The rain pounded on the windows, thunder shaking the house’s small frame, lightning dancing across the sky. A symphony with three instruments, a ballet with an orchestra and two dancers. It was horrible. I felt amazing, sitting next to the tall set of glass and watching the earth turn black.

Watching the earth fall to utter destruction.

And yet, I found myself falling into perfect peace and contentment. What was wrong with me? Really, I couldn’t lay down to rest in a flowery meadow with puppies, but I could fall asleep here? I hated myself for it. He was asleep on the couch were I leaned against. His hand dangled off. He had fallen asleep grasping mine, trying to comfort me. It had worked for a moment.

But now, as he was asleep, and night was dark, I felt so alone. Even his incredibly warm body lying above me didn’t work to keep away the frozen ice that shrouded my vision. I shivered, under my sweats and huge sweatshirt. Under his sweatshirt. His hand was on fire, and my hand felt numb in its blizzard. He had stayed here, in this hell of a storm, to keep me company.

My movements were robotic as I moved, slowly, to the porch door. One foot in front of the other on the silver paneled tile. The slight swing of shoulders, and ah, the small arch of my back. The blank expression that covered my face, tasseled my hair and smeared my neck.

It was loud, but strangely soft outside, as if the noise did not reach my ears, but met my brain waves in unison. The air was cold, harsh, unwanted and wild. A foster child meeting its new parents. You don’t like this new town, do you? No, I wouldn’t think so. It’d sure be nice you stayed, though. I might never have to go back into the real world with you here.

I stepped, slowly and just as robotically into the rain. The water – was it only water? – felt amazing against my skin. The dirt washed from my face and I could breathe. I felt the wet air filling my lungs completely before it was released and I was human again. I longed for more of the feeling, shedding the sweatshirt as a hurricane became my heroine.

My arms welcomed the rain, soaking it up deep into my body before asking for more. I was drenched soon, glad that his clothes were not. My legs ached with a pain only known to me. I shed another layer, my calves and feet cringing at contact before sighing deeply. I stood, in my backyard in the dark rain. No lights were visible except for those that shone from my eyes.

The rest of my clothes joined the others, old friends happy to be back together. I spread my arms, soaking up all the rain I could. The raindrops crawled down my chest, my stomach, my thighs, my toes. Curtains hid my eyes, and I saw on feeling alone. The grass was soaked beneath my feet, sticking up between my toes and tickling the bottom. I heard thunder and the pounding of the rain on my roof.

It trickled between the creases in my fingers, into the cells of my body. Hopefully some of the storm would stay secluded in my blood. So that when I die, the thunder will crack the sky, rain will pour, and he will remember this moment. Hot tears fell down my face, my arms wrapping around my body in attempt to hold myself together. Hot with cold, and my face felt numb.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” I heard his voice and froze. I wasn’t dressed at all. I didn’t answer, but stayed in the same position, my hair in my face, my arms around my torso. He was yelling against the storm. I felt the cloth of his sweatshirt back on my shoulders.

“Come on, you’ll get sick out here. Come on.” He found my hand, but his eyes were turned away pointedly. He tugged me inside, handing me my clothes before walking to the piano. He left me standing by the door, its frame wide open. The wind blew in, blowing back my hair and ruffling the sweatshirt. Luckily it was longer than my middle thighs.

“Get dressed.” He mumbled. I slipped on my garments, my sweats and then his sweatshirt again. They were dry, whilst my body was very wet. He played a song, one I knew, and it made me sad.

“Rain, rain, go away. Come again another day…” I wanted the rain to stay, to keep me safe. I didn’t want to see the sun again. I sat down next to him on the bench, silently, letting him play. He was gone, in his own world of storm and chaos. His world was ending too.

The song ended. I was crying again. I was confused. He played another song, hoping to lift my mood, but I stood and headed to the shower. I didn’t start the radio, but the hot water came on soon. I submerged myself in the heated storm, fully clothed. I didn’t feel so guilty on this one since the water wasn’t dirty. I stood, letting the water run down my back and into my hair. Slowly, I shed my clothes to feel the whole heat on my skin.

I heard him singing loudly through the shower noise, and it was harmonious music. I smiled a small smiled, tears feeling cold against the shower. Goose bumps rose on my arms, hugging my body.

When I got around to washing my body, the water had been running for a while. I was losing heat, the tears long gone, but I was fine. Music pounded in my head, playing rhythms over and over again. He was singing still, the song changing every few minutes. Then he stopped, and I became worried. For ten minutes – of which time I was dry and wearing dry clothes – he did not play. I walked into my room, grabbing a pen and pencil and stabbing the paper until there were holes. I cried, saddened at his abandonment. I threw my pencils at the window, my pillow at the wall. I screamed, fell to the floor and grabbed a switchblade.

Then, very softly, the piano played.