Forbidden Love

Forbidden

The memories flashed by in a blur, not really making out the images. He sat huddled in the corner of his and his late wife's bedroom, cradling his head in his blood soaked hands, mumbling for forgiveness under his whiskey stained breath, not really seeing the petite woman laying in front of him, not a breath left in her, or the faint sound of a babies cry in the other room.

Jonathan, a thirty year old man, with Amber eyes that flashed like fire dancing on forbidden ground, and hair as black as coal, stared at the lifeless form in front of him. He had lost control. He didn't mean to, (of course, he always said that) she just didn't satisfy him. He didn't know why, she just didn't.

He wanted everything perfect. He wanted five children, a cabin in the old Tennessee woods, and a good job, money, and a wife that did everything he emanded. But all he got was three children all under the age of ten, an old run down in the middle of nowhere, no job, only ten grand laying under the old floor boards of the kitchen, and a wife that did what she could.

The memories continued. He shook his head and grabbed the half empty whiskey bottle next to his left blood stained boot, and took a long gulp, draining it 'til no drops were left.

He felt disgusted with himself, but satisfied at the same time. He was a sick man. He grabbed hold of the iron bed frame, and hauled himself up, tripping on his drunkenness as he did so. He looked down in front of him and stared.

Serena, twenty-three, lay lifeless, her ice blue eyes opened but glazed over, staring at darkness, her mid-back mousey brown hair lay spewed over her shoulders, mattered with drying blood on the back of her head, knife still in the back of her neck, her right hand, lay lifeless on her her flat stomach. She was a beautiful girl, but her life was thrown away by a husband she loved, but never was able to satisfy.

Jonathan raised his head, and stared at a small table in the creamy white bedroom, and squinted his eyes, thinking he saw something. He looked closer and walked slowly to the table. It was a small light pink booklet. He whipped his messy hands on his overalls, and grabbed the book. He saw a purple string hanging out of the bottom of the book, and grabbed it, flipping him to the latest entry.

It was Serena's personal journal.

Thursday, November 7, 1945.

I've worked all day, and fed the kids while Jonathan stayed out in the barn, doing who knows what. The days seem to be longer, and each time I look at my father's old pocket watch, the hands never seem to move, like time froze over. I think God just slowed it down to test our patients of each coming day (that is if they do). I was listening to the old wooden radio today cleaning the kitchen, and one particular song caught my attention. It was someone by the name ' Kay Starr' singing 'If I could be with you'. I thought it was rather romantic, listening to it, and it brought back memories of when Jonathan and I first met.

I thought we were perfect together, but I guess I was wrong. I want to hate him, but I just can't bring my mind to do so. My mind says, 'yes, love him. What he's done to you, he never ment.' But my body is telling me no, 'just run, I can't take the daily pain any longer.' But then I think about little Janie, who just turned 6, Arthur, who turns five in December, and our little one year old, Lena. I just recently found out I was pregnant with our fourth (Jonathan always wanted five children).

Jonathan quickly stopped reading and stared at the page, she was with child. She WAS with child. WAS. He scrapped his eyes over the page again, and re-read about the fourth child. He felt guilt, regret, anger, sadness, and something he hadn't felt for a long while. Love. It felt so forbidden in his mind. He continued.

I already thought of names. For a boy, I though maybe, Jones and a girl, Oakly. I know, strange names, but they're unique. I don't know how I'm going to bring this up to Jonathan, I'm actually terrified at the moment, what if something happens to me, and I can't be here for the children? What if I'm not alive before my du- oh no! I heard the screen door slam, it must Jonathan. I'll write later.

With love,

Serena Lee James.

Jonathan's eyes felt strange, and prickly, it was a strange feeling the same with love. He never knew what it was that he felt for her, love? Lust? Pity, maybe? Well, he knew now. Love. For sure.

He breathed in deeply through his nose, and released hot breath from his whiskey smelled mouth. His eyes hardened, and he crunched the book in his hands, and threw it across the room, knocking down a black and white photo of him and Serena on their wedding day. He grabbed the picture, and gripped it tightly, his knuckles turning snow white.

He stomped over to the bedside table, and rummaged through the small drawer, until he withdrew what he was looking for. A P38 Walther pistol.

He held his breath, staring at the lifeless form of his young wife, and listened to the sounds of the baby crying, and the radio playing on low. He gripped the photo with his left, and brought the pistol to his head with his right, and whispered softly, "This is a forbidden love, I dare not live without." He closed his eyes... and pulled the trigger.

'If I could be with you one hour tonight,

If I was free to do the things I might,

I'm telling you true, I'd be anything but blue,

If I could be with you'.

"And that was the lovely, Kay Starr, singing 'If I could be with you' live. Ladies, and gentleman, have a wonderful night." And the voice on the radio stopped.

The house was silent, the baby stopped crying, and the radio buzzed gently, as the wind blew softly, lightly smacking a small tree branch against the bedroom window, making their own, forbidden love.