Episode 1: Left Behind

Puretaboo

Paige Owens, Mia Moore Pic(s)

The hollow click of the door settling into its frame echoed in the stillness she left behind, a sound that seemed to suck all the warmth from the air. He stood motionless, the ghost of her perfume clinging to him, a delicate floral whisper that taunted his senses with the memory of her skin. His fingers, which had moments ago traced the elegant curve of her spine, now curled into impotent fists at his sides, the lingering heat of her body a cruel phantom on his palms. The sofa cushions still bore the deep, soft impression of where she had been seated, a landscape of crushed velvet that held the shape of her absence. He could almost taste the faint, sweet residue of wine on his own lips from their last kiss, a stolen sacrament that had promised more than it delivered. A single, silken hair, dark as midnight, lay coiled on the shoulder of his jacket, a fragile relic of her presence that felt heavier than stone. The evening’s anticipation, once a thrilling current humming in his ve, had curdled into a leaden weight in the pit of his stomach, a hollow ache of unfinished desire. Every shadow in the room seemed to pulse with the rhythm of his own heartbeat, a frantic, lonely drum agat the overwhelming silence. He finally drew a shuddering breath, filling his lungs with the empty air she had vacated, and the space around him felt vast and chillingly intimate.