THE LAST SANDOVAL

“Ahh, ahh, ahh!” I screamed continuously, my voice breaking with every thrust.

He drove into me again, harder, deeper, until I could barely breathe.

Will’s body tensed too, and then he was still, his final groan spilling into the silence that followed.

“Fuck,” he muttered, collapsing beside me, his arm still draped over my waist.

For a moment, all I could hear was the sound of our breathing, ragged, heavy, human.

I looked away, my chest still rising and falling. “Let me get some air, Will.”

Four Years Ago

I was walking home from school, completely drained after a long day of classes. My stomach grumbled loudly. I was starving.

I stopped by a roadside food stall, hoping to find something appetizing. But all I saw was bread, canned sardines, and boiled eggs. I wasn’t in the mood for any of those, so I kept walking. By the time I reached my neighborhood, I still hadn’t found anything worth eating.

I ducked into a small store and ended up buying a loaf of bread for 100 francs, a chocolate bar for 50, and a sachet of juice for another 100. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do for now.

After getting home, I crashed on my bed and slept. When I woke up, it was dark outside, and my stomach was growling again. Cooking was out of the question, so I decided to get roasted fish. It was almost the end of the month, and I was low on cash, but I craved something good. I prayed the cheaper fish would still be available where I usually bought them, because that was my only option at that time.

As soon as I stepped outside, the night air hit me, thick with the scent of grilled meat and fish. The streets buzzed with life, bars, music, and people laughing. This was the heart of nightlife around campus.

I made my way to my usual spot, Auntie Ti’s. She sold the best roasted fish in the area.

We were close like that; I bought from her all the time.

I looked at her grill, only one fish left for 1,000 francs. Just as I reached for it, another hand did too.

“I took that first,” I said quickly.

“I don’t think so,” a deep voice replied.

“I think so,” I shot back.

He laughed softly. “It’s fine, there are plenty of others. I’ll wait.”

That’s when I realized we weren’t even pointing at the same fish.

“I don’t like the big ones,” I said defensively.

I caught the glint in his eye and frowned. “Eww, I was talking about the fish!”

I rolled my eyes, trying not to smile. Auntie Ti handed me the fish, and I paid before turning to leave, only to find the guy standing right behind me.

“Hey,” he said.

“I’m Will. Or William, or whatever you want to call it,” he stammered, then gave a sheepish smile.

I laughed. “Okay, Will, short for William, what do you want?”

“It’s Ash,” I said.

“Of course, you do.”

He laughed. “Can I have your number?”

I rolled my eyes, but found myself giving it to him anyway.

Later, on my way home on a motorbike, my phone vibrated. I didn’t check it until I got home safely.

Hi, it’s Will. Just checking if you got home safe.

I smiled; it had been a while since anyone cared enough to ask.

Before I could type again, my phone rang. It was my boyfriend, Ben, way to ruin the moment.

“Hello,” I answered flatly.

After the call, I saw another text from Will:

Sleeping already?

No, I was on a call.

Okay, love.

Don’t call me that.

Okay, Ashy.

Better.

Alright, Ashy. You eat and have a good night's sleep. I’ll call you in the morning.

Goodnight, William.

Back to the Present

I had called Will to talk, to really talk, but before we knew it, our desire took over. I loved him deeply, but I couldn’t do long distance. I wasn’t built for it.

“I love you, Will. You know I do. But I can’t do long distance, you know that,” I said softly.

“But you love me,” he argued, desperate. “That should be enough. Why does distance have to break us?”

“Love, please,” he said, his voice cracking. “You know I love you. Don’t do this, Ashy.”

“Will…”

“You’ve stopped calling me ‘babe’ already? It’s just Will now?”

“What about what I suggested?”

He looked defeated. “What do you want me to do, Ashy?” His voice trembled, and it broke my heart. Tears welled in both our eyes.

“We can make this work,” he whispered, pulling me close. “I’ll wait. I love you, Ashy.”

That was it. I broke down completely. We cried together until we couldn’t anymore.

When he finally pulled away, he said quietly, “I'd better get going. Your mum will be home soon.”

“I’m sorry, babe,” I said through tears.

The look he gave me before walking out haunted me for over a year.

I remember sitting there for a long time after he left, the air still warm with his scent, that mix of his cologne and my body lotion. The sheets were tangled, damp with sweat and tears, and I just sat there, staring at the door like he might walk back in. But he didn’t. The silence stretched until it felt alive, until it wrapped itself around me like punishment.

I tried to convince myself I did the right thing. That ending it before I left was mercy, for both of us. But the moment I heard his car start outside, something in me cracked. I wanted to run after him, to take it all back, to tell him I’d wait. But I didn’t. I stayed frozen, because that’s what I was good at,  pretending to be strong while falling apart inside.

That night, I didn’t sleep. I kept replaying everything: his laugh, the way he said my name, the way he looked at me like I was his entire world. Every detail felt heavier in the dark. The sound of his voice lingered in my head like an echo I couldn’t escape. Even when I finally closed my eyes, I could still feel the warmth of his body against mine, could still taste the salt of my tears on his lips.

Days passed, but the ache didn’t fade. I avoided his calls, not because I wanted to, but because I knew hearing him would destroy me. He left voicemails I couldn’t bear to listen to. Sometimes I’d press play, just to hear his voice start with “Ashy…” and then stop it before he said anything else. I told myself it was better this way, that distance would make it easier.

When I finally packed for my trip, I found the hoodie he’d left at my place. It still smelled like him. I almost threw it into the bag, then stopped. Taking it with me felt like refusing to move on. Leaving it behind felt like erasing him. In the end, I folded it neatly and placed it back in the drawer, pretending that made it easier.