A Last Kiss Before I Go (Fiction)

A misting rain falls as I put my car in park. I take a deep breath, fill my lungs with the air they so desperately crave.

I hate goodbyes.

Outside, laughter litters the air. Hesitant steps lead me out of the darkness and into the backyard. Cheers of greeting echo in the night as arms envelop me, and somehow my lips remember to smile. I exchange congratulations and offer well wishes, the world’s greatest performer in front of a sold-out audience.

Four years. Time loves its wings.

Beyond the haze of cigarette smoke, a familiar figure approaches. Eyes dark and sad, he closes the space between us and pulls me into his arms. I catch a hint of Jack Daniels and laundry detergent when he hugs me, just like always.

“Congratulations.” His lips graze my ear, stirring butterflies inside. I close my eyes, do my best to quiet them.

“Thanks,” I tell him. “Listen, we’re leaving early in the morning. I really can’t-“ His hands find mine before I can finish.

“Stay.” The word is a whisper, the promise of everything I once wanted, a hoarse reminder of the hole in my heart that hasn’t fully healed. Tears threaten to spill onto my cheeks, and I’m glad for the rain.

“I can’t.” The words burn as they leave my mouth, scorching the last bridge to our past. I turn to go.

“Wait,” he says. “Let me walk you out.”

We don’t speak as we walk, our steps on the moist ground leaving the last trail of footprints we’ll make together. When I turn to face him again, slow streams of tears trickle down his skin. The rain, as if sensing the mood, begins to fall steadily around us.

In my mind, memories flash. Intimate nights, physical and emotional connections previously unmatched. Lies. Dismissals. A record on repeat, a dance that once seemed endless, now too scratched to play any longer.

“God,” his voice cracks over the word. “I really do love you.”

His lips find mine, wet with tears and rain, salt stinging my tongue. I kiss him, letting go of everything I ever wanted, everything we never had, everything the future might have held.

“I’ll see you soon,” I promise. A lie, and we both know it.

He stands in the driveway as I leave, and I watch his reflection fade as I drive away for the last time.