So take your orchidsElsewhere, elsewhereI loved you to deathAnd now I don't really care'Cause you're runnin' 'round over there
"Cola" by Arlo Parks
Her hair gleams lavender gray under the decaying yellow spotlight, a shade icier than the purple lace draped from the shoulders down her torso. Fingers armored in antique silver rings grasp the vintage microphone as her body sways to the pulse of the double bass. Instinctively, his fingers trace lines mirroring those curves into the condensation on the glass of the Old Fashioned he has barely consumed.
Then, her mouth opens, and the voice of cayenne and honey that has haunted him for decades pours forth.
This is how it begins again. It starts with a jolt within the ribcage, a path blooming red from the chest, tendrils climbing up the flushed neck and snaking down to the stirring groin. It starts with that sensation of deja vu, that we've been here before, perhaps not in this lifetime, but another turn of the wheel prior to this one. I do not know you, but I have known you for an eternity, does that make sense, darling?
What he does not know is that the moment she re-entered his life, the clock reset. Within seventy-two hours, he will die once more.
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