Forever & Always: A Novelette

Chapter I: Breaking Point

     “I want you to tell me the truth!”

     Her raspy voice echoed in the night air. Fists curled, her nails pushed into the soft pink flesh. Anxious heat rose in her stomach, swirling with an increasing temperature. Beads of sweat began dampening her blotched skin.

     “For once in your life – your sporadically confused life – just be fucking honest!”

     Tears flowed down her cheeks, pooling at the bottom of her chin before plopping down onto the tip of her sneaker. Her bloodshot eyes burned into his. He could not look away, caught in her fiery blaze of suffering. Tears of his own began to swirl, a liquid glaze of glass on the verge of breaking. Quickly, he swiped them away before one could fall, sniffling as he did so.

     “It’s not that simple,” he muttered, looking everywhere but at her. “There are certain circumstances you don’t understand.”

     “Then for God’s sake, say it!”

     Throwing her hands up, they pitifully fell in defeat, slapping against the sides of her legs. She let out an exasperated sigh, attempting to rid some of the frustration swelling inside her gut. Chest heaving, her brows furrowed in struggle. She reached out, softly grabbing his wrist, voice dropping into that sweet, desperate plea, “Tell me...please.”

     His shoulders hiked up to his ears, her touch barely alleviating the tension. A deep pang rocked his chest as he felt her, noting how she reached out. Even when she hurt and raged, she held onto him. It did not matter if her heart was breaking; she would simply tape it back together, placing it aside while she focused on him. Any budge of the frail bind, another piece of tape would wrap it back together. And that broke his entirety.

     “I know I should tell you,” he nodded, looking down at his hands. “I just…can’t.”

     Taking in his words, she bit the inside of her lower lip, trying to suppress the urge to cry. That feeling began creeping up within her, causing her hands and knees to shake, plaguing her body. Her gaze lowered, staring at their feet as she released his hand. “Johnny, this is too much.”

     She spoke softly, her tone thick with tears waiting to be shed, “The lack of communication, the lying and avoidance, the moodiness…it’s too much. I can’t do this anymore.”

     Johnny saw the shift in her – how she curled up into herself, refusing to look back up at him, her cold tone, the depths of true pain – he realized she was serious. Alarms began blaring in his head as he registered her words, dreadfully hoping it was one of her pranks.

     “We’re not officially together, and there’s already this much drama. One minute you’re all over me, saying you care and need me; the next you push me away like I’m some toy on the top shelf. You close off from me and won’t talk to me, leaving me high and dry…I’m not going to put up with it anymore, Johnny.”

     With every word, the tape on her heart dried up and peeled off, disintegrating into a putrid black smoke filling her lungs as though she could not breathe. She knew she needed to do this, that it was for the best. But doing so felt like dying. A bit of her soul crushed up into ashes, suffocating her.

     “It’s better if we don’t see each other anymore.”

     And there they were; the words they both dreaded to hear. Johnny stared in disbelief, praying she would break out into a fit of laughter, telling him it was all a joke. But nothing of the sort left her lips, and it macerated him.

     “No, Donnie, please,” his voice lightly pleaded, sounding so helpless, almost childlike. She had never heard him use that tone before. A new and unusual sound, it encompassed impotence, dejection and a hint of, what appeared to be, fear.

     “It’s too late, Johnny. I’ve tried and tried, and it’s been no good…we just don’t work.”

     “Yes. Yes, we do. Don’t say that, baby. You and I are–,”

     “We’re what? We’re a couple of young adults who can’t even be honest about whether we want to be in a relationship or not. We don’t know what we want, and we can’t figure it out.”

     This time he reached for her hand, cupping it in both of his, “That doesn’t mean we have to just quit everything.”

     Donnie let out a small weep, pulling her hand away as she took a step back. Each tread felt like a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of her already struggling form.

     “Donnie, wait, just wait,” he begged, reaching for her suit jacket. Gripping her lapels, he pulled her back into his arms, as though physical proximity would be the cure. A hint of cologne flooded her senses as his hand tugged into her jacket pocket, inching her closer. Agony filled her chest as she savored his scent, knowing it was the last time.

     “Donnie, please,” he whispered, hugging her as though he was holding onto his life. He pleaded for her, a cry for help in this moment of struggle. “Please, I can’t lose you.”

     But it was too much for her. Donnie wanted nothing more than to hug him back, basking in his warmth. She caught herself involuntarily gripping his shirt, her hands crinkling the soft fabric before immediately releasing it. Doing so would only continue the cycle, having her fall back into the loop she was all too familiar with, and she could not repeat it again. She needed to get away, quickly.

     “You already have.”

     With a swift push, she broke the link and rushed off, trying to create as much distance as possible. Fumbling with her keys, she sat in her car, hands trembling as the ignition shakily started. Once the car sped off, the floodgates burst.

Chapter II: Funeral Ice

     Everything was cold. The air in the church was still, not a single breeze allowing a moment of warm relief. There was a chill in the stagnancy. Not soothing like a cool summer’s night but rather a static, icy suffocation. Every breath Donnie took locked her throat in a frozen chokehold. It swelled up, saliva moistening it as she made her way toward the center of the sacred vault.

She faced the casket, feeling as though she would go into cardiac arrest when she gazed upon him. With every inhale, she choked up more and more, causing her constricting lungs to take tiny breaths. But the icy pain was too great as it seared her eyes, causing her to crumble.

       Placing her palm atop his folded hands, crystal tears flooded down her cheeks as she winced in pain. There was no stopping the overflow of emotion plopping onto the floor, causing others to slip out a sob of their own. Other mourning eyes watched her interaction from the sides of the elaborately painted church walls, some sitting in the carved wooden chairs. Chills racked her body as the flower erratically vibrated in her grasp, a dance accompanying her sorrowful song.

       A hand was placed upon her shoulder, offering her comfort. However, nothing could soothe the frost crystallizing in her throat. Each struggled gasp was a pause from the rough expulsions. But just like the hand, it fostered no solace.

       He appeared different. While she could tell it was him – the resting body appearing like him – something was off. It was missing something…a sense of liveliness. The texture of his skin was different. Makeup filled his pores, attempting to hide the grey discoloration. What was once perfectly smooth skin now creased in dry, cakey layers. She looked upon him, but she knew he was not there anymore. He was gone. And the thought only caused the pain to travel, encrusting a layer of ice in her chest. With each sob ringing off the church walls, a portion of her heart slowly solidified into a chunk of blue hailstone. It was too much. Everything was too cold.

Chapter III: Always Waiting

“Meet you there or wait for you to come to me?”

She stared at the text she just delivered. Funny how even asking about transportation reminded her of their predicament. She could have met him at an agreeable halfway point, allowing them to level on the same playing field. It would have been an equal sacrifice, a balanced effort. A level of understanding would have been mutually established between them.

“Wait for me.”

“Of course you would say that,” Donnie mumbled to herself, plopping her chin into her hand. Rather than meeting in the middle, he wanted her to sit there, patiently awaiting his arrival. Johnny was always running late. Never a man of his word.

She sat on the steps of her front porch, smoothing out the skirt’s black fabric along her lap. Her phone was her mirror, checking her appearance every few minutes to make sure no makeup was smudged. The summer’s evening air was warm, the cool breeze softly wisping through her hair. She would always give him a fifteen-minute lee-way – after all, it was life, things happen – but it would never be enough. The quarter of an hour would drag into twenty minutes…then thirty…until forty-five minutes would pass when his bike headlights would finally shine down her driveway.

At that moment, all previous worries were stuffed in the file cabinet in the back of her brain, stored for later. All forty-five of those problems that arose with each ticking minute – leaving her worrying, assuming she got stood up – they all ceased to be important. They would bubble up again, next time she would sit on the porch, twiddling her thumbs. But as for now, she tugged her white, crispy shirt as she stood, watching him make his way toward her.

     “Hey, beautiful,” he smirked with that voice, smoothly deep and thick. A tone any girl would lust over.

     The evening wind gently blew through his dark locks as he glided toward her with swift ease. Knowing she would wear her favorite business-casual attire, he decided to match, dressed in a black vest overlapping a white button up. Donnie’s smile involuntarily continued growing at the sight of his approach. Something about him always had her in a tight chokehold. It did not matter what he did; when she saw him, she could not help but smile.

     “Sorry I was running a little late. Had a little complication with the parents.” He placed a gentle kiss upon her cheek, instantly causing them to flush pink.

     She shook her head, “That’s alright. I wasn’t waiting long…was running a bit behind myself.”

     She was unsure of why she lied. Maybe it was to make him not feel so guilty. Lord knows she always put others before herself.

     “Oh, then it worked out well for the both of us. Perfectly synced.”

     His hands wrapped around her waist, slowly pulling her against his large frame. He looked down at her, admiring her features glowing in the twilight. Her eyes glistened, the hazel hues of green and brown burning bright as they stared up into his. He tipped her chin up toward him.

     “If it weren’t for our pre-established plans, I’d stand here and fawn over you all evening.”

     He leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on her cool, plush lips, the perfect spot. Her hands slid up his forearms, reaching the tip of his rolled-up sleeves as she caressed his skin. The electricity between them spiked with intensity, even at the slightest touch. Sparks would light from just one glance. Their chemistry was uncontrollable, unavoidable when they were in the presence of one another.

     After a moment’s beat, he softly pulled back, his nose brushing against hers as he did so, “Come on, baby. Let’s get going before I lose myself in you completely.”

Chapter IV: Funeral Ice

The bereaved formed a circle along the church walls as the priests came from behind the golden alter doors. The entire interior was hand painted, depicting holy saints and events. Blues, yellows, burgundy and gold decorated majority of the walls as numerous halos were drawn. Different mandalas traced the ceiling and sides with tiny details, embodying the intricately tedious composition. Small altars were propped up throughout the room with numerous bills lying atop them, ranging from singles to fifties. The saints’ pictures glimmered beneath the large golden chandelier illuminating the entire room. The casket rested in the center, the top half open. Numerous bouquets were propped on easels: roses, lilies, carnations, gladiolas all bundled in the dozens. Thick, white ribbons held messages from family members in a poetic fashion.

One priest, draped in white with thin, blue, intricately sewn patterns falling down the sides, began singing a prayer. His accomplice – dressed in similar attire bathed in all gold hues – began harmonizing, his tone deep like the Mariana Trench.

     “Johnny Jones was taken from us too early,” the priest began to preach, finishing his song. “But from one dark corner, a new light is discovered. Johnny is with thy Almighty God and our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, waiting for him at the temple gates with open arms.”

     Donnie glanced around at the room full of people, listening to the fresh sobs emanating from the priest’s words. Women cupped their mouths, poor attempts at choking back their cries. Men clasped their hands, dropping their heads in disbelief. A group of boys all stood next to one another, Johnny’s boys. Their stances mimicked the older men, but some could not hide the heavy glaze in their eyes. One of them had a stream of tears gliding down his cheeks. Each of them were tailored in black suits with a red carnation in their breast pockets and a pair of white gloves in their grasps. Her heart ached at the sight of the gloves, dreading the moment they would be slipped on. Even more so, the time they would be removed.

     She continued eyeing the crowd, scanning other’s emotions as a weak attempt to take her mind off her own. Her eyes travelled until they realized another pair were staring right back at her. Johnny’s mother, Mrs. Jones, glared at her with a hatred no words could describe. She barely blinked, her eyes never budging.

     “Donnie,” was the light whisper from Mrs. Jones’s gritting teeth. Her entire frame shook with a heated rage.

     The girl, unsure of what to do, simply took a deep breath, another chunk of her chest painfully crystalizing into a frosty glacier. She was always aware of Mrs. Jones’s disdain for her; it was blatantly obvious. But she never understood why. It was always an unsettling thought, to know the mother of her lover disapproved of her.

     Former lover…

     Her eyes began to water again, but she bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to cease displaying her heartache. Small beads of sweat formed on her upper lip as she picked at her cuticles, continuing to listen to the priest’s speech.

Once he finished, every mourning attendee waited in line, wrapping around the back of the casket toward the front door of the church where a man stood with two baskets of white carnations at his feet, waiting to be handed to each guest. This was the last time everyone was able to say their goodbyes before the lid shut for good. Numerous feet shuffled behind one another, the only sound coming from their steps as the priests sang hymns to fill the dreadful silence. Donnie stood close to the wall, away from everyone, watching the line steadily grow as folks who waited outside came to join the procession.

One by one they approached the coffin, crossing themselves before cupping their hands over his, bestowing a kiss on the gold guilded cross lying on white satin. Some rested their cheeks upon his forehead, caressing him, frowns deeply tugging the sides of their mouths as though their lips yearned to plant a final kiss. While most of the men remained stoic – crossing themselves, furrowing their brows, pursing their lips as they gave a single nod – the women were different. They approached the casket, mouths pressed into a thin line; and as they got closer, withholding their tears became incredibly difficult. It was as though the air was replaced with tear gas; the eyes could not help but water. Every time it occurred, the women would hunch over, their frames too weak to support themselves. Some mumbled phrases, asking, “Why, God, why?” or “What a tragedy!” But most remained silent, shaking their heads in disbelief as if it was all a horrendous mirage they could not comprehend.

     The room suddenly became deadly silent as Mrs. Jones approached her son. She looked frail and discolored with her sloppy movement, as though his death sucked the life out of her too. The black dress she wore hung off her skinny form, like laundry airdrying on a clothesline. Black ballet flats scraped across the church floor as her frizzy hair swayed in her face. What used to be blonde curls was now untamed grey grow-out. Ever since the accident, she barely brushed her hair let alone colored it. Simple chores like a root touch-up were gruesomely difficult tasks, ones that would take hours to complete or left untouched entirely.

     “Baby,” she shakily whispered as she looked down upon him. “My baby…m-my sweet, sweet boy…”

     Her entire frame trembled as each word seemed to shed another layer of her façade. Not a single body moved. Every person in the room had their eyes on her, waiting to see what she would do. Because deep down they knew. There was no greater pain than the loss of a child.

     Mrs. Jones lowered her head into his chest as she began completely breaking down, unable to breathe from the pain she was experiencing. Her boney knees shook terribly, blue and green veins creeping along her pale flesh as her cries bounced off the walls, an orchestra of suffering clouds thundering in pain. She slowly began collapsing, her body giving out as she wept over her son’s body.

     Mr. Jones came up to her, grasping her shoulders in an attempt to provide aid, “Come on sweetheart. Let’s catch a breath outside.” She obeyed his soft command, weakly following him outside while her harmonious wails echoed in guttural screeches – two different entities living in one depleted vessel.

     Wishing to continue the process, the next person approached the casket. A fresh face with fresh tears. Realizing no one was coming to join the line, Donnie stood behind the last person, slowly stepping closer to the coffin once again. Each person said their goodbyes until her turn finally arrived. Donnie stepped back up to the casket, taking in all his features, attempting to memorize as many details as possible for the final time: his lips, the shape of his nose, his broad shoulders, trimmed nails that were always clean-cut, the scar slashing through his right eyebrow.

     However, he appeared different. His entire frame was smaller, not full like whence he lived. His cheeks hollowed, accentuating the bones protruding beneath skin. Whatever tint colored his lips now, beneath the light, began to chap. But the oddest of all was how his chest never moved. Of course it would not, the notion being supernaturally impossible; she understood this. However, the entire concept was unfathomable.

     Just breathe…Donnie thought, as though she possessed the ability to telepathically speak with him. Just breathe like you always did…please?

     She knew he was not going to, but the idea could not leave her mind, like an irritating mosquito buzzing around her ear. Perhaps it was her brain unable to welcome reality. Everything happened too quickly; it was impossible to accept. How could she accept what she could not begin to comprehend? Yet here it was right in front of her, shoving itself into her widened sockets, forcing her to see.

     An Ecuadorian red rose was in her possession – the long, emerald-green stem holding a beautifully bloomed bud. Blood red petals enveloped one another in a tight embrace, holding onto each other for survival. They softly leaned on one another; their silky layers sliding in between Donnie’s fingers as she caressed them. It was the perfect blossom.

     “So I can be with you forever and always.”

     Gently, she rested the flower on the white satin, right beside him. The luxuriantly vibrant colors clashed against the snowy fabric, perfectly cushioning it next to him. There was a comfort in knowing the rose would stay with him forever – knowing it was going to remain in the casket, sleeping forever; it provided her a sense of peace. A portion of the frozen chunk within her chest thawed, warming her up just the slightest.

Chapter V: The Carnival

     That early evening, he picked her up in his car, the heat too much to bear without air conditioning. The tinted windows rolled down as the summer heat whipped through her hair, humidity creating a frizz fest atop her freshly curled locks. She wore a white cotton halter top which stuck against her lightly dampened skin. A plaid grey skirt was appropriately fashionable for the evening’s event. Meanwhile, Johnny wore a white T-shirt paired with black cargo shorts. His hoodie was thrown in the backseat, clearly not needed for the time being. Cruising toward the annual town carnival, the evening sun continued blazing down with a drowsy orange ferocity.

     Johnny was quiet for majority of the drive. Even when he picked her up, Donnie noticed the subtle reserve. Playing it off, she cracked jokes, acted extra cheerful and occasionally, softly touched him, attempting to ease him out of his moody shell.

     But he would not have any of it. His fingers firmly grasped the steering wheel while his eyes remained plastered ahead. An occasional grunt would leave him, indicating he was listening to her rambling. His posture was rigid, pushing his spine into the seat.

How odd. This was not his usual behavior. He happily texted her an hour before he was getting ready to head out. What could have been the issue? Her lips quieted as her mind raced with possibilities. The entire rest of the drive was silent, the only sounds coming from the outside world. It was as though she was stuck in a lidless jar, the tense air stifling within the glass walls as she tried jumping up, unable to reach the top.

     Once he shifted the gear into park, and they exited the car, Donnie let out a sigh of relief, as though she could finally breathe again. The roar of the carnival beckoned her up ahead. Its lights, shrieks from excited children, music filling the air along with delicious scents – it was all-encompassing. A cheerful aura emitted from the entire establishment. Children and teenagers were racing all over the place, rushing into lines for the Zipper and deep-fried Oreos. They hung out in large groups of six and smaller numbers, enjoying the quality time with their parents. Then there were the couples walking hand-in-hand as they basked in each other’s presence. A special liveliness oozed from the booze tents, parents and pals mingling with new acquaintances as they waited for the workers to slip the “21 & Over” wristbands around their hands. Donnie felt a freedom throughout the crowds, as though no issues were important during this evening of pure joy and excitement.

     “What do you wish to do first?” She asked Johnny eagerly, a slight bounce in her footing. “Should we do rides? Eat some heart disease-inducing food? Oooh, maybe lemonade!”

     While the excitement continuously bubbled inside her system – even prior to ingesting sugar – her companion was not reciprocating in the slightest.

     “I’m gonna’ go get a beer,” was all he said before quickly walking past her, heading directly for the white canopies.

     Donnie stood there, momentarily frozen in confusion. Did she do something wrong? What the hell just happened?

     Unsure of whether to follow or give him space, she went in search of the lemonade stand, alone. Her eyes wandered, observing all the different types of carnival attendees and how they went about enjoying their night. People-watching was one of Donnie’s specialties; she loved seeing how different folks functioned on a daily. After all, there was a lot to learn about a person when you witness how they go about on a lunch break. Seeing the cheerful giggles and large smiles, she lived vicariously through them, trying not to focus on Johnny’s ditching her for alcohol.

     “What can I get you?”

     Donnie raised her head to see a fine young man within the large kiosk. He had short, blonde hair with ravishing ocean blue eyes which twinkled under the fluorescent lighting. They completely captivated her attention as she could not bear to look away.

     “J-just a lemonade please, no flavoring or nothing like that.”

     “You got it.”

     He had pearly white teeth – perfectly straight with that beautiful smile. There was a warm, inviting presence about him. He was cheerful, as though he was genuinely enjoying his time. She could not look away as he concocted the sugary beverage. A few times she caught him catching glimpses at her, a small smirk on his face every time he did, just as sweet as the lemonade.

     “One delicious lemonade, no flavoring.”

     “Thank you,” she replied, trading eight dollars for the large plastic cup.

     “You here by yourself?”

     “Umm,” she lightly chuckled. “That’s a trick question. I’m here with someone…but it’s as though I came solo.”

     “Well, if he doesn’t come around, I get off in an hour, if you’d like to hang with someone at the carnival. I’m Troy.”

     She gave a sincere grin, “Thanks Troy, but I got to go find my missing person. I’m Donnie. Maybe I’ll see you around?”

     “For sure, Donnie. See you around.”

     He flashed another perfect smile, holding her gaze for a moment longer. Staring back, Donnie was getting caught in the current of those crispy blues, being pulled out to a dreamy sea. She rushed off before he could witness the blush heating up her cheeks.

     Exploring the carnival’s contents, she walked around for a while, sipping on the perfect blend of tangy sweetness. Her mind kept creeping back to Johnny, her smile slightly faltering as she wondered why he still had not texted her to regroup. But every sip of lemonade made her think of Troy’s kind words, his essence within the liquid goodness, and her smile returned immediately.

     There was a fright house – lord knows she was not going to take a chance in there – along with a mirror maze, a bunch of classic rides and rigged games that were nearly impossible to win. All the adorable, yet mostly repulsive, stuffed animals dangled from tent ceilings, menacingly staring into every carnival goer’s soul who passed by. The sun had finally set, and while it was still a hot night, a pleasantly cool breeze blew throughout the activity. Mixed with the energy vibrating within the happy chaos, the night possessed such zen. It felt as though the entire world was happy. All except one.

     Donnie walked toward the white canopies filled with parents and old friends conversing, their plastic cups filled with foamy golden bliss. Everyone was deep in conversation, many bursting out laughing from one’s hilarious story retelling. Johnny automatically stood out. His appearance immediately contrasted the rest with his style and tall, slim physique. Leaning against a tree, his silver chain bracelet glistened under the floodlights as he took a sip of his own golden bliss.

     Furrowing her brows, Donnie watched his unusual behavior: his avoidance, silence, isolation, even his expression. Gaze focused on the ground, his own brows furrowed as he bit his inner cheek. Clenching his jaws, he took a deep breath, accentuating his beautifully sharp jawline. He seemed to be deep in thought. Oh, how she wished she could probe into that mind of his.

     She began making her way toward him, going around the swarm of chatter and booze-induced cackling. Within a second, she almost lost her footing as a man collided into her, his large frame causing her to harshly stumble backward.

     “Oh, I’m so sorry, hon,” the man said, his words lightly slurred. His arm was cautiously extended, ready to catch her as if she were the intoxicated stumbler.

     “That’s alright.” She gave a quick grin of reassurance before continuing her trek, wiping the spilled beer off her arm.

     Johnny stared into his cup, lost in search as though the answer would be revealed in the grain at the bottom. Uninterested in any of the surrounding partakings, he never lifted his head. Within those dark eyes was a focus centered in another realm, travelling deep, deep into the back of his mind, hiding in the melancholic shadows where none would disturb. He disassociated, not caring if the carnival were to suddenly set ablaze – the fire already searing behind his eyes.

     “Hey,” Donnie softly greeted, stopping a couple feet in front of him.

     “Hey.” His voice was low, abrupt, his mind occupied somewhere else.

     She took another step toward him, her hand reaching out to touch him. The air was a bit quieter, pulling their attention toward one another and out of the whirlwind of life.

     “What’s a matter?” Her tone was gently inquisitive as her soft eyes twinkled, calling out to him.

     “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong,” he mumbled, looking down at his plastic cup before taking another swig.

     “Come on,” she persisted, taking a step closer. Her nearness intervened with his beer, causing him to drop the cup to his side, focusing solely on her. “Something’s been off since you’ve picked me up. I know when you’re upset. What’s wrong?”

     He stared down at his feet, index finger tapping the plastic cup at his side. The underlying tension was especially evident tonight. His rigidity alone was a massive warning. She gave him a moment, not wanting to rush him.

     “It’s alright,” he shrugged. “Just some problems at home before I left.”

     “You want to talk about it?”

     He paused, gazing into her doe eyes shining up at him. He studied them, noticing the hint of green blending into brown. He shook his head, “No, I’ll be fine. I’d rather just enjoy my time with you.”

     “Well, if you ever want to talk,” a genuine grin spread across her glossed lips. “I’m all ears.”

     He huffed a smirk, admiring how the carnival lights shined in her irises. Sliding a strand of hair behind her ear, he placed a kiss upon those pink lips, marking the first time he kissed her in public. They were not ones for public displays of affection, but at that moment, he could not have cared less who saw. If anything, he wanted everyone to see; so they would know who she chose, who she wanted to be with.

     Donnie cupped the side of his face, deepening the kiss further. A soft grunt flowed out of his throat, igniting butterflies within her stomach. There it was again, that undeniable chemistry, only growing with each passing moment.

     “Want to go on the Tilt-a-Whirl,” Johnny mischievously asked against her lips, hesitantly drawing back. His voice was slightly gruff from the intimate caress, a small pant trying to steady his racing heart.

     An uncontrollable, child-like smile instantly spread across her face, travelling from ear to ear. He admired how youthful and happy she appeared, like a young’un trying candy for the first time.

     “Took you long enough to ask,” she giggled, tugging him toward the ticket booth.

Chapter VI: Funeral Ice

     One of the white carnations stood in her clammy hands as Mr. Jones spoke his eulogy. Tears softly rained upon the gentle petals, watering the flower. Standing under the gray, drizzling clouds, everyone gathered around the gravesite, intently listening to what the mourning father had to say.

     “Johnny was a helluva’ kid…active, intelligent, driven, determined. He knew what he wanted and strove to get it. Ironically, his favorite thing in the world was the fall of him…”

     His words trailed off as he roughly wiped his teary eyes, dark circles exposing the fatigue hiding behind his resigned expression. His frame was smaller, skinny legs struggling to support his hunched shoulders. He appeared fifteen years older. A man tormented by the slow torture of time and broken bonds.

     “I-I’m glad he had the privilege to pass doing what he loved. May he ride to glory as we wait to rejoin him.” He turned toward the casket now shut, fate sealed, placing a helmet upon the lacquered wood, “I love you, son.”

     Crossing himself, he kissed his fingers, pressing them on the enameled wood. The pall bearers patted him on the shoulder as he returned to his spot beside Mrs. Jones, grabbing her hand. But Mrs. Jones – a woman who never could control her emotions when it pertained to family – was incapable of hiding her wince well enough. Donnie caught that expression, and though having seen her only a few times, understood its essence completely.

     One by one, every person walked by the coffin for the last time. The pall bearers placed their white gloves atop the dark oak while everyone else had their carnations ready – their final gift, a final offering to him. A form of telling him he was loved and would always be loved.

     Rather than getting back into another line, Donnie detached from the group, not wishing to visit the coffin again. There was no need for her to give a final offering, because a piece of her would always be with him forever. She said her goodbyes when that red rose laid down beside him. Instead, she kept the white carnation – a memory for herself – twirling it between her fingers as she began walking away. Numerous tear-stained eyes followed her as she was the only one to begin leaving.

     Out of her peripherals, she spotted Mrs. Jones. She had not been eating, and it was evident in her frailty. Her boney shoulders slumped over, making her lanky frame appear creature-esque underneath the black fabric. A group of family and friends circled around her, attempting their best efforts at comfort; but it was no good. Here eyes were glued onto Donnie, glaring at her with the hate of a venomous bite.

     Keeping her spine erect, Donnie pulled her shoulders back and tilted her chin up. Now that Johnny was gone, the need to gain her approval evaporated into a cloud of black smoke. The mother’s glare could not affect her anymore. They were simply two strangers from a former life.

     “That girl…that slut,” Mrs. Jones began to spit with hot, poisonous repulsion. “I told him she was trouble; that he should’ve left her in the dust…but he kept giving into her temptations. That filthy snake. That whore! Damn you!! DAMN YOU!!!”

     Mrs. Jones burst into a fit of wails and screams, heaving onto all fours as her tears watered the dying grass. She roared at Donnie, wide-eyed and bloodshot. Her spine stretched through the back of her dress as she gasped for air, her hands ripping tufts of green from the ground. She morphed into an inhumane beast, spewing bubbling abhorrence searing from her lips.

Arms reached for her, grabbing and pulling her back from crawling toward Donnie. Mr. Jones, noticing the havoc from the casket, pursed his lips in frustration as he rushed over to cease his wife’s loud performance. Donnie remained standing tall, tears swelling on her lower lids as her mouth quivered. She could not help but pity Mrs. Jones mourning the loss of her son. The empathetic nature she possessed for someone who despised her furthered the icing of her heart in a slow, painful burn – was it a gift or a curse to feel such a way?

     “I loved your son, Mrs. Jones,” Donnie said slowly, evenly – the pain evident through her confident façade. “And I will for the rest of my life. What Johnny and I had wasn’t perfect…but it was genuine. I know you don’t like me, but you never got to know me. My condolences for the loss of your son.”

     Mrs. Jones’s lips roughly pursed as she tried to hold back all the emotions drowning her in the rough currents of her soul. But the dam burst from her eyes, shattering any remainder of her shield. Tears streamed down the mother’s face from the infinite sorrow pooling within. There was no need to blink or grimace, the grieving saltiness simply flowed on its own. No one uttered a word. Everyone’s attention was solely focused on the mother, awaiting her continuing aggression.

     But she had nothing to utter. Remaining silent, she simply looked up at Donnie. What else was there to say? Sometimes the heartache was too great for words. Nothing said could convey the sadness that was felt – the only option being to endure. They held each other’s gaze for a moment, like a still portrait encompassing a moment of heartbreaking passion. Both attempted resolute expressions, but what hid behind their masks painfully pleaded for freedom.

     With a simple nod, Donnie turned to leave. There was no need for anger. All the harsh words were simply a mourning mother’s distress. She knew that was the last time she would ever see Mrs. Jones again. Everything was over.

Chapter VII: A Parent's Repulsion

     Softly shutting the front door, he entered the house, cheerfully satisfied with how the day’s events unfolded. He sighed a smile, feeling free and refreshed during the hot summer day. The sunlight shimmered into the house, illuminating it with vibrancy and liveliness. Even the air particles graciously floated around the living room. The scent of lasagna travelled throughout the house, the source stemming from the kitchen.

     Walking in, he placed his bookbag on one of the island barstools before plopping himself into the neighboring one, his elbow leaning over the marble countertop. “Hi mom,” he softly called out, his mother cooking across from him.

     Chopping vegetables on a wooden cutting board, her eyes remained lowered, not looking up from her activity. The loud snap of the blade slicing through the carrot echoed through the silent kitchen. A small beat rippled through the glass of red wine resting on the counter.

     “Johnny Jones, where have you been?” Her voice was soft, but the hostile undertones were ever-present. Not even a grin was given; all her attention was on chopping.

     “I just came back from Chris’s. He threw that pool party I told you about.”

His mother looked down at the julienned vegetables, lightly shaking her head, “I thought that wasn’t until this weekend.”

Johnny shook his head, “No, it was today, Wednesday. It was always Wednesday.”

Mrs. Jones’s eyebrows raised in a defensive attitude as she heard her son correct her mistake, “Yeah, well, that’s not what I was told.”

     “Mom, I told you about it last weeke—,”

     “What are you doing going out in the middle of a weekday anyway?”

     He paused, unprepared for such an abrupt rebuttal. His innocent doe eyes stared at her in confusion as he remained silent, unsure of what to say.

     “It’s currently 5pm on a Wednesday. What have you done today that’s productive? Aside from waking up and going to a mid-day pool party?”

     The knife now rested on the cutting board as her eyes bored into his head. Sarcasm seeped from her lips as the anger began brewing. A swift change in the air occurred – heavier, hotter, thicker. A sudden gust of wind viciously wisped outside, causing the leaves to tremble in its passing. What was a fun summer day was broiling into a dry dune, reeking of hostile heat.

     “I…wh– mom I—,”

     “You party when it’s the weekend, you hear me? When you’ve worked hard enough throughout the week to deserve the luxury. This,” she motioned toward him with flared fingers, a disgusted look plastered on her pale face. “This behavior is unacceptable, Johnny.”

     He sporadically shrugged his shoulders, looking around as if clarification would appear somewhere in the house. “What is happening right now? Mom, I just went to one pool party at my best friend’s house. Where’s the fire?”

     “This is unacceptable, Johnny!” She spewed with a fresh wave of red heat. Her palms hit the counter with a stern slap cracking through the kitchen.

     “What…you think this is going to better yourself? Wasting your time partying, drinking with friends, messing with those ridiculous motorcycles? Or how about you fooling around with that pathetic excuse of a girl, Donnie?” She spat out the name in disgust, rolling her eyes at the simple thought of her. “You should be focusing on school, your business, your future!”

     “I am, mom! I have been,” he defensively responded. “It’s summer vacation. I just figured—”

     “You just figured what? You want to goof off, screw up your future, become just like your father – a scumbag taking the easy way out???”

     The words she spit were like fire, searing his skin with each new slew of sentences. The fumes stung his nostrils as they travelled to his brain, blurring his vision as a headache began throbbing. These effects were to last long after the two departed; they always would. And even though he felt the need to rebuttal, he knew there was no use. His mother was always right; she would continue her attempt at proving her point while the guilt would gradually seep inside him. He was going to feel guilt regardless – why not speed up the process?

     “Okay,” was all he spoke, a monotonous tone of surrender. His entire frame locked while a blank expression formed on his face. He was shutting down, something that always occurred during these moments. Once the realization came that there was no room for discussion, he went numb. A simple nod of his head or shrug of the shoulders before speaking the magic word, and he disappears, shutting himself within his bedroom.

     He remained there for hours, believing making himself invisible would be the best option. Lying on his back, he stared at the ceiling, wondering what was so wrong. All he wanted was to enjoy summer with his best pals. He strenuously worked while away at university: studying, classes, clubs, volunteering, meetings. This was his first time back home in months. It was not as though he excessively drank or abused drugs – although rarities existed when he enjoyed dabbling in paraphernalia. What was so devilish indulging in some fun?

     But perhaps she was right? After graduation, there would not be any more summer vacations, just life and work. So, why not start now? His mind reevaluated everything as his mother’s words throbbed against his temples: his friends, partying, the current motorbike repair project…and her.

     His stomach momentarily jumped at the thought of her. Oh, how he wished she was with him right then. She would know just what to say, possessing the gift of poetic diction. The feel of her small frame pressed up next to him, her leg crossing over his as she played with his hair, was the only thing he wished to feel.

     The thought quickly ceased as his mother’s reprimand returned, fogging up his delight, confusion returning as well. The tug of war match resumed its harsh internal battle, jerking his heart strings to and fro. Stretching them to such extremes, he wallowed in the distance away from each. What side would he choose? Who to support and aid in winning? How would the losing side feel? Was it called the “losing side” because they lost the game or because he would lose them?

     “This is too much,” Johnny grumbled, viciously rubbing the fatigue in his eyes.

     He headed downstairs for dinner, which lasted an eternity. Mr. Jones did not attend – another late night at the office – and neither one of them said a word. The only sound emitted from the forks clanking against the plates. Brutality did not stem from the silence but the endless noise of food sloshing within their mouths as they ate. Johnny would rather sit in complete silence than listen to the torturous mastication. Each bite was another excuse for his mother to exude energy on eating rather than speaking with him.

     “Mom,” he began slowly, setting down his glass after swallowing a slug of ice water. “Would you please talk to me?”

     His mother’s focus remained on her plate, cutting a piece of fillet. She raised her eyebrows, a nonchalant expression painted on her face as she took another bite, “The steak and lasagna are very good.”

     Johnny was in awe at her disregard, how she attempted to avoid addressing him. But he politely persisted, “Anything else?”

     “The veggies are a little overdone. Next time I’ll make sure to sauté them a little less.”

     “Mom, that’s not what I’m—,”

     “Well, that’s what I’m talking about!”

     Abruptly slamming her silverware down on the table, she finally peered up at her son, red blazing in her eyes. “I don’t want to discuss this with you anymore, Johnny. You want to fix this? You want to make me happy?” That authoritative voice returned, indicating she possessed all control, all knowledge. Her lips quivered in a repulsive frown as she took a large gulp of red wine. 

     “Then be a better son!”

     His heart, a frail piece of paper, crumpled within the firm grasp of her words. What could he say to that? It did not matter what he responded with, words meant nothing to her. She wanted change in action. She wanted him to change.

     “Yeah,” he nodded, his voice a mere whisper as his fork fidgeted with a carrot. “Be a better son.”

     The chair screeched against the floor as he rose, rushing out the dining room. Snatching his keys, he sped on his bike, wanting to create as much distance from the house as possible. A slew of emotions flooded his body as he rode onto the expressway. While he was sad and hurt by his mother’s harsh words, he could not suppress the guilt and disappointment sliding around his waist, his own personal backpack. Had he really let his mother down? Had he failed her?

     The feeling of loneliness was a third party invasively creeping up his spine. His knuckles turned white as he revved the bike, speeding past other drivers in a flash. Somebody honked from behind, but he just increased speed. He felt all these emotions as though he wanted to scream, cry and laugh all at the same time. Simultaneously, he was still numb. Everything raged within, wanting to grab the spotlight for itself. The confusion swirled in his system – causing chaos, wrecking him from within – but he was just lifeless.

     There was only one person he thought of who could provide him with some relief. Someone who would offer a comforting hand, telling him it was all going to be alright. She was the soothing temptation; and tonight, he was going to give in, no matter what the cost. He was already a disappointment of an offspring. How could he fall any further? The speedbike roared down the expressway, the wind wiping his tears as he made his way to her.

Chapter VIII: Funeral Ice

     All felt odd as she walked away, like the whole was a lucid dream. Nothing felt real. She kept thinking, at any moment, Johnny would turn around the street corner ahead of her. His eyes would spot her and that slick smirk would slide across his gorgeous face. His long strides would smoothly close the distance as his broad frame towered over her. He would pull her into his tender kiss, his hands sliding around her waist…

     “Excuse me, dear. Are you alright?”

     Snapping out of her trance, Donnie slightly jumped at the unexpected voice. She did not realize she had teared up until, blinking at the stranger, two thick teardrops fell with a plop.

     “Oh yes, I’m fine. Thank you,” Donnie said, quickly wiping her face with her jacket sleeve.

     “Are you sure?” The gentle voice came from an elderly lady. White hair done up in a sixties do, she wore all white attire accompanied by a soft cream sweater. Her mauve lipstick glistened under the unexpected sunshine, matching her nails. Wrinkles curling at the corners of her lips, she offered a reassuring grin.

     “Dry your tears, child. Keep your head up, your heart open to love, and the world will be your oyster.”

     Softly, the lady patted Donnie’s shoulder, her veins visible under the thinning skin. Her touch was so gentle it brought comfort Donnie had not felt by any other hand. Eyebrows beginning to relax, her shoulders eased beneath the warm blanket of wisdom. Basking in the vitality of their presence, the late afternoon sun delicately encompassed them in a moment of tranquility, sheltering them from the cold gloominess.

     “Thank you,” Donnie sniffled, a tiny grin forming – the first one she had made all day.

     With a final pat, the lady walked on, leaving Donnie by her lonesome. For a moment she simply stood there, watching the elderly woman make her way, wondering where she could be headed. As the lady walked down the sidewalk, the sun followed her, trailing a wondrous golden glow along her silhouette. The grin remained on Donnie’s lips a moment longer before the lady turned the corner, disappearing.

     Donnie walked back to her car, replaying the lady’s words. The rest of the day was kept open. Originally, the plan entailed going home and lying in bed, awaiting nightfall so darkness could comfort her muffled sobs into the pillow. She loved the night, especially during summer. The cool comfort of the midnight sky was a serenity incapable of duplication, especially when she was with Johnny. The two combined composed a blissful harmony, bringing her to life.

     But at this moment, she felt restless. The last place she wished to be was home. Plopping into the seat, Donnie started her car, driving away from the cemetery to a destination she knew not where. For thirty minutes music blasted through the speakers, pumping out of the rolled down windows. Bass vibrated her ribcage, shaking her mirrors as she zoomed past fellow drivers. At red lights, she received judgmental looks. A woman rolled down her window, demanding she lower the music.

     But Donnie did not care. Eyes glued ahead, she patiently waited for the light to turn green. Once it did, the acceleration sent her back pressing into the seat. Johnny loved pressing on the gas, watching her hair whip all over the place in a messy tornado. They would crack up every ride.

     Thirty minutes turned into ninety as she pulled up to the old-fashioned diner she and Johnny would visit quite often. Entering the establishment, she slipped into one of the corner booths she so loved. The decor was dimly lit with neon signs illuminating the dark wooden walls. It felt as though she stepped back into the retro 20s anytime she entered. Her body molded into the dark emerald booth with the warm, orange lighting dangling overhead.

     “Welcome in,” the server said, rolling over on his pastel skates. “What may I getchya’ tonight?”

     “A chocolate shake, please,” Donnie calmly responded.

     She and Johnny would always come for shakes. The atmosphere mixed with delicious desserts made it their favorite hangout spot. One of the best qualities of the establishment was its constant traffic. Business was always booming with the bustle of customers coming in and out. People-watching was at its finest peak here. While Donnie was busy evaluating newcomers, Johnny was admiring her, lost in her essence. Her heart ached knowing he would not be walking through those doors.

     Tracing her finger around the milkshake’s glass rim, her mind wandered into an abyss of memories, the melancholy ever-present on her expression. Thoughts raced on what occurred while images played of what could have been. There was nowhere to run, not even into the deepest parts of her mind. Everything was flooding in a black bile, corrupting her from the inside out with every swallowed tear.

     The world shrunk before her very eyes. Everything became smaller, unimportant in the reflection of her dazed gaze. The sense of urgency vanished alongside the vibrancy of life. Everything became duller, darker, blurrier – a shadow of what once was. How could she have felt so strongly over something that did not exist anymore, if it even existed at all? Perhaps the love she so yearned for was a misleading illusion, just like the rest of this terrible nightmare she was enduring. She felt everything and nothing all at once, drowning in the unbearable cold she desperately wanted salvation from.

     Watching the different people come and go, she reached into her jacket pocket, retrieving her credit card. Wrapped around it was a small slip of crinkled paper. Assuming it was one of her many receipts, she unraveled it, checking what the charge was.

     Only there was no charge. In fact, it was not a receipt at all, just a blank piece of paper with three letters written on it.

I love you

     Donnie gasped, her hand instinctively cupping her mouth. Tears instantly began flooding her waterline, threatening to spill over any moment.

     “What…what is this,” she whispered to herself in disbelief. Her thoughts rambled as she tried remembering where the note could have come from, recollecting the last time she wore the jacket.

     “The fight…,” her tone trailed off once she remembered. “The night I left him…when I told him it was over…”

     She recollected her attempt at walking away, how he reached for her jacket, pulling her back to him, tugging her closer. “He must’ve shoved the note into my pocket thinking I’d find it when I got home or something.”

     But when she returned home that night, she flung her jacket over a chair in a huff, not bothering to empty her pockets as her mind was too preoccupied. Sobs racked the back of her throat as she tried suppressing them with all her might, not wishing to make a scene in the diner. That icy pain in her chest returned, full force, stinging her lungs as she struggled to breathe. This note meant so much; it meant everything.

     Yet, simultaneously, it meant nothing. How could she tell him she found the note? How could she tell him she loved him back?

     Thick globs of eyelashes mushed together as black tears stained her cheeks down to her chin. In the moment, all she could do was reread the note over and over again. Each time her eyes flowed over the words, it was as though she heard him speak them.

     “Oh, Johnny,” she quietly cried, letting one of her mascara-filled tears stain the note. “Why couldn’t you have just told me?”

     Emotions flooded her body just like when she first saw him in the coffin. There was guilt. Why did she not check her pockets that night? She could have called him back – maybe even prevented the accident. Why did she fight with him that night? Why did she not speak with him during the day over brunch? If she did, he would still be alive, sitting across from her in the booth, smiling, laughing while he sipped his own shake.

     “It’s over now,” Donnie shook her head, another tear plopping onto the table.

     There was no point in dwelling on “what ifs.” Johnny was gone; he was never returning. Beating herself up over what she could have done was pointless. There was no rewind button, no eraser, no backspace key. The only way was onward.

     Wiping her eyes, she continued staring at the note, rereading its contents. He loved her…he actually loved her. Donnie always knew he liked her, but she never assumed he loved her. She could not believe it.

     The blue throb in her lungs slowly eased as her sobs subsided to soft sniffles. A tiny smile began peaking at her lips. Everything she had felt for him – all those moments spent contemplating his actions, convincing herself he did not want her, simply viewing her as fun company – during that entirety, he felt the same way she did.

     A smile creeped, bubbling up her swollen cheeks as she remembered how happy Johnny was the last time they were here. His gleeful smile was intoxicating as she admired how truly relaxed he had been when they were together. One final tear fell, slipping into the corner of her mouth. Happiness absorbed the sadness as she sat in that diner, long into the night, fondly replaying their memories.

Chapter IX: Intimate Night

Drops of rain harshly rapped upon the basement windows, a mix of thunder and lightning concocting a beautifully hazardous potion. Flickers of blue lighting illuminated their youthful shadows, softening their skin while accentuating every curve, every chisel. The billowing storm outside was the perfect atmospheric tune for their rhythmic undulations.

     She kissed with a loving gentleness, reserved only for him. Her touch delicately trailed across his skin as though it were glass menagerie – if she gripped him too hard, he would crack. Beneath his plush skin, firm muscle flexed in response to her fingertips. She lightly chuckled, savoring the intricate layers he embodied. Veins travelled down his arms, flooding toward his wrists. She loved tracing them, following the trail as she relished in the feel of him.

     “Baby, you feel so good,” Johnny softly whispered, his lips brushing against hers as he spoke.

     His hands slid under her shirt, up her back, almost covering the entirety with his large palms. Slow, soft and warm he moved, wanting to watch her reaction beneath his touch. She felt every nerve ignite as her skin blazed with chillingly hot goosebumps. Electricity zapped the air between them, pulsing greater than the storm outside.

     “Johnny,” she whispered on his lap, her body pressing against his, pushing him into the couch cushions. “I want you…I want to be with you,” she slowly spoke, interrupting herself with another kiss. Her hair encased them in their own private bubble, isolating them from the rest of the world.

     “I know, given the circumstances, nothing will change. You’re going back to school, and I don’t know what will happen in a year when you come back but…,” Donnie hesitated, twirling her finger in his hair. “But I’m sick of hiding how I truly feel, playing it cool as though I don’t care if I see you or not. I care about you, loving all your dorky quirks and troubled flaws. I just want to be completely open and honest with you.”

     Two more burning kisses were placed on either side of his cheeks. She took note of how flushed they were. “I want to be with you. I want to be yours.”

     A few seconds passed, each of them absolutely still, caught in the infatuation of one another. Her heart beat a mile a minute as she tried reading his facial expression. Her fingers slightly tightened their grip in his hair as his hands rested on her hips. Deep, dazzling eyes stared right back into hers, examining the depths of her soul. Not a slight grin or furrow of the brows, she could not read him, and she felt like slowly receding into a shell.

     “Oh, baby,” he grumbled, gripping her lower back and pressing her into him.

     In a sudden force, he crashed his lips onto hers, his hand roaming up into her hair, grabbing a handful as he pulled her deeper into his lips. With a firm gentleness, his touch was a woken desire, unearthed from her confession. She could feel his pressure, deepening their touch as he wanted more of her – the glass menagerie beginning to crack. But underneath the frail casing was a sturdy diamond, glistening at the presented opportunity.

     “I don’t want anyone else but you.”

     A tear fell down her cheek as she admired his response – his chin tilting up toward her, lips reaching out for her, dazed eyes caught in the web of lust. Their bodies warmed one another in the chilly basement. Blankets spurred around them on the couch, enveloping them even closer. His breath lightly fawned against her pink skin.

     Their bodies began moving in that special rhythm. A melody only they knew. One no one else could replicate, belonging solely to them. His lips trailed every inch of her frame, placing soft, wet kisses across her collarbone. His dark, gelled locks ruffled out as her fingers intimately massaged them.

     He clung onto her, admiring how beautiful she was in the night light, his hands tracing her curves. In that moment, she was his lifeline. Every kiss was another breath of life, giving him another moment to love her.

     “I don’t want to live without you. You’re my everything,” he cooed, staring at her, eyes glimmering in trust. “Forever and always, baby.

     The light glow of dawn began peeking through the windows, slowly awakening the world. Resting her head upon his chest, the sound of his heartbeat beautifully played with the chirp of the birds beginning their morning song. No matter how much time passed, he continued holding onto her, scratching her back as he pecked kisses upon her head. She softly hummed into the crook of his neck, pressing her lips against his warm skin. In that moment, their spirits were harmonious. They were each other’s other half, united in a private world of their own, binding their souls in the name of unspoken love.

The End