Persephone

Her whispers taunted him all night. Her limbs entwined with his, auburn strands of hair trailing across his face. At first barely audible, they gathered in pitch until her shrieked reproach tore him from sleep, chest heaving, wrapped in damp cotton and acrid sweat, just as the dawn turned the light blue through the blinds. Panicked, lunging upright, he reached for her and found her side of the bed cold, her pillow perfectly unwrinkled, as it had been for weeks. Sagging back against his pillow, he allowed his breathing to return to normal and watched the sun begin to creep across the ceiling.

Pulling on a towelling dressing gown, he staggered to the kitchen, leant against the units, stared at her coffee mug hanging next to his. She’d taken nothing with her when she left, unannounced, unsuspected that summer morning, leaving no word, no trace. Her possessions, she left scattered to taunt him, his fists clenched against the cool formica. He drank three espressos one after the other, but caffeine would not quiet her today, still her voice insinuated itself into his head, crept across the back of his neck, hissed words he could not quite make out, but teased him with suggestions of things he did not know, other lovers, whiskey and lipstick.

He arrived late to the office, it did not matter, his colleagues had become distant. All day her image danced across his computer screen, her voice buzzed in his head like electricity, wormed its way down the telephone line.

Some nights he dreamt of her reaching out to him and he strained towards her, fingertips brushing hers but unable to grasp her. Her eyes seethed and she mouthed angry, bitter words he could not catch. Other nights she was over him, smothering, her skin burning his through the fabric of their clothing where they touched. Her dress damp and smelling of the sea, heavy against him she writhed and he felt them sinking downwards.

It became harder and harder to wake, the shroud between night and day barely lifting, he drank more and ate less. Awake until the early hours of the morning, he searched photographs of them together for clues, in the half-light through the open curtains, sought answers in the lines of her face. He stopped going to work altogether, mail piled up on the mat, the phone never rang. Still her voice curled around him like smoke but he never heard what she said.

On the last day of September he felt the chill in the air, lit a fire in the grate and burnt all of the photographs of her. Her voice crackled with admonishments in his ear. He watched the flames reach their tendrils upwards and in them shimmered coils of her red hair. As the fire died and the hearth cooled, he heard her key in the door.

He rushed to the hallway where she stood, the air seeming to swirl around her. Stuttering, he moved towards her. Her cool finger against his lips silenced him. He pressed his face into her neck, flinched from the cold of her skin, breathed the unfamiliar scent of the outdoors which seemed to cling to her. He drew her towards the fire to warm her and she drew him to the floor, enveloping him. He made love to her, she, open-mouthed, rigid, silent. He listened to the sound of his own breath.

All through the winter they stayed indoors, he enfolded her, did not let her out of his sight. She didn’t seem to mind and drifted through the house touching every surface, feeling every texture. He learned quickly to ask no questions, she never spoke. At night the heavy silence wrapped around them and he woke clinging to her.

As the spring began to thaw the frosts, he woke at dawn to see the last edge of her nightdress and a curl of her hair disappear around the bedroom door. In the hallway the front door stood ajar and the breeze chilled the air. He pulled on clothes and followed her outside, the street was empty. In the park and through the trees he searched for her. Her voice began a low insistent hum in his head. Through the trees he thought he heard her laughter echo. Flashes of white fabric and copper hair haunted the edges of his vision. He ran and heard his heart pounding in his ears.

As the light began to fail so her voice grew like static, wordless and insistent. He found himself on the ground, face against the cool earth, the scent of damp leaves in his nostrils. His hands clawed the ground, mud clinging beneath his nails. He pulled the earth away from him, sinking down. Down to meet the scent of her perfume, her outstretched arms, her grin.