Empty. Thoughts, feelings, life. A destructive emptiness, unconditional, unstoppable, leaving a trail of nothingness. She wanted to succumb to the feeling of no fear, never again. In that very emptiness laid a world of meaning, just beyond the surface of that emptiness there was a burst out, about to break through.
Every sound echoed inside her head, a thousand times amplified. Flashing lights took away sight of it all. She couldn’t think or breathe, only cry and scream. Shouting her questions to nobody, into the unknown. They disappeared before they had left her mouth because there was nobody to remember them. They might as well not have been asked, not have existed. Who knew?
Stuck in a rage, an unbearable pain and a single word – why. Why was it true? Why had she doubted, refused to believe what she knew and had always known? Why hadn’t she prevented?
Scenario’s of how it could have been played in a loop through her mind. Faster, harder, more confronting, sickeningly confusing, too much and then… silence. A silent scream, infinite, stretched into eternity because she’d always wonder… what if?

It was over. They had left in their blackness and depression. He would have hated it. Sad expressions etched on their faces. He would have hated it. Deluted consolations, she refused to hear them. Uncountable regrets, she refused to listen to them. It wasn’t over, it couldn’t be. He couldn’t be gone.

“You knew.”
Bewilderment. The return of panic and chaos everywhere inside her being, inside her world. Why was she still here? Could she see the inner turmoil? The rejection to believe? Did she feel the same impossibility? She felt so toroughly confused she was convinced it couldn’t just be her. She swallowed and attempted to normalise her voice, but there was still a slight tremble in it, betraying how shaken she felt. It was almost as if her own body had turned against her, despised and mocked her for her deeds, or the lack of it.
“I knew what?”
The lie was audible and she knew it. The question was hollow, superficial, something above the surface that cast a shadow on what she truly wanted to say, or meant. As if this was a play written by someone who didn’t understand their deeper connection, their almost spiritual bonding.
“You knew that he would die.”
There it was. The words were out, the truth had sought its freedom through her mouth, her mouth so much like his. A truth they had both felt but not spoken, in the hope to deny it, but Bette had felt a sudden disgust at this game of hiding and had uttered the words. It was too late now to do anything about it and Tina wondered if she regretted it. It was too late because there was someone to remember and the second one of them told a third party, all would be lost. Their secrecy, their strange alliance in knowing what it was about but not telling, never telling. If it stayed between the two of them, nobody would know and who said it would still be real then? Who said it couldn’t be dismissed as a strange, somewhat surreal dream.
“I didn’t.”
A whisper, barely audible. Eyes diverted to the ground in shame. There was no trust between them to abuse, only a shared knowledge, and still she felt as if she was betraying her, cheating on her.
Bette’s eyes were burning right through her, burning cigarette holes in all her securities, in who she was. She pretended to have lost the ability of speech and hated herself for it. The window offered an inviting view and she walked over to it. She carefully placed her hands on the window sill, trying to prevent them from shaking. Outside, everything was so white it hurted her eyes. Every inch within her field of view was covered in snow. A thick carpet, seemingly untouchable, but as soon as anyone put their foot in it, it would burst, there would be an interruption of the apparent perfection, a stain on the escutcheon. Very much like life indeed.
“There is no need to pretend for me, Tina.” Her voice was soft and held a hidden sharpness. Tina’s breath caught as she felt Bette’s presence near, her body right behind hers – an inch, maybe. Not touching, but feeling the warmth.
“I want to hold you, Tina.”
Why did she always repeat her name? How was it that it sounded so soft, tender and dangerously enticing at the same time? This question of hers wasn’t inappropriate, but it felt so. And in this indecency, her body yearned for it.
“I don’t know if we can make -”
“You were the last woman he held.” Bette turned Tina around, her touch sending shivers down her spine and raising goosebumps. She laid her thumb on her slightly parted lips. “You were his wife. He loved you with all that he was. He loved the feel of your skin and the smell of your hair. He loved your hands.” Bette held them, rubbing her fingers softly. She closed the distance between their faces until there was close to none of it left. She removed her finger and said in a whisper: “He loved your lips.”
Tina couldn’t stand the heat emanating from their bodies. She wanted to press her body against Bette’s, take her in for a scorching kiss. They were in front of a window and anyonce could see them.
A passer-by that knew their roles in the absurd play that life was, written by the unknown, would frown upon them, upon the proximity of the widow and the deceased’s sister.
Tina was aware of the fact that they were on display, but her body didn’t care. The intense rollercoaster of emotions she had ridden not even an hour ago was gone. There was tension instead, in every fibre of her body – tension and anticipation.
She moved her mouth closer and just as their lips were about to touch, just that moment the world stopped turning and there was no sound apart from their erratic, heavy breating, Tina’s eyes wandered towards Bette’s chocolate orbs. his chocolate orbs. Her gaze went southwards, towards her lips, so full and delicious-looking as his had been – so cold and unmoving they had been the last time she had seen them, right before he had been cremated. Bette’s lips were now slightly parted, her bottom lip trembling slightly, seeming to scream to be licked, sucked into the blonde’s mouth. A high-pitched moan escaped one of both women, but they didn’t know who it was. It didn’t matter. Tina moved her head closer, feeling her nipples harden and her center wetten in anticipation. She didn’t think about right or wrong, about moral or immoral, but only of her needs and even stronger, her desires.
Their heads couldn’t have been any closer without touching. Bette stared deep into the blonde woman’s eyes, absorbing her, adoring her for just being the woman her brother had loved. Because her brother was so sociable and so cheerful on the outside, but he had never fallen in love with someone before. He had pretended to be, just to make things easier. He knew the girls he dated wouldn’t understand anyway.
The mere fact that the first time he told Bette that he met someone he deeply cared about, she had seen that flame of passion in his eyes she recognised as a family trait, she had known that Tina Kennard had to be a very special woman. The most special woman on Earth, perhaps.
Because her brother had cared for her with all his heart, she pulled away. She tried to block out the involuntarily uttered squeek of disappointment, she gazed forwards, taking in the street. She looked at everything, but didn’t register anything. She took a step back from Tina, who looked very confused.
“Bette, what is going on here?” Tina asked.
“I am wondering myself.”