Playing with Fire || David & Amber
Amber: Some things were easier to burn than others – the photos went first. They were all backed up on her iCloud and easily replaceable after the symbolic gesture was complete. The t-shirt though, not so much. And even if she could find another, it wouldn't still have the faint scent of his body wash permeating the cotton. Her fingers tightened around the neck of a bottle that she'd yet to take a drink from. Surprisingly, she'd drank less in the past few weeks since she had at any other time in her adult life. It wasn't because she didn't want to bury the feelings so deep she'd forget how much they hurt or because she was strong or determined or anything of the sort. It was because she earned this. Every sleepless night filled with self-loathing and regret – they were hers to own this time and as much as she wanted to drown herself in a bottle of self-medicating Jack Daniels, she didn't deserve the escape.
Her attention was yanked from her own self-depreciation though by the sound of crunching metal and broken glass that shook the trees followed by the rustling of leaves as birds flew for cover. At first, her eyes darted up to the sky, half expecting to see that the thunder clouds the radio had warned about had filled the sky while she'd been deliberating whether to toss his shirt into the fire, but while they'd began a slow roll in, it wasn't enough to account for what she'd heard.
Normally, she would have brushed it off and for a few minutes, given their previous wildlife run in, she considered jumping back in her car and heading back to her condo just to be safe. The longer she stood there though, the more it nagged at her. Right then she couldn't have told you what made drop the t-shirt back into the box and set the bottle down to make her back toward the road. Instinct, a gut feeling, something.
It wasn't until she rounded the trees at the end of the gravel road that she saw the bumper buried in tall grass between the road and a giant tree trunk. At first, it's familiarity didn't register but as she inched closer and the driver, shaky and obviously disorientated while trying to stumble out of the car, came into view and all at once she understood the pull she'd felt. Always, since the moment they'd met, it was him.
This time though, there weren't butterflies in her stomach. Even the cloud of guilt that had followed her for the past several weeks, momentarily at least, dissipated and only shock, mixed with a whole lot of fear remained. Before he could even make it to his feet she was next to open door, her hand on his shoulder to gently push him back into the seat “David, hey.” she waved her hand in front of glossy eyes, trying to keep the panic from revealing itself in her voice as she knelt down beside the car “Hey, are you ok?” her hand lightly gripping his chin in her hand while he mumbled incoherently “C'mon, talk to me.” she begged, aware of the possible double meaning of her plea even as she said the words.
David: is sure he hears /her/ voice, and thusly, quite positive that he's actually died and gone to a better place. Her hand on his shoulder is warm but surprisingly not comforting. Why the hell is she shaking him? Shouldn't she be coddling him into the pearly gates or even the fiery inferno that Dante had warned him about? He should probably just open his eyes but his lids are so heavy he's not sure it's even physically possible. It's, strangely enough, the scent of her perfume that finally jolts him out of his perceived final resting place.
His lids stay firmly shut, almost pouting at the universe but he's able to open his mouth. That's always been his greatest talent and biggest downfall. "So this whole gift of life thing, it's a gag gift right?" He shuffles, his head now lying back against the seat, eyes finally slitting open. "Amber? Are you my guardian Angel or what?"
