Fabrics

She threw open the closet doors, staring for a moment at the vibrant colors which stood in stark contrast to the black she now wore. She ran her fingers along the fabrics, feeling the soft silks and satins, the cottons and felts. Each one held a different memory, the impression still so strong it was an indelible scar on her psyche.

The red silk she wore to formal, the first time he said he loved her. Growled it was more like it. They were each there with other people. He cornered her outside, grabbed her roughly and crushed his mouth against hers. She pushed him away, demanding to know what he was thinking when her boyfriend was inside at the bar just a few feet away. "BECAUSE. I. LOVE. YOU." he yelled...

The costume she wore to the dated party. The one where he held her close as they danced to "Secret Garden," whispering in her ear how she made him a better man. How he always wanted them to be together. That if he hadn't already done it, he'd drop to his knee at that moment and ask her to be his wife...

The soft cotton of his letters...The smooth satin of the lingerie he bought her...All memories from happier times.

Then there was the midnight blue felt... The shirt she wore the night she caught him kissing another girl as she walked up the stairs of the bar. The night she actually managed the impossible - silencing the entire overcapacity crowd at the Station when she slapped him across the face and threatened the slut who with him.

The black mesh she wore to the winter formal, where she stood in the streets of Alexandria as he screamed at her in a drunken rage. Telling her that she wasn't enough for him. Would never be good enough.

The brown velvet that hugged her body the night she most wanted to forget... Remembering that night, her control shattered.

She grabbed it all. Everything that reminded her of him. The clothes. The letters. The photos. The gifts, there were surprisingly few of those from him despite all she had given to him... All the mementos from their years together.

She lugged it all outside to the middle of Frat Row. Then she topped the pile with the cheap bottle of tequila they'd brought back from Cancun, lit a match and let it burn. As she watched the flames, a sense of peace came over her, filling the void where fear and anger resided for far too long.

The fire had wiped away every last trace of their time together. But the flames failed to remove the memories. The lingering doubts, the echos of his taunts that she wasn't enough. If only those were as easy to erase...

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This week's themes were "felt" and "impression." Go check out the other Theme Thursday stories here.