I take the deepest breath I’ve ever asked of my lungs, listening to the rushing water below. One hundred and thirty feet below. My legs dangle in midair as I sit on the ledge, the enormous park behind me oblivious to my presence. A warm breeze ripples through my long brown hair.

Holding that breath, I look down.

I stare at the distant, fast-paced river below without really seeing it, aware of the sun on my skin and the birds in the trees, drowning in the white noise of laughing families.

An ecosystem that isn’t my own.

The weight inside me is so hefty it not only exists uninvited, but demands payment for its presence. The cost is everything. My senses are hypersensitive, never more sharp -- heart never more dull.

I feel more than hear him stop behind me.

“Hey.”

I don’t turn. He doesn’t move. His presence jolts my soul back into myself, the ringing in my ears a little less pressing. I try not to focus on him, hoping he’ll leave. A moment turns into a minute, and when he finally does unpause, he comes to my side. Eyes on the canyon, I see a pair of legs sweep over the side of the bridge beside me. Beside those legs are a pair of fuzzy feet. I glance up.

The eyes of this stranger are so deep I fall in. Staring at me thoughtfully, his brown hair rustles in the summer air, dressed in a casual t-shirt and jeans. Beside him sits a teddy bear.

"That's a dangerous game." I blink at him. He nods to the sandals on my feet, precariously teetering. "You might lose a shoe."

I stare at my toes, two-week-old pedicure evident by chipped polish. It was an effort to make myself feel better, inspiration from one of my mother's many theories: "Putting yourself first isn't a bad thing, honey. The inside can't shine if the outside's caked in dirt." If I told her it felt like an empty gesture, what would she say? I wonder about the person beside me. The purpose of his gesture.

"Not every woman has a high regard for her shoes." There is no irritation in my small voice. One side of his mouth pulls up.

"I was more concerned about your feet on the journey home."

I shrug. “There are worse things.” The silence stretches between us. I try not to look uncomfortable because of it.

“What happened?” Empathy is him.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I bet that usually works,” he muses of my dismissal, my lie, squinting at the green mountains. “Always has for me.”

“If it’s not broke,” I retort. By his answering smile, you’d think I just gave him a sincere compliment.

“I’m Zack.” He offers his large hand, palm squarish and broad, veins running up his forearm. Hesitantly, I take it.

“Millie.”

“A pleasure.”

“Is it?”

He laughs quietly. “It is.” He nods.

“Give it time,” I mumble, earning an intent observation from him.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll pass.” His reverence is weighted. I hold his gaze, hoping my eyes don’t look as glassy as they feel.

“Who’s your friend?” I ask to distract the thought. The permanently cheerful teddy beside him could be admiring the view, beady eyes on the gorge.

Zack glances at the light brown bear, then at me.

“He’s for you, I think,” he says, passing it my way.

“Me?” I lean away, reluctantly taking the stuffed animal.

“I was on my way to see some friends. Passed a street vendor back there and had to get him. Wasn’t sure why, but I think I do now.”

I look at him like he’s crazy. Zack smiles.

~Two years later~

“Oh god,” I moan before his hand clasps over my mouth. His other hand is between my legs, two fingers so deep he’s practically lifting me up the wall.

“Stay quiet, doll,” he whispers, ragged breath as tempting as his touch. I hum into his palm while humping the other, trying to find the strength. Zack’s wide, giving hand is a saddle, mimicking the motion of a racing horse as he roughly fucks my g-spot.

He took me by the hand and led me to this nook off the dim-lit hallway, home of an ice and vending machine, a hushed sense of community behind each numbered door. Though we could be very un-alone at any moment, my concentration is elsewhere. When he touches me, my brain can't process thoughts like worry. 

His mouth comes to mine, cradling my neck as he fucks me. Cock or not, there is no other word for the action of his ruthless hand.

The sky is pitch outside the silent hotel, our home for the night -- along with most of our friends and family. Zack and I don’t, however, get to share the same room. I thought I’d been unhappy on that front. Evidently, Zack had no intention of staying away from me that long. 

I fumble with his zipper as I ride his fingers, and when I’ve freed him from his confines, I stroke his thickness. My pussy clenches at the way it throbs for me. 

“Oh, Millie.” His low sigh makes my heart reverberate. I kiss him again.

Zack pulls out of me and earnestly sucks my wetness from his fingers as I watch, blushing and horny. A movement we know by heart, he lifts me and I line him up, his head impossibly round, slick with precum in unnecessary preparation. He could look at me right, and I'd be soaked for him.

Taking those first few inches, he growls and grabs my thighs from beneath, encouraging my legs to spread. I hang from his neck as he fucks me into the wall, the rhythm of his push and pull creating orgasmic friction.

Slack-jawed, I watch the way he grinds his teeth, how he lifts and lowers me to meet his every thrust, boxers low on his hips. The knot at the waist of my silk robe is loose, the collar open around my small, exposed breasts. He squeezes every inch of me, from the heels of my bare feet, up my calves, my waist, kneading my chest as I whisper my pleas.

It’s been six days since we’ve done this. We were supposed to make it a week… The idea of what we’ll be doing tomorrow has had me aroused for hours, apparently having the same effect on him. His hand on my thigh at dinner was enough to make me violently impatient, though I teased him by wearing the stockings he likes. There was no way we could have waited another day, another second.

Zack holds my gaze as he adopts a deep, steady pace. Reading his face is like reading a book, his expression as alive as the richest adjectives, as confessing as an unexpected plot twist. When his thumb goes to my clit, I lose hold of every strand of my composure, self-control released like a bouquet of balloons.

“Zack, I’m coming!” I whimper, taking control and riding him hard, scratching at his back.

“Millie, fuck,” he groans, forcing his dick as deep as possible and holding himself there as he joins me. The wet heat of his release inside me is adrenaline to my racing heart, and I beg him not to stop.

His strength is admirable, holding me against the wall for another five minutes as we both refuse to move.

When my breath is back to normal, I whisper, “I love you.” He smiles.

“I can’t wait for tomorrow.” His response is much more than those three little words.

~~~

Twelve hours later, when the sun has replaced the moon, coherency for ignorance, I am walking down an aisle. Flowers in my hands, a veil on my head. At the end, waiting for me, is Zack, smiling bigger than I’ve ever seen, eyes shining and proud. The only other gaze I meet is my mom’s. Warm expression exactly the way I’ll always remember, she smiles at me from a commemorative photo resting on a floral embellished easel. I met Zack a month after she died.

~Five Years Later~

“I’m giving up.”

“You can’t.”

“I am.”

“You haven’t tried hard enough to warrant quitting, Millie.”

“I’m no good at this! I’ve been practicing, and I’ve been trying, but it’s not enough!”

She pulled the car over. Turned her torso toward me, and all the fury I’d been harboring dissipated with her stern look.

“You think everything should come easy?” It was harsh and penetrating and looking for an answer, so I timidly shook my head ‘no’. “You act like a little hard work will kill you.”

I sigh. “I just…”

“Just what? Think because you haven’t mastered this in a matter of weeks that you should give up?”

I sigh again, more loudly. “I’m not a natural at this. You should see everyone else.”

“Why are you comparing yourself to them? Your journey isn’t theirs.”

“But-”

“You think it’s hard now? Imagine how you’ll feel when you look back and realize you turned around right at the finish line. Nothing worth having comes easy, Millie. Even for those that seem like they’re doing better than you; you have no idea what they’ve gone through to get there. Sometimes a smile can be the biggest deception.”

I tried to absorb her words, though at the time they rolled off me like water on rain-proof fabric.

“Life is going to push you around. It’s going to pull the rug from your feet, and when you think it won’t get any worse, it will kick you while you’re down.” I looked up at my mother’s big brown eyes. Her next words were softer. “Nothing is fair, and the world owes you nothing. But if you try hard enough, if you look hard enough… you can’t imagine the beauty you’ll find.”

I stare at the cutlery, my mother’s words replacing the faint music in the air, the ramble of the person across from me. I was fifteen and on the verge of quitting my dance studies. I wonder why that memory delved itself out now, here.

“Have you ever been?” he says, pulling me from my reverie.

“No,” I say, hoping he’s still referring to the museum in New York he brought up six minutes ago.

“There’s nothing quite like it. The mixture of cultures and artifacts is incomparable.”

“I’m sure,” I smile, trying to make myself present once again.

Robert continues his monologue about the numerous galleries he’s been to -- in and out of the country. I give an honest effort to immerse myself in what little I know about fine art as we eat our dinner, eventually moving onto a cleared table and glasses of wine as I ask him questions.

“Would you like another?” He reaches for the bottle.

“Actually... I should be getting back.”

“Of course.” Robert nods, signaling our waiter, then pays the tab without fanfare. Outside, street lights glow beneath a blanket of clouds threatening to weep. Ever the gentleman, Robert hails me a cab and slips the driver a bill before I’ve even entered.

We face each other, sharing that universal moment of hesitation after a date. He says he enjoyed my company and takes a step closer. I’m surprised I don’t back away. My heart spins like a jet engine when his mouth touches mine, a million static thoughts burning a hole in my head as I start to give in, tasting his breath, lips perfectly kissable.

I pull away, gasping.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I should go.”

Robert steps respectfully away, swallowing his own excitement. “If you need anything…” A flash of understanding in his eyes coupled with the most heartfelt line he’s said all night. I nod and smile, throat like granite, trying to make my escape without tripping.

I slip into the back seat as he shuts the door, waving to me while I give the cabby a street name. I spend the first five minutes of the trip quietly hyperventilating. The next five a stoic statue.

“Here’s fine.” I have to force some volume to my voice. Three blocks from my house, he pulls over, and I thank him. Equipped with four-inch heels, I finish making my way on foot, the clouds above now misting. I welcome it, something to caress the numbness, stilettos thudding on the damp sidewalk as I drag my feet.

I hoped getting out tonight would be good for me. I managed to forget for a time, a very short time, but now my organs are in one big knot, my dormant heart feeling as if it is physically nonexistent. By the time I reach the steps to my townhouse, I’m clutching my chest, keys shaking in hand as I unlock the door. Once inside, I slide to the floor and let the grief have its way.

~~~

I drift for a long time.

The reality of this room and the hellfire in my head compete for validity, though they're equally excruciating. I wonder how I can still be alive while enduring such pain. Chunks of me taken, the very best pieces of my life, plucked away with no regard. 

Cheek pressed to the hardwood, I stare at the dark sky outside the window of my dark apartment, breathing loudly through a broken, stuttered inhale. Fresh tears occasionally streak over the dry ones.

Losing my mother was a feat I thought I'd conquered. Losing Zack is one I know I never will.

The day we met was witness to one of my darkest moments. I never told him I planned on jumping that day, but something tells me he knew. After my mother died, I spent a lot of time thinking about her. About who I was. How she was always there to give me wisdom, and I was too young and conceited to notice. I took her for granted, along with everything else. She would surely vouch for my kindness, and I would gladly accept it, until the day she was gone and I was yanked from myself. Forced to look at what I really stood for. It kills me to say I wasn’t who she thought I was.

Never overt, always indirect, my self imposed superiority was obvious to anyone outside my social circle, an unflattering trait I carried with me through my first two years of college. Overnight, I was disgusted with myself. Spent weeks loathing a mirror I couldn’t escape, the reflection within something I felt instead of saw. So I went to the park.

I pull myself off the floor and sniffle, thinking about that day. I can still smell the tang of tree sap, the sun on my face, an ocean of voices in my ear. Lifeless, I trudge to my bedroom, peeling off my damp coat, trading heels for boy shorts and a t-shirt. 

My fingers flicker against soft fur.

Still plump as the day we met, I bury my face in the teddy bear -- the same bear I received from Zack on the bridge -- and take him to bed with me. I burrow into the blankets and curl in on myself, squeezing the stuffed animal as my body conjures more tears to spill. I’d think it incredible if I were capable.

Crying on the shoulder of the inanimate object who witnessed the years I shared with Zack, I cling to the memories.

The most remarkable thing about him was his acceptance. Zack was never one to pass judgment. Would make friends with a spider if he were a fly. He taught me self love, helped me on my journey of making amends. Then he asked me to marry him. Our wedding night brings on a new round of tears.

I feel dehydrated, crying so much salt.

Seconds trickle into minutes, time somewhere far beyond my comprehension. I’m only aware any has passed when I’ve cried my eyes dry again, the occasional stammer of breath escaping me, skittering into the dark.

Using the numbness as a shield, I allow myself to recall his face. The way he would smile with his ridiculously symmetric cheekbones. How he’d stare at my skin every time we sat on the couch, fingertips fascinated by the texture of my shoulder, my neck… The erotic, fucking romantic way he would pull me onto his lap and seize my pussy in his grasp, unrepentant. He had a way of moving that was so fluid, so natural and sweet, though his gentle touch always harbored a layer of dominance.

I’d never met anyone with more manners than Zack. But in the bedroom, his possession of me -- something I gave him implicitly -- he couldn’t hide.

Inhaling the bear, I touch between my legs, sighing reflexively. The images play in my mind as I play with myself, fluttering over my clit and down the seam of my panties, the heat of my apex something truly impressive. I whimper into the teddy’s neck, thinking of Zack’s hand. Humping my fingertips the way I would do for him. The things he would do for me…

I am overcome. The tug on my heart and the potency of my longing colliding in a fucked up mixture. 

Without opening my eyes, I thumb off my underwear. On my back, legs spread, teddy on my chest, I sink two fingers inside myself, contracting my pussy to suck on them. I moan in tune with the raindrops on the windows, trying desperately to coax my g-spot just right. God, how I miss Zack’s tongue. His tender lapping, his harsh sucking. Nipping and grazing while he spread my pussy lips apart.

I arch my back, hips dying for more action. Pelvis seeking more friction.

Without thought, I move the teddy between my legs.

The fluffy fibers of the bear embrace my center, absorb my heat, the texture new and welcoming against my delicate skin. I moan aloud, using my hands to massage him into me. Thinking about Zack grinding on top of me. My knees part farther, abdomen going higher, seeking connection with my late husband through the object that brought us together.

Sitting up, I roll to my knees. Laying teddy on his back, I climb on top, straddling him, and instinctually begin.

The animalized pillow is firm beneath me as I fist the cast-aside comforter, humping my stuffed animal into the bed. He’s just round enough to grind myself against, to give resistance to my insistent pussy, the motion of my hips as soothing as a pendulum. Back-forth, harder-slower, I dig into him with my sex, whimpering. Imagining Zack’s hands on my waist, guiding me. Behind my lids I see him, looking up at me, gritting his teeth with pleasure. I press harder, knees miming the wings of a snow angel into the sheets, thinking of his moans when I would lick him clean.

I implore my brain to remember his voice, the fondness in it whenever he was aroused. Every exchange between us -- public or private, kinky or not -- was always laced with love. I felt it the first time I shook his large hand. The same hands that would spank me when I begged. That would soothe me afterward. Instruments that brought me such nirvana.

Sighing as my head rolls back, I continue my crude rhythm, riding my teddy bear. Representing everything I loved and lost.

One hand on my breast, pinching my nipple through the shirt, I grasp the teddy’s head and shift my hips forward.

“Ahh,” I sigh, feeling his button nose against my clit. I increase my pace, bouncing excitedly, naked from the waist down as my noises fill the room. My partner is silent, though he fills me completely.

For the first time in a long time, I lose myself in something other than agony or mediocrity. My mind is on one track only, patterned with desire and gratification. Images churning faster of Zack’s hard body, his beautiful cock, that fuckable mouth saying my name. Teddy’s face is more firm than the rest of him, pressing nicely to my arousal. I can feel it building within me. Awake and eager and very strong. I concentrate on it, encouraging the rage inside me.

With a shameless, thrilling tempo, I cry aloud as I ride the bear’s muzzle, rubbing my wetness into him. Fisting one round ear, I hump impossibly faster, enjoying the edge before I fall.

I hear Zack’s voice in my ear.

“Come for me, doll,” he begs, and though he’s somewhere other than by my side, I submit to him as I always have and always will.

Finally, I have left this earth.

Sublime substance pulsing through me, deeper than skin, I blossom out of the ethereal sprout inside me.

~Two Months Later~

“I think you’re looking at it all wrong, Millie.” My eyes asked him to elaborate. “If we had all the answers, life would be pretty boring, don’t you think?”

“I’m not looking for answers.”

“You’re looking for something. Something you’ve never seen, so you don’t know what it looks like. But it’s out there.”

“And what are you looking for?”

“Oh, same as you: A reason to get through the day. Isn’t everyone?”

“Do you always have existential conversations with people you just met?”

He laughs. “Only on a good day. I’m just saying, I don’t know what comes after this. No one truly does. I don't think we're meant to, you know. Isn't that the point? To know all the answers would leave nothing left, nothing to search for, nothing to gain. Life and death are yin and yang, the balance of existence. Right now you’re alive, but once you’re done, you’re done.

"It’s important to enjoy the little things.”

Hands in my pockets, boots on my feet, I walk down the snow-dusted sidewalk, on my way to meet Robert. Zack’s voice accompanies me. The memory is of the day we met; after I walked away from that bridge with him at my side. We went for coffee, sitting in the corner shop until the sun met the mountains, talking the entire time. The deepest conversation I ever had with someone I barely knew.

It has been easier to think of him lately.

Strolling past patrons of the park, I come upon a staple of the notorious route: A collection of vendors, each umbrella cart offering something different, decked out with fall gifts. I slow as I approach the minimalist outdoor mall.

When a particular good catches my eye, I stop altogether. Staring at it. My lips can’t help but curl into a smile. I raise my head, curious if I can see it from here. Sure enough, a view of the Canyon Park Bridge is in my line of sight. I imagine Zack coming this way. Seeing me. An attraction of the city luring people from everywhere.

I pause when I see her.

Leaning against the rail separating the walk from the dropoff, a woman is staring at the white-capped mountains. Though I’ve never met her, I recognize her.

Turning to the merchant, I give him a sale and a smile, then leave with my purchase, heart lifting with every step. When I’m a meter from her, I approach the bridge.

“… Hey.”

She doesn’t turn. I don’t move. I wait out her uncertainty, and when I finally garner her attention, relating to the pain in her eyes, I smile ruefully. A brand new teddy bear under my arm.

“I’m Millie,” I say, offering my hand.