When John meets Allison for the first time, he feels like he's been punched in the stomach.
Her hands are dirty and the bunker is crowded, full of empty bellies and open hands. She spoons hot soup into metal cups and smiles at him for the first time. (For the thousandth time.)
He knows her. Knows everything about her. That lop-sided grin. (Was it ever real?) The curve of her spine underneath his fingertips as she arches into him. (That, he is sure, was real.) The sheen of sweat along her shoulders and neck as the ceiling fan whirs above them, her arm draped around his middle, her form tucked at his side, her hot breath on his skin as she sleeps.
He was foolish enough to believe he knew all that there was to know. But she had kept this, this one thing, her secret.
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Her hands are dirty and the bunker is crowded, full of empty bellies and open hands. She spoons hot soup into metal cups and smiles at him for the first time. (For the thousandth time.)
He knows her. Knows everything about her. That lop-sided grin. (Was it ever real?) The curve of her spine underneath his fingertips as she arches into him. (That, he is sure, was real.) The sheen of sweat along her shoulders and neck as the ceiling fan whirs above them, her arm draped around his middle, her form tucked at his side, her hot breath on his skin as she sleeps.
He was foolish enough to believe he knew all that there was to know. But she had kept this, this one thing, her secret.
Allison.