I see a woman with her hair and her kind of walk, all heavy-footed and sure. The laces of her combat boots dance back and forth as she strolls at the pace of a star-crossed tourist. She turns to point out the PIG OUT WITH US! sign that seems to be hanging onto its last breath, affixed on the side of Mcfarland's barbecue, and the man beside her laughs. I get a glimpse of her cat-eye sunglasses and glorious smile that stretches from ear-to-ear, and it seems like too many memories that come pounding against my skull on little drums, begging to be let out.

My eyes snag on how her hand weaves perfectly into the man's. And the way she's so carefree and happy, laugh lines gracing her features, as if she's moved on from the shit we went through. I wonder where she's living now, how it feels to be holding hands again.

But I don't ask her, for some intangible tap against my consciousness. No, she is a broken teacup that just got glued back together. And touching her seems like too great a force to reckon with.

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AND SO IT BEGINS!

Because this chappie is so short, I'm going to publish the next one at 1:00 EST today :P

(I'm going to probably delete all the author notes once the story is finished)

Published 11-21-16
Next chapter 11-21-16