He playfully takes hold of my wrists and spins me in a circle, pulling my back to his chest as he begins to walk forward. His laughter dying down when he buries his face in the crook of my neck. “You look so sexy in your little pink bikini.”
I snort, rolling my eyes at the statement. “Whatever.”
His words are muffled when he speaks again, but I know exactly what he says to me. “Are you wet for me, baby?” he mewls seductively in my ear.
I scoff, “So romantic. I think you and Ricky Jr. need to take a break from all the sexual activities we’ve been indulging in.”
Ricky slides one of his hands down the front of my bikini bottoms, the warmth of his fingers sliding between my slit. “Would you look at that, ladies and gentleman, my girlisin fact wetter than an otter’s pocket.”
I burst out laughing at that, snatching his hand out of the fabric and spinning around to face him once more. My handscup both his cheeks. “Ricky Martin, you do have a way with words.”
“My mouth is good atmanythings, sweetheart. My hands too, but you would know that… wouldn’t you,” he huffs before bending forwards and hoisting me over his shoulder, spanking me light-heartedly on my ass, and causing me to release another excited yelp that echoes through the woods.
“Now, we’re going to take a photo for that stupid summer album you’re making, and then I’m going to take you upstairs and fuck the shit out of you.”
“Wow… you’re so romantic.”
“You know it.”
Ricky carries me up the hill towards my house without a single complaint, only settling me on my feet to run inside and grab his phone. When he steps back through the front door, he jogs down the steps leading up to my porch and over to the tree stump in my front yard, balancing his phone against it and setting a timer.
“Aaaalright. Here we go.” He beams as he makes his way back over to me, and without warning he sweeps me into his arms, bride-style. The timer ticks down and I join him, smiling like nothing in the world can come between us. “I’m going to marry you one day.”
I look at him then, leaning towards him and pressing my lips against his in a deep, passionate kiss. “Okay,” I mewl against his mouth. “Two killers getting married… sounds fun. But one things for sure… we’re changingyourlast name to Delaney. Ricky Martin hasgotto go.”
Ricky snorts with laughter against my mouth, throwing his head back with mirth before he spins on his heel and ascends the stairs towards the front door.
“Your phone!” I point behind him.
“Fuck the phone.”
It was me.
It was always me.
At least that’s what he used to tell me.
Memories of every encounter we had within the first six months of our relationship come flooding back, the experience shattering me into a million pieces. Filling me with more pain and anguish than I ever thought possible, and even though I try my hardest to do as he says—and focus on how he’s breathing—I can’t stop the tears spilling further with every second that passes.
Ididn’t think there was anything left of my heart to break any more than it already has, but listening to the love of my life’s broken sobs of despair only serve to shatter it further. And when I hear her own crack into a thousand pieces in front of me, it destroys me in ways I thought were unreachable.
It’s never happened like this before.
She’s never been this broken.
Usually, when she finds out the history between us, Heather is full of anger and confusion towards me, or the emotion I hate the most… disbelief. Watching Heather run from me as quickly as she can, breaks me into a million pieces—only bringing along the swiftness of her death much quicker. Thus, instigating the agony of my loss all over again. The memories of her dying in my arms as I cradle her broken body against me are some I’ll never be free of.
No matter how many times I’ve gone through this, it always ends the same way… without her.
But maybe this time will be different, and I’ll be able to hold onto her for just a little bit longer, keeping her with me so I don’t have to wake up without her ever again.
During the early stages of reliving her death day after day, when it all became too much for me to handle, I tried killing myself multiple times, just to be with her. Just so I didn’t have to wake up and relive every miserable day without her… but nothing changed. Each time I took my final breath, I woke up the next day—or the same day she died—every single time.
Everything remained the same.
And the more each monotonous day passed, the more I became a shell of my former self. I wasn’t happy anymore. I could barely stomach eating or drinking. All that mattered was trying to find a way to bring her back to me. To hold her in my arms once more. To kiss her, to make love to her, to show her she was the only important thing in my life.
But none of it mattered.
