Welcome to Write or Die Wednesdays: A Writer's Link-Up! We are Vashelle and Mia inviting you to partake in some creative writing with us each week.
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Last week, our prompt was: What will be your legacy? And it was heartwarming to read the responses of the lovely ladies who linked up. Click here to check out the posts.
This week's prompt is a quote from Anton Chekhov:
Happy writing and happy reading!
"Nice night, isn't it?"
She froze when she heard his voice. She knew that voice. Immediately, her heart was in her throat and she blinked back her tears. She tried to regain her composure as quickly as she could. There was no way he was going to see how his voice still affected her, even after all these years.
"I guess," she replied, her voice a little unsteady. He came closer and stood next to her on the balcony. The party in the apartment behind them was still in full swing. But outside, it was peaceful, the moon shining down on them, giving everything a beautiful, eerie glow.
"How have you been?" he asked, his dark eyes boring into hers.
"OK, I guess. I'm alive, so I can't complain. I didn't know you would be here tonight."
"Yeah. I didn't know I would be here either. It's not really my scene."
He chuckled. "I remember." He lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply. He held out his pack to her in silent offer.
She shook her head. "I quit last year." But her mind flashed back to other nights, nights they shared together, smoking, talking into the wee hours, kissing. She closed her eyes and tried to will those memories away. That was a long time ago, she thought to herself. Stop it.
"Congratulations. I keep saying I will, but you know." He shrugged. "So, are you here with someone?" he asked quietly.
"Don't," she said again, her voice tight.
"Em. Come on. Don't be that way. I'm just making conversation."
Emily sighed. "No. I'm not here with anyone. My friend was supposed to meet me here, but obviously, she's not coming." She looked at him and reached for his cigarettes. "Give me one of those damn things."
He grinned that grin that she loved. The one that showed off his dimples and made his eyes twinkle. The one that said, Screw it. Live life. Who cares about the consequences?
She put the cigarette in her mouth. He leaned over with his lighter and she waved him off. "I just want to hold it. For old times' sake."
He leaned close to her, bumped her with his shoulder. "I've missed you. I've missed this. Our talks."
She pulled away. "Don't. OK? Just don't. I don't want to talk about it. I should probably go, it's getting late." She turned away. He grabbed her hand.
"Em. Please wait. Don't go," he pleaded. "I'm sorry. I really am. I know that I hurt you. If I could go back and do things differently, I absolutely would."
Emily tried to blink back her tears, but couldn't. She sobbed, "Well, you can't! You can't go back. It happened, Dean. You broke my heart. Do you understand? Do you know what that feels like? To hear all of those 'forevers' and believe them, like an idiot?" She pulled away and angrily wiped the tears on her sleeve. "Just leave me alone. Please. Go away."
Dean just stood there, refusing to leave, looking at her with pain in his eyes. "You're not an idiot, Em. I never meant to hurt you. And to be honest, Sheila had no intention of coming here tonight. I asked her to invite you so that I could talk to you. I... I've been thinking about you a lot lately. About us."
She didn't respond. She looked at him and felt that punch to her gut that she always felt when she was around him. He moved closer and reached for her hand. She didn't stop him. This is it, she thought. Here he is again, just like I always hoped. What do I do?
She looked out into the night, the moonlight shining on her hair...
*This is an original story written by me. Please do not copy or distribute this post without my permission. Thank you.*
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