I've started a story. This is chapter 4.
Ginny - present day
The drumming rain poured down in torrents, hammering against the roof. Monsoon winds howled like banshees in the night. Palm trees swayed dangerously - whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. Lightning and thunder relentlessly rolled through the dark sky. What a cliche, Ginny thought - a storm - a metaphor for the storm in her head, which felt like it was about to explode. The noise made it worse. She closed her eyes - spots flashed, as a thousand needles poked against her eyelids. But worse than the headache were the thoughts rushing through her head. They never stopped whirling around and around, like leaves in a tornado. And they always returned to the same thing. No matter how hard she tried to shift the pattern of her thoughts, they looped back, and memories flooded in.
As she sat in the dark, listening to the rain, willing her headache to disappear, she thought about Duke. She saw his eyes, blue as the summer sky. She felt his hands brushing against her skin, his lips as they kissed her, his body as it pressed against hers. The electric sparks that ignited in her very soul from even just a glance across the room. She yearned for the calming comfort of his presence, and the safety of his arms as they held her close. He’d know what to do - but he wasn’t here, was he? He wasn’t here when she needed him the most. She was hollow inside from missing him.
She was done crying. She got up to pour herself a drink, and stubbed her toe in the dark. “Fuck! fuck! fuck!” she screamed, each syllable getting progressively louder. Maybe if she shouted loud enough, the hurt would somehow be expelled along with the sound waves.
Scotch in hand, Ginny stepped out onto the veranda. She looked at the waves as they lashed against the shore. This was the house of her dreams - ever since she was a child, she'd draw it in art class - red tile roofs, palm trees blowing in the wind, the smiling yellow sun shining down from behind pointy brown mountains - it was a happy house, a happy dream filled with promise. But the reality of it wasn’t quite like her dream. The reality was that the house was empty, and lonely. And the ocean scared her - its vast inky blackness petrified her. The beating waves, higher and higher, endlessly churning, were unnerving. Mostly it terrified her because it beckoned her to walk in. Virginia, it creepily called out. One of the few voices that called her by her real name, Virginia. It would be so easy to just step off the veranda and walk away into the dark sea. So easy ...
Ginny Holiday - rock star. Icon to young women everywhere. She was what every girl wanted to be. Beautiful, with the voice of an angel. Her voice was liquid gold - fluid and shimmery. It could make you weep, it could make you soar to an ecstatic high, it could make you dance into the night. It had the power to do that. But only for everyone else. For all the magic her voice held, it didn’t bring out any emotion in her - Not recently. Not since she found out about Jilly.
