I proudly present to you part 1 of a three-part short story that I am working on. Its entirety is almost completely finished but, as promised, I want to share with you what I have so far. As I said before I think this is a perfect way to ring in the fall season and most importantly, October due to it’s struggle between ethics, love, and what is right. So please enjoy and **Trigger Warning** to those who are sensitive to violence and fire.
Have you ever met someone and, right away, knew that they were the one for you? Some say that it’s love at first sight, others say it’s fate, I say it’s a biological selection of cosmic proportions. When everything in your being tells you that this person is the one for you. When you can’t sleep because that person is running through your brain, never stopping.
It’s called many things in many different cultures. Love. Enamor. Infatuation.
Beautiful and deadly when it isn’t supported by those closest to you.
Almost like a modern-day Romeo and Juliet.
Our parents both hated the idea of it. She’s too mature for you. She wouldn’t make a good girlfriend.
How would they know? They don’t know her like I do.
They think they know her but they don’t.
They think they know both of us, but they don’t know how much we love each other.
What we would do for each other.
We would kill for each other.
And we did.
It started when we first met.
Her name? It’s too perfect to write down.
My name, well it’s not significant enough.
My parents noticed that I had a crush the first weekend after we met. I was sitting in my room, staring up at the ceiling, imagining our life together, our future. One day we would be living in the same house, our parents could both live with us. All of us under one roof, it would be perfect.
My parents came into the room and asked me if I liked her. I had to play it cool, tell them she was all right. I knew they wouldn’t like the idea. They wanted us to be friends, not lovers. But I know she felt it too, and if she didn’t, she would eventually.
They were so happy to hear they I wanted to be her friend. They said we would start seeing a lot more of each other. She would be new to the area so I would have to make sure to be welcoming. Her first day at school would be soon too so I would have to show her around and make sure she wasn’t bullied or teased. An excuse to be with her all day? Of course I’d jump at that opportunity.
If she was bullied by anyone, I would singlehandedly break them. She didn’t have anything to worry about.
The first day went great. She was ready to go before I was and seemed eager to get to school to know everyone.
The bus ride was filled with conversation and wonder. Her awe at every little thing made my heart flutter and my “infatuation” as they would call it, grow fonder.
My parents suspected something was strange before I got a chance to tell them myself. They knew I was in love, but they didn’t know who with.
“C’mon, just tell us,” they tried. But I knew if I told them, things would only get worse. I was already scared about the feelings I had, feelings I knew I shouldn’t have. Only, the things was, cognitively I knew I shouldn’t have these feelings, but deep down it felt right. Every second with her, in her bedroom, lying next to her, felt right. It felt perfect. I would have to make them see it my way. They would have to understand.
They didn’t understand.
I was able to go three years without them finding out about our love. That’s the longest she’s been able to stay in one place without being moved.
I comforted her through boyfriends and breakups, through body image issues and feelings of hopelessness. I would be her protector, even if she didn’t see it.
When they found out, they threatened to call the police on me. They said I was a freak. They said I couldn’t love her, not like that. It wasn’t right.
But who were they to say that my love wasn’t right? Who were they to make me choose between happiness and loneliness? It’s not my fault they can’t have an open mind like me.
Anyone else would have been understanding. Made arrangements for me to be with her. Anyone but my own parents, the people I should have been able to trust.
When both our parents found out they were furious.
First they took her away from me, that was the worst of it, but then they made her change schools. They didn’t want her to even be able to talk to an abomination like myself.
It happened after another one of our, now routine, arguments.
They came in my room, as they always did, and demanded I explain to them what went wrong.
When I couldn’t, they tried to explain to me the issues that my feelings caused. They tried to tell me that she would have to leave. But I didn’t want to hear it. All I wanted was her next to me, like it used to be, before honesty killed our love.
They suggested that we all sit down together and talk it over, to get some sense into the situation. I didn’t want that. I wouldn’t be able to focus if she were here and parents can be such a hassle to talk to.
It all happened so fast I didn’t realize what was going on until our house was burning to the ground, both our parents hanging on for life inside.
They said they only wanted to help, but if they really wanted to help, they should have validated my love for her. They should have let me be with her.
Here, in my arms, the perfection incarnate sits as we watch my house burn, along with all the memories in them. I pull her closer and utter my apologies over and over again.
She looks up at me and whispers, “It’s okay. They deserved it.”
Thank you all so much for reading this. Did you like it? Hate it? Want more? Like, subscribe, and leave a comment below! And of course, have a fantastic weekend dn remember to Always Respond!