Short Stories by MissDagger

Dear John - 1

Dear John

Chapter One

Into the Storm

Kimberly pulled on her rain boots; readying herself for the storm awaiting her. With a yellow slicker on her back and an umbrella in her hand, she walked out the door. In her other hand she held a piece of paper. A piece of paper that was withered and weak, due to being read countless times, wondering if the words hastily printed on it were true, and if they actually meant something to the man she was about to see.

Her car, broken down in the shop, was no option. A bike would only get its tires stuck in the mud caused by this terrible rain – and so she walked. Thunder sounded in the short distance, but it didn't scare her off. With her head held high, she made her way down the road, opening the umbrella and holding it above her head, only so the letter wouldn't be ruined. The ink had already begun to run, but she didn't know if that was from the earlier hours of crying or from the rain.

Rain beat down on her shoulders, telling her just to give up and let go of him. The lightning threatened to strike if she continued; but she did none the less. Her head told her, this is silly, just let him leave! but her heart told her this was the last chance she would ever receive.

His house came into view, and though Kimberly was trembling in the cold in the late October chill, she ran up the front steps and knocked on the door. There was no answer; though his car was in the drive. She knew he was here, and there was no turning back. She knocked again, rang the doorbell, called his name; still no answer.

Looking down at the ground, she decided to do the only thing she knew. Taking the letter from her hand, she called out, “I don’t know if what you wrote is still true, but I hope hearing the words you gave to me will remind you of what we had…” And then, she read. She read out loud; practically having to yell over the pounding rain.

My Dearest Kimberly,

My time with you has been the best of my life. You have shown me what love is, and how it feels to love and be loved in return. As I watch you sitting on the front porch with me, reading your weathered books that have been pulled apart and consumed many times, I wonder what our future will be like.

She looked up to the door, wondering if it was working yet. The blinds were closed, the door was still locked. She continues,

I know you’ll be a fantastic mother, and I hope to be your husband when that time approaches. I know this is just a dream though; your wedding is near, your parents are finally happy for you; I can’t take that away from you, my love. And so I know we must part ways.

Fresh tears were brought to her eyes to be reading this again; only to be washed away by the ever stronger rain.

I won’t lie and say I’m happy for you. I know it’s selfish, but it’s what I feel. I will always miss you, and I will always be yours to hold; I just pray one day you’ll come back to me, and be ready to be mine. Until that time, I hope he is good to you, and I love you.

Yours truly,

John

Kimberly let her arm fall, clutching the note in her ice cold fingers to her side, staring hopefully at the door. She wondered if he had even heard her, if he even was home. Had he gone somewhere? Was he asleep?

The door swung open, just as she turned slightly to leave, letting amber light fall on her shivering, petite body. Her dirty blonde hair was plastered to her face, neck and shoulders. Her yellow slicker wasn't warming her at all; only shielding the October rain from her bare skin.

Standing in the door way, was a smiling John. The reason he was smiling, though, was not because of the woman he loved. He looked back at someone in his house as he opened the door, before looking back at the poor soul who stood on his door step. "Oh..." Was all he had to say to her.

Kimberly watched him carefully for a moment then opened her blue lips to speak. She was silenced by a woman coming into view, hanging off his arm. She smiled to the unknown visitor then looked to John expectantly, "Who's this?" The woman asked.

"No one," John replied.

Looking closely, Kimberly noticed a ring, similar to the one he had given her so long ago, the one that now laid quietly in her pocket, on this woman's left hand. A knife, a bullet, an arrow shot through poor Kimberly's heart. The letter in her hand had grown soggy, and barely held itself together. Squeezing her fingers together, the note squished and fell apart, falling to the ground. John watched as she did and frowned, knowing her heart was broken. He sent the woman away for a moment and began to beg to her, saying 'Victoria' meant nothing to him.

The ring on her hand told the true story as the lies filled her head. Shaking her head to get them out, she threw his precious ring at his chest, the one he'd given her, as a promise he'd always love her. It fell to the boards at their feet with a delicate thud. With a turn on her heel, she ran off down the road. She had been so foolish to come here in the first place. How could she think this man loved her? The only man that loved her, it seemed, was her husband to be; Benjamin. Had he loved her, or did he only want to marry her for her forest green eyes, pale skin, and long hair? Did he only want the image of a trophy wife, hanging onto the arm of a millionaire?

Kimberly pushed past the darkness, making her way to her home; where she should have just stayed. Suddenly, the much larger diamond ring on her left hand didn't seem so cold, didn't seem so weighed with guilt. She was free from John, and was free to marry whomever she pleased.

Her heart had been used; the words on that letter meant nothing to him. Had John ever loved her? Or was he just pretending all along? Was she the other woman, and not this Victoria girl? Had she been the one he's played along?

Plotting, ideas of what she could do filled her mind; what could she do to show him how much pain he's caused her? He broke her heart, and how can she break a heart she'd never truly held? The letter had meant the world to her. She had imagined reading the letter out loud to him, then falling into his arms, saying how much she loved him and how she wouldn't marry that man for all the money in the world.

Foolish love, that's what it was - infatuation; in the clothes of a true love. A letter; a letter had been her undoing, her fall, her heartbreak. And if it were the last thing she did, it'd be his fall as well. Bitterness gripped her heart as she began to run to her home, which now seemed so welcoming. Once inside, you could follow wet footprints up the stairs, to her study, and peer in on a woman scribbling her heart onto pages of paper.