The Same Rain || Gail & _____
It was cold that morning, yet Gail still sat on the wide windowsill, her side touching the chilly glass and goose bumps forming on her arms despite her long sleeve shirt and the soft blanket draped around her small form. A book was balancing on her knees, a fluorescent bookmark tucked into a page close to the middle, but she seemed to have forgotten about it. The mug by her feet was being ignored, too, the aroma of coffee – it was good coffee; someone had remembered to stock up on the good mixture – filling her room, leaving through the open door.
It was 9 AM and it was raining.
Gail was gazing out the window, her eyes following the droplets that softly hit the glass. It wasn’t just raining; it was that special kind of rain, the drizzle that was barely there, invisible unless the light hit it. It had rained just like that the last time she’d seen him, the last time Gail Bernath spoke to Elliot Waits, the last time he’d kissed her, the last time they held each other — but, really, it wasn’t that that was making her sad. No, it was the damned rain that just had to be the same rain, only at a different day and hour and the same jazz music playing from the corner of her room.
It was the same rain and the same music and how could she possibly study when every little thing screamed ‘Elliot’ at her? How could she possibly be expected to read about civil wars and dead presidents when all she could think about were bloody lips and kisses that tasted faintly of iron? And why, in the name of all that was sacred, couldn’t she stop thinking about the clinically diagnosed psychopath that killed, bruised, terrorized and was proud about it?
Someone was calling her name, but between the rain, the music, and the grey eyes she could still picture perfectly, as if he was just outside that same window staring at her, she ignored that, too. Truth be told, she didn’t care enough to deal with anyone else, not now. Her head dropped heavily against the glass, producing a ‘thud’. “Go away,” she muttered, not sure if she’d said it loud enough to reach the intruder’s ears. It was the stupid rain’s fault.
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