The Wrong One

Chapter I

                It wasn’t supposed to be painful. It wasn’t supposed to hurt this way, especially when I had so eagerly and so confidently promised her forever, dreamed dreams of nothing but peace, content, and utter blissfulness with her. But what was I supposed to do? So many people would jeer and taunt her, her family might have even looked at her in shame if she had chosen me. I was wrong for her, they simply said. Our love for each other was wrong. And since my pride wouldn’t let her get hurt because of me, and also because I had truly fallen in love with her, I started thinking of a way to save her; to help her be happy, while making those around her, happy as well, because from their point of view, she had made the right choice.    

                The minute I learned that Clark had feelings for her, I very slowly pulled myself away from the girl I had promised to marry. She did not understand my actions at all, and although I hated myself for hurting her, I knew that this was what I had to do if she was to completely let go of me. I raised arguments with her over almost everything I could, in an attempt to make her leave me. I showed little interest in her stories and musings that, in the past, I had been so fond of listening to. I started answering her with seemingly impatient grunts whenever she would ask about how I was doing. I minded her less and less every day, and made her feel as if she had done something horribly wrong and I could not find it in myself to forgive her. And though she constantly told of her love for me, and how much she needed me, I would grit my teeth, let my eyes harden, and my shoulder, turn cold. In the end, my plan worked. She thought I no longer loved her, and so, with or without meaning to, she sought the companionship and love of another.

                Although every fibre of my being wanted to hate Clark, and although I sometimes gave in to thoughts of pushing a knife down his throat, I could not, in good conscience really hate him. After all, I could see that he would be good for her, and more importantly, I became convinced that he would be good to her. So I watched with a tight jaw as she let him court her, stared after she whose lips most often lingered on my own, whose hands held mine once upon a time, and whose eyes had kept me mesmerized; enchanted.

                Alice. Dare I mention she whose soft yet powerful voice entranced me; whose songs were so sweet that they could lull me to sleep even on the most restless of nights? Do I have the courage to let my mind wander back to the days of old, when, in the afternoons, we would walk along the river Loire, not needing to talk of the weather, or of the festivals and celebrations taking place in the neighbouring villages; there was no need to speak of such small matters of consequence, for the fact that we were together seemed to take up all imaginable space for thought.

                After those silent walks, and occasional picnics under the Quince trees, we would sit quietly and wait. As soon as the sun cast its last rays on the leaves of the trees, and turn them into gold, my beloved would rest her upon my shoulder, close her eyes, and ask that I tell her everything I was thinking.

                “Everything and nothing,” I would tell her. And, intrigued she would persist until all her questions were answered. I remember very vividly, one of those conversations, wherein I told her that I was trying to think of where the wind came from. “From the Father, of course,” she had said then. She had an innate love for the Almighty, a belief and faith so strong, you would be a fool to even try to shake it. “Then,” I started, “God is wherever the wind blows?” She smiled; her eyes still closed, and wove her hands into mine. “Perhaps, love, God is wherever His creations are,” she answered, before sighing deeply, and burying her head into my chest. 

                I remember all those nights when, after finishing a chapter of my book, I would hear a knock on the door, and her voice that would follow soon after as she called my name. “William, open the door, please. And I would, amazed that she had managed to escape from her home, amazed that she had been able to fool the guards and manservants with her simple disguise, and that at that most dangerous hour of the night, she had been able to find her way into my arms. I would take her in, then, let her sit down by the hearth, and serve as best as I could. I loved all those mornings when I would wake up to see her face merely inches away from mine. I loved how she would wake up to my kisses, laughing; because she knew I was doing all I could to control myself.