It’s raining again. On my pillow his scent still lingers as do the imprints of my nails where I cling to it. The desk is littered with bills. A sharp wind rattles out of the vent as the air conditioner wheezes to life.
Bang! I sat up to listen. Roscoe whined and thumps his tail on the floor.
“Shhh,” I said to him.
I turned over and laid back down, cringing as icy fingers traced up my arm before I was embraced by him. It was not unlike lying in a snow bank.
“I miss you,” I said, drifting back to sleep.
In the morning I woke alone, as I had for the past six months. My ring as cold as his bones in the earthen tomb. But I dare not take it off. Rings have power, you see. They bind us to other souls.
We had made a vow for all eternity and he remembered.
“Come back to me,” I said to his headstone and he did.