Never Again

~Chapter 2~

~Chapter 2 - Luka~

“Memories are what warm you up from the inside, but they’re also what tear you apart.”

Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

~

“You know Luka, my father doesn’t have to know about this...we can just lie to him before our wedding night.” Florence ran her fingers up my leg. I shifted uncomfortably, for her fragrance was too overbearing, and her nails too long. I modestly pushed her hand away, and looked into her eyes smiling handsomely,

“Oh my dear Florence, I love you so much, but I care not to take your virtue until our wedding night. I want it to be perfect for you and dare not taint it with our sins.” I lied through my teeth, cursing my late father for arranging this accursed marriage. Even though our two families have always been closely intertwined, they were very unlucky in receiving the unattractive genes. 

Most of the women in their family having abnormally large noses, squinty eyes, and the use of too much makeup, is such a turn off. However because of their large amount of money, many men ignore that fact and choose to marry for riches. 

“Oh Luka, you care for me too much!” she giggled annoyingly, with her infuriating nasally voice. She skimmed her nails down my face, with a presumptuous look on her face, still determined to bed me before we had said our vows. I forced a smile to appease her, all the while shuddering in disgust at the thought of our bodies intertwining in bed. She smiled hawkishly, her putrid teeth showing, a sign of her ungodly habit of smoking. 

“Of course dear, you are the love of my life, the epitome of my soul, and I could never hurt you. However I must go deal with some family matters, tonight, remember I told you about it yesterday.” I pulled away from her, getting off from the couch. She scrunched up her face in an unattractive way, and laughed warily agreeing with my statement. I grudgingly gave her a kiss to the forehead. As I pulled away she beamed up at me, her nightgown strap falling off her shoulder, and her face caked with makeup. Walking away from her, and running down the cold, dank street I rushed to my mistress at the other side of town. 

Whistling, the scowl on my face slowly dissolved the closer I got to Jemima. I smiled merrily and began to walk faster, eager to see my real true love. As I was walking down the slightly wet pavement I began to think of my love. I grinned at the thought of her long and dark brown hair, and those smoldering black eyes. I haven’t seen her in over a week, so I was eager to see how she was faring. As I turned into the walkway to her home, I saw something was very out of place. Her front garden was overgrown, and the windows were both destroyed. As I slowly evaluated my surroundings, and walked to the door to push it open. As I began to push against the door it just fell back, not even on it’s hinges anymore. 

Walking forward I saw the whole interior in ruin, the floor was filthy with dirt, and animal droppings. Holding in my anger at the sight, I swiftly marched into her bedroom and threw open the door hoping to find her safe cowering under the bed. Unfortunately what met my eyes was not what I wanted.

Looking at the blood stained covers and the motionless lump underneath, I held my breath hoping it wasn’t my dear Jemima. As I reached towards the corner of the blankets I noticed how bad I was really reacting to this situation. My hand was violently shaking and I could feel the rivulets of sweat running down my back. 

I slowly peeled back the covers, squeezing my eyes together and clenching my jaw. When I believed that I had pulled it back far enough my eyes fluttered open. Peering at the pale face of my darling, I could feel my heart break in two. Angry but heartbroken, I let out a growl of animalistic characteristics, spit forming in the corners of my mouth. 

I turned away harshly and stomped out of her bedroom and into the parlor, looking at the unfinished paintings she had been working on to hang in the house we were going to get once I had got rid of Florence. Looking around the destroyed room, my eyes caught on the vibrant piece of cloth stuck on the corner of the mahogany bookshelf. Making my way over I ran my fingers over silky texture of what I assumed used to be a green skirt.

I continued to look at the familiar looking fabric, it dawned on me. This was the same material of the skirt that I had long before bought for Florence when we had began courting. Feeling the same sense of anger as before I started on my short but circuitous trek back to Jemima’s chambers. As I walked through the hallway I let my eyes trail over all the paintings she had finished. My favorite being the painting of myself smiling at her, it was magnificent. I reminisced the way her hair would become all messy from the numerous times she ran her fingers through it, the way the paint went everywhere on her face and clothes. 

Everything was going as planned, I was going to get out of the arranged marriage with Florence, and Jemima and I were going to run away to the New World. We were going to start a family and a business, her as an artist and I as an architect. In spite of that, things never go as you planned, especially if you have a mistress. 

As I open the door to her bed chambers I winced at the putrid smell, that I had not before smelt. The smell of rotting flesh attacked my senses and I gagged at the stench. I pulled my suit coat up to my face to cover my nose, semi-blocking the smell from entering my system. My eyes were watering from the undiluted smell of my dead lover’s decaying body. The fetid smell was too much for me to handle, as I fell as if I was suffocating.

I could barely stand to see her so horrendous, not at all the beautiful maiden I remember her as. I could imagine all the things I would do to the witch disguised as Florence. I began to caress her face tenderly, missing the warmth and smile of her face. The thought of kissing the decomposing lips came forth in my mind, and I felt disgusted with myself. Still gazing at the face of my once lover I saw the small pudgy body of a maggot crawl out of her eyes. I face wrinkled in disgust as my vision of her beauty was corrupted by that image.

I pulled the covers back over her face to cover it. As I closed the door behind me, I walked to the paintings hanging lopsidedly on the wall to gather them. Slowly I gathered them all, looking at a picture and remembering the memory that was it’s muse. Finally when I had collected them, I put them gingerly outside on the dying grass. Turning right back around I strode to the kitchen to search her drawers for the matches.

After a short but difficult search I found them in the very back of the knife drawer, next to a box of almost empty cigarettes. I stared at them in astonishment, never knowing that she smoked, I shook my head. I guess I didn’t know her as much as I thought I did. I took out one of the cigarettes and lit it up pulling it up to my lips. A piece of paper fluttered to the ground, I crouched down to pick it up seeing my name in her floral writing on the front. 

I opened up the weathered down, and yellowed paper to read it intrigued. 

Dear Luka,

If you are reading this then I’m assuming you’ve found these cigarettes. Before you come finding me, these are yours not mine. You know how much I despise you smoking, you’re going to kill yourself! Please stop.

Love Always,

Jemima

Letting the letter flutter to the ground I dropped my cigarette, stomping it into the ground. I found the jug of kerosene next to the lamp, and began pouring it all over the tiny cottage. As I finished off the now empty jug, I lit a match, stepped outside leaving the front door open, and threw it in. The house burst into a beautiful scene of reds and oranges. The fire kissed the sides of the house, like a lover.

I picked up all the paintings began my murderous walk back to Florence.