The Ghost of His Hand

A Story by suuyuwriteyunu

something I cooked out of the depths of my mind. I don't know what I was feeling. I don't have any romance in my life!!!

She could still feel the ghost of his hand on her shoulders, on her cheek now as he gently caressed her face, cradled it in his big, calloused palms. The cold wind around her brushed against her skin, making the baby hairs on her head fly wildly, the very ones he had played with, joked about how they were like wild daisies. Yet, there was only warmth in between her and this man, this man who had looked at her with eyes full of love, this man who had loved her so fiercely.

This man was the only one who could break her like he did.

He had offered her his hand. Undoubtedly, she had taken it. His warm smile as she looked up was the whole world to her, and soon, she found herself stepping out of her apartment. She found herself at the steps that led down to the streets. The steps that led down to him. She walked forward. He pulled her close, taking her hands in his and placing them on his coat. On his chest. The night sky was quieter than most, and the street lights and the blaring signs now seemed to dim as he started to dance, guiding her with each step. She should’ve been looking down at her feet, trying to be careful as to not step on his shoes, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of that handsome face. Of that agonisingly handsome face. How did she ever get so unlucky? What did she ever do to God to deserve any of this? This horrid, wretched treatment.

Suddenly, he put his large hands on her hips, gently swaying them to the beat of a silent song. Yet, the expression on his face suggested otherwise, and she was beginning to doubt if a tune really was playing. The tune of the night.

“The tune of love,” he had said, as if reading her thoughts. Then, he twirled her under his arm. She didn’t fight it anymore. She had lost the moment she felt his hands on her shoulders. Her walls had come breaking down, and it was the most excruciatingly satisfying destruction she had ever felt. He entwined his fingers into hers and switched to a light waltz. “For my love, my Queen.”

His love. His Queen.

His touch burned against her skin. Every slight movement was engraved into her brain. The slight twitch in his eyebrows when he got a little nervous. The flush of pink on his cheeks, evident even under the protection of the moon, under the shade of the night. The way his eyes squinted a little every time she looked away, and the way it enlarged again when she looked back at him. The moment his hand slipped down from her hips and lifted her up, spinning her under the moonlight.

She had laughed then, she had really laughed, then. He kept spinning her around, round and round and round, saying foolish things like how his love would keep growing, keep spinning, spinning spinning spinning, just like they were now. When he came to a stop, a sense of dread came over her and she cursed herself for it.

It was coming to an end. All of this. All of her. All of him.

She was foolish to even let a sliver of emotion slip from her face. She was foolish to even step out of her apartment. Foolish to unconsciously have every single one of his features, every single touch, every single smile and laugh, fiercely carved into a part of her mind. Her heart. Foolish to have ever let this little boy touch her. This foolish little boy. What had she done to him?

Still lifting her up, still in his arms, in his embrace, she gently cupped his face in her hands. She would never feel the warmth of his skin, the softness of his cheeks, ever again. She smoothed out his eyebrows, calming them down, making him laugh, making her smile. Slowly, her fingers trailed down to the corners of his eyes, then down to the sides of his mouth. She felt his soft, imperfectly perfect lips on the tips of her fingers, and slowly, he lowered her to the ground.

Nothing needed to be said. He gently slipped his hands back up to her hips, holding her close. Her hands were still on his lips when he looked down at her with that gaze, a burning question in his eyes. Hungry and longing, like a lost puppy, unsure of what to do. Again, nothing needed to be said. All it took was a slight feverish tingle in her face, a tiny answer to his question in her eyes before he gently lowered his face to hers, and the space between them closed. The hand that had lingered on his lips for so long slowly found its way to his jaw, then up his shoulders and into his hair, where they clawed through the soft mess of black. She laughed against their bittersweet kiss, and he squinted his eyes, as if annoyed that she had stopped, then his eyes crinkled and he chuckled, too.

Suddenly, she found his strong arms closing around her waist, lifting her into the air once more. This time, with a wild force that spun her around her like a roller coaster ride. Her wind blew in the air, her arms were locked around his neck, holding on with all her life as she let out another laugh.

“My love! My Queen!” He declared once more, laughing into her face as their foreheads touched. She could feel his breath on her lips, his heartbeat thumping against her chest, the thrilling dizziness behind his eyes. She put her arm around his neck once more and thought to herself:

This man was her demise. This man was the root of her selfish desires and the beginning of her self destruction. This man was the love of her life, and oh how painfully agonising that feeling was. This man could never fully be hers, and oh how that would break her. Oh how that would kill her.