Harts

eighteen

The sun is unfamiliar. You wouldn't think so given that its daily appearance is one of the most ordinary occurrences—and yet it's so often taken for granted. Especially in Hart's. 

Then the town plunged into darkness. The people hid away. Even when the sun comes out again, trusting doesn't come easy. 

When Cate returns home, the electricity is still out. That's not the storm's fault, just her apartment.

The flick of the light switch only produces sputtering and finally, darkness. She ventures into the space slowly, setting down a long stuffed shark on the couch to search for the backup light with batteries. Not that she needs it, she's used to sitting in the darkness. These are the moments when she equally hates being here in Hart's.

Then again, the warm yellow light is comforting. And if she wasn't here, she would have never met the sunny Australian surfer who insisted on playing ring toss until he won a long shark with felted teeth.

"Why the shark?" she asked.

"Look at its grin." He hadn't elaborated any further. Only grinned and plopped it into her arms. 

His stupid grin is now burned into the back of her eyelids. It makes her smile. She plops down on the sofa, pressing a clammy hand against her flushed cheeks. Still buzzing. Hurting a little from smiling so much. 

Warm skin. Glittering eyes. When Alex wrapped his arms around her, she all but melted into a puddle at his feet. He'd appeared almost bashful as he offered a hand and pulled her towards him, lowering his lips on hers. Cotton-candy sweet. It was like the sun had dropped out of the sky and landed in front of her.

At the end of the night, she'd wanted to invite him over and throw on a movie, but couldn't bring herself to do it. His disappointment was apparent, but he didn't push it, instead suggesting the fireworks. Even that had felt like too much.

Too much good in one night. She just wants to save some of it. 

Looking around at the darkness, she decides it's better that she didn't. A throw blanket lies in a heap on the coffee table. Mugs in the sink. Grocery bags on the kitchen counter. 

It's not that she doesn't believe in love. Her parents had been a shining example of the stuff of fairy tales. One fateful meeting at the boardwalk that was as close to magic as you can get in the real world. Nothing could've broken them apart, but the real world—well, the real world has vows that include "'til death do us part."

It still looms over her. Grief, like a shadow.

The love that remained in the aftermath—that love had been half-filled hope, only to be let down time and time again. Love—or liking, or warmth, or hoping, or whatever you want to call that burning feeling in your chest—doesn't come easy when you've been let down time and time again. It can feel like you're only opening yourself up to get hurt again.