Warmth

Staring blankly at the wall, she cradled her coffee cup, trying to soak up its warmth. She’d been so cold for so long. Ever since he left. He’d only been there a few days, but in that short time she’d grown accustomed to his warmth, his heat. No, she hadn’t grown accustomed to it – she’d grown to need it. Even the coffee, burning a trail down her throat as she sipped, couldn’t compare to the warmth she’d felt when she’d been with him.

She’d never admit it to herself, but she yearned for him, for his warmth. It didn’t have to be the heat of passion, the way his long fingers felt in her hair, the way his hands wandered over her skin, creating fire wherever he touched. She would be content with the simpler warmth, the way he felt curled around her under the covers, the way he let her rest her head on his shoulder, the controlled strength of his grasp when they held hands. She had been so warm when he was there. Now even the coffee and the cat in her lap couldn’t raise her temperature.

Night. Every night. When the ghosts of that stolen weekend came back to haunt her. She bundled up in layers during the day, attempting in vain to harness her own body heat. But at night. At night was when everything fell apart. Under the blankets, multiple since he had left, she shivered constantly. She couldn’t sleep, thinking about when he was there. She would have loved to be able to say that she dreamed about that weekend, but dreaming is for those who sleep, not her. It’s then that the cold was the worst. For three days she had had him in her bed. Three days of warm embraces and laughter and – dare she even think of it? – sleep. The best sleep she’d had in a long while. Warm sleep.

It was then she’d remember the last night. Playful hands that skated over skin, and lips that were all business. That was the last warm night she’d had. He’d left the next day, in the cold light of the dawn. Leaving her shivering and alone. So alone.

Now, the only warmth she felt was when she was with him. Even over a thousand miles away he could still warm her. Whether she was thinking about him, chatting with him online, or, on those deliciously rare occasions, talking to him on the phone, it was the time she ever felt warm. The chill seemed to melt away, replaced with an infusion of warmth from the inside.

God, she missed him.

Would she ever feel that warmth again?

Taking another sip of the burning coffee and shifting the cat snugly situated on her lap, she turned her eyes back to her computer and shivered.