I hope you had a great week! I hope you enjoy part 2 to this short story series!
Taboo: Part 2
Starting in a new neighborhood is never easy. In fact, it is one of the most difficult things I ever had to do.
Every “new beginning”, they called it was more difficult than the last. By the fourth move, I just stopped trying to make friends. It was no use to get close to someone only to have to leave them a few months later.
That was my philosophy, up until I met him.
The first time we met was arranged. My parents wanted me to get to know someone in the neighborhood. They wanted me to make friends because they “had a good feeling about this area”. They also always said that.
At first he wasn’t anything to look at. His facial features weren’t too impressive and his physique was underdeveloped, but there was something cute about the way he stared at me that caused me to glance a second time, to give him a second chance.
It started off as a cute love affair. He would send me small things and I would mention them the next time we spoke. It was innocent at first, up until my heart was broken by someone at school.
He was so nice to me, so comforting. I would fall asleep to him reassuring me that I was beautiful, that I deserved someone so much better.
The older we got, the kinder he became. He grew into less of a friend and more of a lover. We would spend hours talking at night until my parents told me to go to bed. We would spend every waking minute with each other.
When I had that issue with my body image, he would always be there to tell me that, no matter my weight, I was beautiful. I would be beautiful for years to come and someone, some day, would be able to appreciate that beauty for what it really was.
I want to say I started loving him when we first met, but the truth is that I never really felt that way about him until a year ago.
I didn’t know if he liked me or not, if he really thought this could go anywhere. After all, having a love like this would be terrible in my parent’s eyes. They would tell us we couldn’t be together because we were just friends. They wouldn’t support our relationship. I just knew that’s how it would go. Maybe he knew that too, maybe I’m the one that’s messed up, I’m the one that needs help and he was just being extremely nice to me.
I knew it couldn’t be. I knew that he had to have some sort of feelings for me because he was always so quick to tell me how beautiful I was. To tell me that he would always be there for me. But he couldn’t love me, it wouldn’t be right.
That was my dilemma. It was a taboo love, but a love that we had to have anyway. It’s been plastered all over the news lately, “love is love” why does it work for them and not for us? It should stretch to us.
So every time I saw him, my heart would skip a shallow beat, my pulse would quicken ever so slightly, and my mouth would lie to him.
It wasn’t until after our Junior Prom that I realized my feelings weren’t just feelings, it was love, undeniable, unexplainable, taboo love. This is my life and I wanted to take control of it. So I did.
His date left him in a fit of anger and I didn’t go with anyone. His parents were out for the night so I went up to his room. I wanted to talk to him. We were alone. I just wanted to talk. I only wanted to talk to him. It became so much more though.
He told me that he felt the same, had felt the same ever since we first met, since he first laid eyes on me.
Everything was coming together. Everything was perfect, for 27 minutes at least.
His parents came home and we weren’t paying attention. They walked in on us and immediately I knew nothing would ever be the same.
They yelled at him, they yelled at me. We were both in trouble, both doomed to watch what could be fall down the drain.
I had to change schools. Move again.
It was all so perfect, why couldn’t they accept that?
They said they were doing what was best, but I know what was best and it definitely wasn’t that.
I ran away one night. I couldn’t take the questions, the accusations of him taking advantage of me. He didn’t take advantage of me, we were in love, are in love.
I wanted to see him again and, from a few blocks down, could tell that something was wrong. There was a strange glow coming from where he lived.
His house was burning down. Between the darkness of the night and the smoke I could barely see. But I heard. I heard the screaming. I heard him screaming. I had to help him. I had to get him out.
I could hear the fire department from far off, but they wouldn’t get here in time. It had to be me.
Not thinking, I took off my outer layer of clothing and dashed inside, hoping I could find him. And I did.
Only, he wasn’t alone.
He was with his family. They were all trapped under a piece of furniture. I could save all of them, but I could also save him and leave his family. They were the ones that motioned I be sent away. They drove us apart from each other.
If I let them live, they would just try to do it again. I couldn’t let them, or anyone, separate us again, ever.
So I saved him and ignored their pleas.
Was it difficult? If I hadn’t been reminding myself of what they did to me then maybe it would have been, but after the fire department came and wrapped us in a blanket I came to a conclusion. A conclusion I wanted to share with him. So I turned to face him as he cried and I whispered, “It’s okay. They deserved it.”
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