though, something unsettling deep in my bones. It feels like a warning. Like her leaving me is going to happen all over again. I barely survived the last time. She’s the same, better even. But me? I’m a fucking shell of the man I was when I was with her.

Declan messages again and I have to respond to his text which reads: Did he get the list?

Looking past the center and to the police station, as if I can see Walsh opening the note I dropped in his box outside his office, I text Declan back: Yeah. I left it at his office. A list of all six names with the note, they’ll lead you to the man you’re looking for.

Declan sends a series of texts and I read them one by one. Little things he’s wondering about from the copies of the diaries he has. He wants me to read them to get an idea of what I think about his conclusions. It’s years of scattered thoughts from a tormented woman and right now, that’s the last thing I want to do.

“Seth?” Laura says my name like it’s a question.

“Shit,” I hiss and get over the jolt that pinned me to the back of my seat. My back teeth grind and I have to unclench the paper bag to put it down. “You like scaring the shit out of me, don’t you?”

My comment comes as I shake off the unease of being startled without her knowing. Her smile never falters. With her hair pulled high into a bun on the top of her head and a pair of scrubs with a print of coffee cups and hearts, she looks like she doesn’t belong here. It’s too much sweetness for a place that’s made of stone.

“I thought it was you sitting out here.” She rocks on her heels before lowering herself to the open window, folding her arms over it and getting closer to me. “I needed some fresh air… didn’t expect to see you.”

It strikes me for a moment how easy she makes it seem. Like there was no hesitation, no reason she shouldn’t come to me.

My gaze darts to her lips as she licks them and the wind rushes, making her shiver.

“I was just thinking of you and brought you some coffee.”

“As an apology for keeping me up all night?” she jokes and then hums, “Smells good.”

Grabbing the bag and the coffee, I hold them in my lap. “Kiss first.”

As the smile grows on her face, so does something warm inside of me. Something that covers the nagging feeling that everything’s wrong. It comes with that first step down the spiral staircase. Blindly moving. Just like she does when she lets me hold her chin between my thumb and forefinger and steal a kiss from her. And then another.

There’s always another when it comes to her.

Laura

“God I wish Bethany were here.”

“Anything I can help you with?” Aiden asks me and it’s only then that I realize I spoke the thought out loud.

“Oh, no. No, just… nothing.” I force a smile to my face and tap the pen in my hand on the chart. “All good,” I tell him when he doesn’t look away.

He keeps looking a moment longer, even after I turn my attention back to Melody’s sheet.

My coffee’s lukewarm now, but it hits the spot as I take a nice long sip and then look at the clock. One more hour until things wind down.

“She’ll be here tomorrow.” Aiden’s comment reminds me that he’s still standing by the nurses’ station. “I have to say, I missed her.”

“This place missed her,” I say then add, “I’m glad she’ll be back to pick up some of these rounds.”