Traces | Augustine & Blake
Tangled limbs, and aftershave were what Blake could recall of the night of the affair. In the morning it was a face, one that was in pictures smiling with the man she slept with, she never noticed the the frames when they came tumbling into his home. Blake saw the ring on his finger, but if he didn’t care neither did she. It wasn’t her life to fuck up, but she definitely participated. She had been searching for her bra, eager to escape now that the deed was done. Her ears perked up from an unknown voice, like a deer in the headlights she was frozen. Wide eyed, facing her hook up’s husband, the man from the photos, except there wasn’t any joy in his face, it was the distinct devastation of heartbreak. Blake knew it too well, it could have mirrored her own when Matthew called things off at the hospital.
After that it was impossible to forget what he looked like, the concept had become real. Always a possibility but never had it occurred until that day.
There he was in front of her once more, although everyone was here to see Mothman, Blake honestly didn’t think she’d ever run into him again. A cheap moth feelers headband crowning Blake’s head, with the caramel apples she purchased at a stand, now locked in a death grip, her whole body was tense, debating between fight or flight. Time had stopped and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him, so many words clung to the back of her throat, but her mouth remained firmly shut. It started again and Blake could hear the distant music of the fair, her apple lost to the unforgiving pavement that had claimed its caramel with rocks and dirt. He saw her too.
Nothing seemed appropriate, all she could muster was, “H-hi. Did you see Mothman?”
