“Can you hear me?” she whispered. Ana was still sleeping in their bedroom.
Leo shook his head. Alright, he couldn’t hear her, but he could see her.
Ceri wished she’d learned sign language. He was right there, so close that she could see him, but she couldn’t speak to him.
He stepped closer.
In the reflection, it looked as though he was right behind her.
He mouthed her name, and though she couldn’t hear it, she could feel it deep within her.
He brushed his hand at the hair on her neck. She couldn’t feel anything.
She brushed away the hair herself, revealing the soft skin underneath.
The Leo in the mirror wrapped his arm around her waist and pressed her to him. She could almost feel the sensation.
She leaned back into it.
He leaned over and pressed his lips to her neck. She felt the phantom touch on her skin, like the moments after he’d touched her for the first time in the library.
She sighed.
In the reflection, he touched the jumper she’d just put on. She pulled it over her head.
He kissed the strap of her brassiere. She pushed it off her shoulder.
She pressed herself back against him. She felt him there or maybe imagined it. Maybe both.
This was somewhere between dream and reality. A liminal space where the veil between worlds was thin.
She wanted him. She could feel he wanted her.
She couldn’t turn around.
She had to turn around, had to see him, to give herself to him.
She couldn’t. She must.
She turned.
Nothing. There was nothing.
He was gone.
Ceri ran across the room to the journal.
“What’s going on?” asked Ana, her head still on the pillow.
“Nothing important,” said Ceri. “Go back to sleep.”
“You got it,” said Ana, beginning to snore again almost immediately.
Leo had already written something by the time she opened the journal.
I don’t know for certain if what I just saw was truly you. I hope that it was.
I want you, desperately.
