Pascal Roberts: Running in a dream
The sun rose behind clouded palm trees as he shuffled his tired boots through the sand. Weary eyes. No tears. As if to mirror his mood, mist stagnate over the sea. Pascal was grateful to not see his own reflection. The go-getters out at God’s hour give Pascal plenty of room and use hushed tones as they jog past him. Pascal smiles as he plops into the sand, grimacing as he gingerly rested his injured shoulder. “If they only knew” he remarked proudly.
The quiet is what shocked him. As he nestled into the sand, others casually walked by with a casual nod or a half-smile with raised eyebrows. A lifeguard truck approached at speed and Pascal cringed as he was reminded of his shoulder while instinctively reaching for his hip. The truck passed by without incident and he heaved a sigh of relief. No one was coming for him. No one would come for him. Hannah called out from the ocean. Her eyes misty, her tears crash and she’s gone. No one would come. The silence is shocking…
Present Day – New Hampshire
Pascal opened his eyes and with a shiver the haunting dream was washed away. Pascal began to baby step his day as he scrolled through his phone. There were two deaths last night. A popular man, Kent Harlow, a welder with permanent grease stains on his wrinkled hands. Emphysema. And Darwin Jones. Pascal raised his eyes at this name. He had no memory of this man. “Oh well” he sighed as he mentally began to prepare a newsletter for the general population. A formal complaint that one of the nurses was stealing Mr. Rojas’ socks, and a request by the activities council to add ‘Monday Mahjong’ to the calendar. “That’s the spirit” he said sarcastically as he got out of bed and started the day.
As he drove his car to the retirement home, he allowed himself to daydream of Hannah and their final weekend together. The sight of her in that dress. Those curves. Pull into a parking garage, turn the engine off. Thwump – the sound of the driver seat sliding back; the sound of Mercedes leather as she shifts in her seat. The look in her eyes as she slides her mouth down his chest. Lower. More leather sounds; his hips lift off the seat. He surrenders as his head tilts back; she takes control…
July 1997 – San Francisco
Hannah studied her fiance as he lay asleep. Todd Goodrich was a good man. He loved and supported her. His touch was soft and tender. His voice understanding and compassionate. She didn’t want to hurt him. She prepared herself for the lies she would tell him. Family emergency, a chance to get away. How did Pascal do this to her? How could she risk losing this man, for that jerk? Her mind slowly shifted to Pascal. His touch was rough and jagged. His voice commanding. Pascal Roberts was NOT a good man. Her thoughts lingered on his hands. Hannah slid her own hands, tiny by comparison, down her body. “No” she said as she moved her hands to her fiance. She pushed his hips down as she climbed on top of him. She could see the confusion in his eyes as she let her passion take over. Todd Goodrich was a good man, he didn’t know how to handle her animalistic side. She closed her eyes and it was Pascal there. But, it was like running in a dream. She couldn’t catch up to her own desire. Her fiance finished with a whimper. Leaving her unfulfilled. They lay together and he whispers “That was different.”
Hannah smiled and rolled into his chest. Her mind was made up. She would board that flight.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. This weekend..” she said standing up and catching her reflection in the mirror. Her pulse quickened, her thighs tightened. “My Aunt is having a BBQ and I thought it would be fun if I could surprise her.” She stepped into the shower. She never felt so sexy.
#timtears 
Leave a comment