Under my skin

Matt gripped the steering wheel tight,  his knuckles turning white against the backdrop of his tanned skin. His wrist twisted, the grip tightening further, until it felt like he was holding on for dear life, as if the fake leather under his fingertips was the only sensation he could feel. The car continued to glide along the empty highway, the streetlights illuminating the world in a muted glow.

The radio played an old blues tune, the singer's heavy voice singing of love lost and found and lost again. A wry smile played around Matt's lips, as he tilted his head to the left, unconsciously mirroring a move he'd seen her make many times. She often did that, tilt her head ever so slightly to the left, an almost puppy like move, her hair brushing her delicate shoulders, as her eyes scanned you for truth, lies and all your buried secrets. On a date early in their relationship she had listened to his ramblings in rapt attention and then tilted her head to the left, just content to let him go on with his myriad stories, while her eyes seemed to peer into his very soul.

"You seriously want to do this?" he'd chuckled, meeting her gaze intently, content to play a game of stare with her.

She had smiled, tucked a strand of her hair behind one ear and looked away. She blushed, always she blushed. He remembered that, that silly blush that covered her cheeks, her throat, other more interesting parts of her body. That blush, it enchanted him, enslaved him.

The song on the radio changed. Another song of heartbreak came on, as Matt increased the speed of the car, no obstacle appearing in his path, the road stretching on for miles and miles.

His phone chimed softly. His friends, worried about him, checking up on his whereabouts at the late hour. They needn't have worried though, Matt was in no danger to anyone. Stone cold sober and clear eyed, his addiction, his intoxication was nothing mundane like alcohol or drugs.

No. His addition, his intoxication was of a more sinister variety. A more insidious offender.

Love.

With another bitter smile, Matt slowed the car down, as the seaside came into view.

The terrain had changed without his knowledge, concrete roads giving way to dirt paths, to grimy sand.

The car came to a halt, its driver exiting in a rush of movement.

He stumbled, his feet unsteady after having been cramped in the interior of the car for a long period. Gripping his walking stick tightly, he steadied himself, got his feet under him, rose to make his way, slowly, to the ocean.

She loved the ocean. Always had. Said it made her feel like there was something bigger out there, bigger than just them, their small problems and silly fights.

She was right. As she always had been.

He closed his eyes, as the waves touched the bottom of his feet, the water cool against his scarred skin. A sigh of peace left his lips.

He looked up, the stars shining extra bright, as if they were an ode to her.

He spread his legs, sinking his feet into the wet sand, placing his walking stick close by and reached into his pocket. He located the ring easily, the cold metal seeming to burn his fingers for a moment. He retrieved it, holding it up in his hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss it softly.

"I've got you under my skin," she had murmured, her lips soft against his. She had a habit of talking against his lips, her brain almost too agitated to ever quiet completely. He'd always chuckle and take over, ensuring there would be no talking for a long long while.

He closed his palm around the piece of gold.

The hospital authorities had handed him everything, every piece of jewelry she had worn that night. Diamond studs he had brought her on their second anniversary, his earnings small, but the depth of his feelings deep. A cheap bracelet he bought her on their third date, purchased from the side of the road from a gap toothed cherub. The ring he clutched tightly in his hand, given to her on the day of their wedding, his trembling fingers taking far longer to complete the small task. The small task that made her his wife.

He's been in scrubs himself, sitting on the wheelchair facing the nurse's station, his legs covered in a maze of gauze, tape and plaster. The accident taking from him his ability to walk freely ever again, apart from his very reason to live.

It took far too long for the shock to fade.

They'd been on their way to celebrate their third anniversary, young, in love, blind to the hate in the world, so wrapped up in each other that they didn't see the approaching car, until it was too late.

He could still hear her whimpers, as he lay motionless, a mere foot away from her prone body. As her life left her body, he heard her call his name. But he couldn't have reached her, no matter how hard he tried, his legs so completely broken that there was no way he could have pulled his body anywhere.

The roar of the ocean brought him back to the present.

"Do you have me under your skin?" she'd asked him, tracing his beard absently one lazy Sunday, while they lay in each other's arms.

He'd turned to her, gathered her close, placed his lips against hers, "So deep my love, almost like you're really a part of me". She had giggled, her silly giggle, and then there had been no words.

For a long long while.

"Excuse me mister, are you okay?" came a voice from behind him. Someone held up a phone, the flashlight shining brightly in his eyes as he turned to study the intruder.

"Yes," he assured them, waving off their concern. He needed his solitude, craved it. For it was only in moments like this that he felt close to her once again.

He turned to face the ocean again, the salt in the air tingling on his lips.

"I love you," he whispered, letting the wind carry the message to her. To wherever she was, dancing on the wind, blushing in delight, playing with her hair.

The wind seemed to whisper back, he didn't know for sure, but he swore he heard, "Ditto".