Flash Fiction (Number 22)

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Home

He stumbled off of the plane, missing the last three steps in his haste to get to her. He had seen her from the window as they came to a slow stop, and his fingers fairly itched with the impulse to hold her.

She accepted the bear hug, her petite frame trembling as she held him. One hand came up to trace his cheekbone, knowing that used to soothe him, and he nestled further into the caress, “What happened?”

He shook his head, not willing to replay it, all the things that he had seen, weren’t things that he wanted to tell her. The scent of her hair, was a soothing reminder that not everything was hard and violent, her soft curves pressing against him. Relief spiralled through him when she didn’t press it, even there must have been so many questions she wanted to ask.

She could feel his breath puffing against the curve of her neck, his shaking slowly easing the longer than she held him, and didn’t have any impulse to let go, after missing him for eighteen months. The buzzing of her phone against her hip was the only thing which broke through the haze, and she realised that his parents were going to be impatient to see him.

“What is it?” he opened his eyes when he realised that she had pulled back.

“Let’s go home.”

“Home?” the word came out hesitant as he followed her to her convertible. She had been the main thing that had thought of as ‘home’ keeping him centred when the worst was happening.

“Yeah your parents, kept the penthouse.” She fastened her seatbelt, and then turned on the radio, hoping that the familiar sounds of their favourite station might ease a little of the tension she could see in his body. “They’ve organised a bit of a get together to celebrate you being back,”

“No.” He shook his head, eyes flickering with barely restrained panic, “I don’t…I can’t…”

“It’s okay,” she reached out, taking hold of his closest hand, and interlacing their fingers even as she pulled out into traffic. “We’ll go to my house, and I’ll phone them from there,”

 

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