[mature] Trekk.

[Noori]

Most days, most days stay the sole same
Please stay, for this fear it will not die
Down low, down amongst the thorn rows
Weeds grow, through the lilies and the vines

It's the first word she has heard in months. The first sound coming from a conscious creature, from a thoughtful, intelligent creature. The woman had nearly forgotten that such other creatures existed, that she was not alone in her intelligence. Maybe she hadn't forgotten, though, maybe it was more of an intentional obliviousness. She was ever so good at denial.

When her breathing catches in her throat and her legs become like trunks in the river bed, she knows it is him. When her heart breaks and her stomach churns, she knows it is him. When that feeling of guilt and love mixes in her guts, she fucking knows that it's him. And it hurts. It's the bile of a thousand years of sickness - a burning acidity that is sure to leave her gagging.

"Trekk." The name slips from her like a stone, heavy but emotionless. She does not know how to feel, not any more, not since she knows how awful she's been, how aloof and otherworldly and unfaithful. Her eyes cannot even bare to see him, and like the trunks of her legs, they are rooted in to river bed.

She knows it is him.

And that undeniable tug is pulling at her every fiver, begging her to relent and to collapse into him with wracking sobs and inconsolable chaos and misery. It has been so long - she has been literally sleeping it away - and yet still he is here.

Always, always here.

He deserved better; and at best she was a consolation prize that stank of other men and tasted of betrayal.

noori