Part of the “Empty Revenge” series.

Aspen pressed play on the TV remote, and a soft R&B song began to play. Biting her bottom lip, she closed her eyes and took in the melody for a few seconds. Putting the remote down, she walked into the kitchen to fill her glass with cold water. No more wine. It made her cry too much already tonight. The music followed her down the hall into her bedroom. Slipping out of her slides, she firmly planted her feet on the cold floor. She welcomed the quick chill. A grounding feeling shot up to the top of her spine, like a firm embrace, rooting her like a tree causing her toes to wiggle and her hips began to dramatically sway. 

Slow dancing with her glass in hand, she mouthed along to the tune. It was sad, slow, and seductive. A very sexy melancholy.  

Aspen raised her arms up and began to twirl. Something about twirling felt so freeing. No one could possibly stay sad or feel alone when twirling. For a moment she could set aside her high hopes for love and forget she was lonely and divorced. More still, she could  start to believe this is what it meant to be free. Independent. Heartache could now vacate the premises. With that thought a smile appeared like the sunrise. 

“Is this what loving yourself feels like?” 

Removing her hoodie, her breast released with a soft bounce. They were her favorite feature, and she admired them in the mirror; large tear drops, soft brown nipples, perfection. Out of her dresser she pulled out a tank top and slipped it on. Aspen’s dance continued. She took her hair out of the messy bun and shook it out. The smell of mango in the summer heat wafted in the air. Running her fingers through her hair a new sensation filled her and she thought, in that moment, that she had never felt her body in an intentional way. The sensory input was potent. 

Her dirty blonde hair was soft and clean, and her hands glided down to her neck; fingers stretched around it and squeezed lightly. Like following a map her hands kept traveling down and across the plate of her chest, finger tips tickling the top of her shoulders. The back of her hands made their way to the outer roundness of her breast. 

Then a flash! With her eyes closed she could see it clearly… Beckett’s hands. Her dancing paused as she let the memory fill her. The last time she was touched. The last time he touched her.