27 year-old Ann Marie sat curled up on her couch, her emerald eyes out the window watching the snow fall outside. Letters, about 20 or so, were scattered all around her, on the couch, the coffee table, the floor. One in particular was clenched tightly in her hand, its surface wrinkled and torn from being crumpled and unfolded many times. Since she had received the letter, she has attempted to throw it out at least a dozen times, but each time she'd regrettably fished it out of the waste basket and stuffed it back in the drawer with the others.
The letter made it real. All the pain that had kept her awake every night these past few weeks, all the tears that had rolled down her flushed cheeks, were real because of that letter. Her home was now cold, even with the fire crackling in the hearth and the fleece blanket her mother had given her wrapped around her slim shoulders, because of that letter. She was alone, terrified and empty, on Christmas Eve... because of that letter.
Yet she still couldn't bring her self to finally get rid of it. Or any of the others, despite each one being a painful slap to the face as she gazed upon them. They were all she had left. Ann Marie brought the glass of red wine that had been steadily starting to warm on her coffee table up to her lips, taking in the now off-set tasting liquid. She had been saving this wine for tonight, but she hadn't intended to be drinking it alone or to use it to drown out the sad feeling in the pit of her stomach.
This would've been their 5th Christmas together and Ann Marie had spent many long hours planning for it. She'd wear that silky red dress she'd bought at that expensive boutique in town in September and do her hair up with the crystal butterfly pins he'd bought her for her birthday. They'd match well with the diamond necklace and earing set he'd bought her last Christmas. She'd have dinner ready, candles lit and wine chilling, when he walked in the door. She would then strip him of his suit coat and tie, leaving the top two buttons of his shirt open in that alluring way before putting away his briefcase and leading him over to the dining room.
Dinner would've been a little less than perfect, her grandmother's stuffing a little too dry and the ham she'd spent all day slow roasting a little over cooked but he'd claim it was absolutely divine. She'd give him a knowing smile that would silently thank him for putting up with her attempt at cooking. The first glass of wine would be gone and a second would be poured by the time they got to dessert. Another recipe from her Grandmother, the chocolate cake he adored ever since they'd had it on their first Valentines day and that they'd later use for their wedding cake the year after.
Two glasses of wine would be more than enough to get her tipsy and watching her lick the cake's vanilla frosting off her lips would definantly get him excited. He would stand up and ask her to follow him upstairs to their bedroom and she'd oblige after pretending to be worried about the dishes. They wouldn't make it all the way upstairs, having been passionately making out since they left the dining room and they'd most likely slowly fall to the floor of their living room. Their shoes would have been lost long ago and he would be making quick work of her dress, starting his way down her chest as his fingers eagerly began unhooking her bra.
She'd squirm impatiently beneath him, pushing her body up against his and begging for him to be inside her faster. It wouldn't be long before she was completely naked and he would be hovering above her, unbuttoning his shirt as fast as his hands would allow and letting it fall to the floor in a pile with her dress as he leaned down to kiss her again. She'd be too focused on the way his tongue skillfully moved in her mouth to notice that his pants were off and she'd only notice a moment later when she had to break the kiss to moan as he penetrated her.
Time would move quickly after that, an hour seeming to just be minutes as blind pleasure and love flowed through them. The whole world would fall to pieces leaving just the two of them in heated bliss. After they'd finished, their bodies still warm from friction and the alcohol, he'd kiss her again, slowly and tenderly before picking her up off the floor. He'd lay her down on the couch before nestling up beside her, covering them both with that same fleece blanket. He'd nuzzle her neck, giving her featherlight kisses as she calmly drifted to sleep in his arms.
Ann Marie felt the tears start in her eyes, trying to wipe them away before they spilled out and down her face. She was so tired of crying. It was no use, tears couldn't change anything.
The odds and ends of a writers mind
- This is Just a Dream...