phantom heartbeat
imogen has never heard such a slow heartbeat before, not that she makes it a habit of going around listening to ‘em, mind you. it’s just different, she thinks, as she presses her ear more firmly to laudna’s chest.
though her memories are covered in a thick fog borne of time, she still remembers how easily her daddy had scooped her up into his arms so many years ago. she remembers how he held her to his chest as he stood on their sun bleached porch, looking out at the beginning of a new day. she remembers the curiosity she felt as she put an ear to his chest, how she gasped at how loud it was, how strong it felt.
(“daddy, why d’you tick so loudly?” she had asked, eyes sparkling with the kind of wonder only a six year old could have.
her daddy had smiled, something he did so often back then, as he pressed her tiny fingers to his chest. “gotta keep tickin’ to live, sweetheart. you tick, too.”
“i do?” she gasped as she brought her other hand to her own chest, surprised to find how steadily it thrummed against her palm.)
she can’t help but observe how there’s something so odd about hearing laudna’s heartbeat now against that memory. how it thrums so delicately against her ribs, a slow and gentle rhythm, just barely there and almost dull in how soft it beats. and it’s hard for imogen to correlate the word dull to the woman beneath her because laudna is anything but.
laudna is rich and vibrant, more than just a passing phantom, stronger than any puppet. laudna is a shimmering beacon brighter than any moon, imogen thinks, and is startled at how quickly her own heartbeat picks up as if to chase that thought.
underneath imogen’s ear, laudna’s lungs breathe, her blood rushes, her heart beats and beats and beats—
a reminder,
a reason,
a confession.
