"I Love You, To My Dearest"

She already had a preconceived idea about me which meant her perception was diluted with this premature notion based on no evidence. I called it fiction. I had a slight chance of overturning my case, but even the littlest sign of foul play would be enough for her to say she was right.

I walked into the room already being scoured by on lookers as her propaganda spread like wild fire on a dry Californian day. I was convicted by a jury of my peers long before this mundane trial even took place. They expected me to live up to this top billing performance as I gracefully walked on egg shells to a point in time where the cigarette would touch her lips and the wine would fill her glass.

I knew the concept of her being alone scared the hell out of her, so my words would have to be as delicate as a surgeon fixing an artery in a heavy clogged heart. I needed hers to beat again. The room felt drafty. The echoes of conversation drowned out by the sound of my thoughts as I approached the high top chair that purposely lay vacant waiting for a criminals arrival. There was music that played but felt out of place because the mood wasn't right.

The bartender had a look on his face that described a fictional tale about a man caught up in a game of betrayal and corruption. And if you looked deeper into his eyes you could see a slight grin thinking he had a chance to take what belonged to me. He spoke in a tone justified to adhering previously to her will and what ever she desired. I wanted to reach across the bar and grab him by the neck and pull him over and leave him on the floor beneath my feet. Instead I patiently ordered a scotch on the rocks. Light ice.

I remembered a moment in time just like this except the circumstances were different. Her eyes would not leave mine. Her smile would penetrate like sunshine over my well being. Her essence would crack an opening into my soul that was guarded like Fort Knox. But now the direction she stared avoided me like a black hole. An abyss. Contemplating about a scenario that is foolishly unknown. I take precaution as the first words could scatter like a gun shot to a pack of wolves feeding on a deer. Did you get my message? No response.

The day was long and the night even longer. Time manipulated the distant contact we had with each other while preying on the conscious mind. Did this time really exist..

I let her silence corrupt the very little patience I had left. I spoke again. Did you get my message? But it fell on deaf ears as a tear broke the plain of her eye lid and compromised with the black mascara to make its way down her soft pale skin to embrace the corner of her mouth as she hit her cigarette.

As I waited for my scotch.. I turned my head and began to contemplate the same scenario that was foolishly unknown. Staring at the same abyss as she was. My heart started to race like thieves running from something precious that they might of stolen. My eyes swelled up. As much as I tried to fight it. The structure of my foundation was about to crack. I couldn't stop this emotional dam from breaking. And just before this explosion took place she spoke

"You said we be together forever.."

I couldn't respond. My vocal chords were chained like a prisoner bound by all limbs.

I wanted to embrace her, but I was held back by fear. I wanted to tell her, so I asked her again with a waterfall of tears pouring down my swollen face. Did you get my message. A demanding statement and still no response. I screamed at the top of my lungs which trumped the sound of every noise heard in this crowded far scape, but to no avail. No response. Not even a wondering eye directed my way. Shocked. Am I the abyss that they avoid. All of them contemplating about a scenario foolishly unknown? I calm my self and lean into her ear as her tears stream in single file with my whisper. Did you get my message..

She slowly pulls a letter from her black mesh purse. Her tears now uncontrollable as the letter is slowly unfolded. Black mascara marks its dry up conclusion on a piece of paper that looks as though it has been through war. The first words written crucial in the development of understanding. I reach to grab the worn letter, but can not touch it..

It reads "I Love You. To My Dearest."

Christopher JA - Neon City Daily - Short Story