The movie "Constantine" does not belong to me. I'm just using the characters.
He wished she had stayed. Wished that he had grasped her delicate wrist and said, don't go. Instead, he watched the sun rise. Alone. His gum, never that good to begin with, became plastic in his mouth as the sun flowed on purple to blue. Gazing at the skyline, a slight cough escaped from his mouth. For a moment, panic drowned him, followed by derisive laughter over his foolishness.
She missed him, more then she thought was possible. It had been nine days since she had left the rooftop. Nine. And yet…John Constantine haunted her thoughts. Why didn't he call? Why did she want to see him so much? Why…was she so pathetic. Her hand instinctively went to the thin chain around her neck and rolled the amulet along her palm. It had come in her mailbox, a plain white envelope with "Angela" written neatly in broad black ink. That was eight days ago.
Of all the places to see him again, it had to be a coffee shop.
"Black." Her head had snapped at the sound of his voice, soothing with a perpetual edge she could never quite place. Cup steaming in his hand, he turned to go and met her surprised glance.
They sat on a decrepit bench outside, uncomfortable and tense. Neither sure of what to say. She shifted and the streetlight caused the chain to gleam and shimmer. His fingers gently reached and brushed the length of the necklace, slowly traveling downward to touch the amulet. Sparks of fire followed his touch and she shivered. Their conversation was filled with attempts. The silence full of what they could not say.
He walked her to her car. She fumbled with the keys for a moment, regretting that her car had to be such a short walk away.
"John I –" Turning, she almost gasped for he was merely a few centimeters away. She could feel the heat radiate from his presence as he drew even closer.
"Angela…" He whispered, his breath warm against her cheek. And then he was kissing her. Hungrily. Demanding. With sadness…and hope. Her knees weakened and she felt herself melting into his touch. He pressed her against the car and she thrilled at the feeling of the length of his body against her own. Her lips were soft, the sugar of her coffee still clinging to her lips.
They drew away at last, breathing heavily, foreheads leaning against each other. Smiling softly, she reached to cup his face. The words of warning died on his lips as he gazed into her brown eyes. The Great John Constantine was tired of being lonely Another time, another day, perhaps he would be strong enough to let her go. But not today, not now.