With the fire roaring and the comforter wrapped around her, she thumbed through the polaroids. She remembered that this time last year she'd been in this position, on his couch, nestled into his chest and she felt she was home.
There were doubters, of course. Those predicting, taking bets on their failure. They had been so determined to go against the grain that at times they forgot to see each other for who they really were. They couldn't see themselves for their images, the constructs that were not of their making.
Not to say that there were not moments of perfect clarity. The paper airplanes. The ring dangling from a chain on her neck. The dancing without music. All the while, asking themselves, asking each other, could they do this? Were they in the clear?
They gave themselves every possible chance. But things bigger than themselves took control.
The tree in the road.
The slick, slippery road itself.
The slightly worn brakes.
She sat with him all night. As the sun rose, she looked at his sleeping face and wiped a tear, knowing she had never looked upon any face so beautiful and so full of pain. She put her face in her hands. Fate had done this. She would let it run its course.
No more running. No more hiding.
No more fighting.