Five Minute Fiction Week 122

October third was a Friday. The day that I met Sam. I didn’t know then it was also the day that he died.

It seems impossible now to think of. It is impossible that a man so full of life, so full of passion, could have his final breaths stolen from him before he was ever actually mine.

The coffee shop off campus was nearly empty when I walked in and found him staring out the window into the dark night. Dark hair harassed by the wind, as wild and untamed as the look in his eyes.

“What are you looking at?”

He didn’t turn from the glass, but Sam’s eyes–oh those eyes, a portal to something hot and desperate–found me.

“Before? Nothing. Now? You.”

We talked about the purpose of life and love and pain. All the things that new lovers talk about until the baristas turned off the music, sweeping us out the door with the night’s trash. We walked the streets until dawn, laughing, but all along Sam was looking over his shoulder, as if something were after him.

He only stopped when I brought him back to my bed.

His eyes never left mine. A sharp green even in the darkness, they found me. Drove inside me in time with his body. Found and touched where I’d always been left wanting. When no one else had ever truly see me, Sam did.

“They gave me one more day,” he told me afterward, in words I didn’t understand but have come to treasure now. “I’ve watched you for years, Lisa. Waiting. Wanting. But you never saw me.”

“You wanted me?” Tears streaked down my face. “But I never knew you.”

“I know.” He passed a fingertip over my lips, a soft goodbye, silent as butterfly wings. “But now, I finally knew you.”

He kissed me. Lulled me to sleep. Held me in his arms. In the morning he was gone.

My radio alarm flipped on, reporter talking about the car accident that claimed a young student’s life. The one that had happened on October third. Friday.

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