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Eucalyptus. The smell of it is thick in the air. I stand here, on the barren, cracked ground, my insides yelling for me to turn around and run away, that I’m making a huge mistake coming here, that everybody was right and that you are a monster. But part of me knows. Part of me is begging to see you, just one last time. To see if there’s still a spark.
I’ve had that dream every night. I go to the separates and I dig a hole deep enough to plant a tree. Then I put my ring in it. It catches light and glints a rainbow all over my skin. I bury the ring and water it. It stays there, resting where it belongs.
Recently, you’ve been in those dreams. You’re with me, holding my hand while I do it. I kept my ring the entire time. It's the only thing I have to remind me of my days at the Separates.
Nobody else knows about this. Or anything that went on there, in the lonely desert, surrounded by sand, sand and only sand. I sometimes wonder if we could find Stolen, the camel. She was a very loyal camel. I liked her - she was stolen from her home, stolen from her family, just like I was. She understood me.
If I told my parents what I was doing, they'd think I was insane. They’d send me back to therapy, which I hated, and try to get me to open up about what happened, which I also hated. Because the only person who could understand what exactly happened was you.
It’s funny isn’t it? When I was back at your place, I wanted nothing more than to be free and escape, to go back home. But now I am free, and I willingly come here to see your face, even if it's just the last chance I have. It’s funny because I want more. I want your arms around me. I want your face close to mine. And I know I shouldn't.
That’s what I hated the most. The uncertainty of you. You’d kidnapped me, put my life in danger, but I loved you too.
All I want is to see you again.
I remember your eyes. They were as deep as the ocean. Looking into them, I felt like I was drowning. The deep blue of your eyes held secrets. I wanted them.
I remember your smile. How the corners of your lips turned up slowly when I talked. I remember your tanned skin. I remember the rough texture of your fingers as they touched mine.
I remember that feeling of safety I had whenever I put my head on your smooth shoulders. I miss it. Although I was on the other side of the world, hundreds of miles away from my home, I almost felt safe there, with just you and me.
I check my phone. 12:00. You’re going to come out any minute now. This time, I see you before you see me.
You’re in a set of dusty clothes. Your messy curls are long, shoulder length, and untamed. You have dirt all around your face. You see me. You recognise me immediately. You’re surprised to see me. To see that I still love you, even after all these years.
Suddenly, I’m back 10 years. I’m back to the night in that plane. When you let go of my hand for the last time. When you say goodbye and I beg for you to stay, under the influence of drugs and anaesthesia but you have to go.
We run to each other. You’re hesitant at first. I envelope my arms around you. Relief floods into your face.
All these years, have you been wondering whether I’d be willing to see you? Have you been anticipating the moment you’d finally be released? Or were you worried that you’d be left all alone again?
Either way, the feeling I’d felt right then was a feeling I hadn’t felt in years, hadn’t felt since the day you left me.
We stay like that, holding each other tight, afraid to let each other go, for what feels like eternity.