She was tingling. It was him.
He would slip in behind her, where ever she was and slide his hand across her belly. With the slightest pressure he’d hold her to him, all things familiar, protective, and possessive. She knew she should relish in their moment together, or should she?.
Her mind ran through the gentlemen she had encountered, images always dim, always who she already knew, always wrong. Who is it? Who are you? She wanted to know but she knew not to turn around. But, she inevitably always did. Maybe it was instinct to look. Maybe it was hope that this time would be different. But each time – like the time before – he’d disappear. He was there and then he wasn’t. She was there and then she wasn’t.
She hesitated before opening her eyes. Once she did, she sat up and stared past her nightstand to the window, sunlight filtering in through the blinds. She shook her head and sighed to chase the tingling out of her body. “Not again.”