Note: For followers of my work, I apologize if I haven't continued any work that I said I would continue but ideas keep popping up in my head and if I don't write them down they annoy me until I have like this big break down...its nothing you would ever want to see...so don't ask. Well this is going to be one of those deep depressingly romantic type stories so please bare with me. I love you if you read this and review but if you don't than I'll still like you...at least hehe. Enjoy!!!
~Angel
Secrets of the Unfaithful
By Angel of Death
Some romances start with a kiss
But others like this one begin with a dance
When a man takes a woman's hand into his
They share a connection, and a passionate glance
And at that moment they know they are a match made in heaven
Even though they also are forbidden
Preface
Death is ice cold. It eats at your bones until your body consists of nothing but its chilled touch. I don't know how long I've been gone but it feels like eternity. The circle of hell that imprisons your mind inside your decaying body until you go insane, is now my sanctuary. After all, the definition of insanity is when your existence is governed by the same events every day of your miserable life. You'd think that once you breathe that last wispy breath, everything from the pain to the guilt of past decisions wash away. Pushed aside by the wave of darkness that falls over your soul. But you're wrong. You couldn't possibly know what death was like unless you've experienced it. No one could imagine having their limbs poked and prodded until their body was nothing but a fragmented mess. The frozen air smashes against your being, turning your bones into dust. Although you feel nothing pulsing inside, there is still pain. Sometimes it comes in the form of time. How it seems to go on without you walking around on Earth. And other times, its image is of the one you love the most. Her hair blowing in the wind. Those dark eyes staring at you, beckoning forth into their oceans. You attempt in vain to grasp her but she continues to sink into the shadows. You can hear the world around you and even louder is that melodic voice that used to wake you up every morning. I don't know how long I've been here but each day gets lonelier and lonelier. Darker and darker. Someone comes to pray over me in my sleep but God has not heard them. They ask him to ease the pain and help him have the strength to live through this war so that he can return to his family. What family? I have no one is this world except the pain. I need this anguish, its the only friend I have. And though it feels like a million flames are engulfing my body in its fiery snare, at least I know the devil is with me. Laughing at me as I suffer.
My eyes open, the pus and blood that holds my eyelids together, is slowly washing away. Around me, I can see clearer than I could in days. The black veil that used to govern my view is now a distant memory. Other soldiers are writhing in pain in cots around me. Nurses with pinned back hair and white dresses on, tend to them. Singing them songs that are filled with sorrow. I open my lips to speak but nothing comes out. My mouth feels dry and it hurts to breathe. Instinctively, I try to prop myself up on my arms but they're gone. Panic washes over me and invisible tears roll down my cheeks. It even hurts to cry.
Chapter 1
New York 1948
The leaves are the color of a fire twisting and curling in the fall air. Streetlights blink on and off, twinkling like stars against the purple sky. Nathaniel's head is nestled comfortably in my side. I could feel each heave of his chest as we rode through the busy streets of New York. I kissed him on the head. He looked so much like his father, with those dark eyes and shiny black hair. A yawn breaks free from his lips, and then his eyes flutter. Nate smiles at me and then moves closer.
"Don't leave me, mama." he whispers.
"I'm not going anywhere." I say, my brows furrowing. Ever since his father died, he's grown attached to everyone. Nate never got to say goodbye to him, and I never got a chance to let go. Tears fall down my cheeks, making me turn my head the other way. I had to stay strong for my family.
^
I hate being in this infirmary. Death comes and goes like Santa on Christmas, leaving only coal behind in his wake. The diseased bodies are horrid. They reek of bodily fluids and beer. Its all they give us here when they can't help us. They think that if we're in a drunken stupor the pain and the memories of war won't haunt us but they're wrong. Simon, an Englishman, lies beside me in the cot over. Ever since he was brought here he's been moaning about an angel of mercy and his kids out home. One was named Susan and the other Marie. I wanted to tell him to shut up. I wanted to tell him that there was no angels looking down on us and that his kids would never see their father again but I kept my mouth shut. A guy can only hope. His black hair was matted to his forehead by the sweat and the tears. Scars that were now turning purple covered his face and bandages lined his arms.
Lucy, a tall American nurse with long red hair and piercing green eyes, comes to tend to Simon when out of nowhere, a scream pours out of his mouth. Her lips are pulled down in horror and before she could figure what was wrong with the poor fellow, the life sputters out of him. Christmas came early this year.
^
The car turned up a small street lined with more trees. They were less vibrant than the ones sprinkled around the city. There were houses on each side of the street. Some were old and others were more modern and beautifully designed. Everything looked so familiar. The old oak tree that's been there since I was a little kid is still situated on the corner of Miss Harold's house. She was a nice lady. When my brother's and I needed hot chocolate on a cold day such as this, she'd kindly invite us in. And her house was the coziest one I've ever seen. The fireplace adjacent to the huge green couch emitted flames that were as warm as the sun on a spring afternoon. Plants were sprinkled around the house, adding color to the already pleasant home. It was unlike Father's house. After my mother died long ago, he took out everything happy and made living an institution. As the car passed Miss Harold's house, my sorrow deepened. Nothing was going to be the same again.
^
"I'm sorry you had to see that," Lucy said, pulling the blanket up to my chin. The doctors had looked at me and said that with enough rest, I'd be fine. My arms were gone and there was nothing they could do but keep it from getting infected. I felt like a little kid as Lucy looked down at me. She had these huge motherly brown eyes and a smile that never confined itself in that round little face of hers. Grunting, I met her gaze and frowned.
"I've seen war. Nothing gets any worse when you see that." I said.
"I couldn't get used to it. Ever. Its just so depressing how..." she started, sighing.
"Death is apart of life. One day I'm going to kick the bucket. Its as simple as that ma'am." I interrupted, wincing.
There was a sharp pain in my side. I didn't know what it was but it shook me to my core. This wasn't how I wanted to leave this Earth but it looked like I had no choice. Lucy didn't like my words. She probably thought I was heartless. Well war can do that to you Lucy. It strips away the warmth and the love you've ever felt, leaving you cold and just damn bitter.
"You must believe that God's going to carry you safely out of here. Your family will be so happy if you pull through." she continued, softly.
"God doesn't listen to guys like me. And family? I don't have no one but my soul." I replied, yawning.
"God listens to everybody and a good looking guy like yourself should have plenty of..." Lucy started, her eyes widening.
"Please, leave me to rest. I don't want to talk about God and the rest of that crap you're rambling about." I snapped, closing my eyes. There was silence and then Lucy retreated. Her heals clinking across the floor.
^
It still looked the same. For some reason I imagined that over time, things would change but I see they haven't. With our luggage in one hand and Nate in the other, I started up the path to the old brick house. The lights were off inside, making it look like its been vacant for years. Mom would not have wanted her house to look this way. She always wanted it to look perfect and beautiful and full of life.
"A good splash of color does any house good, Laura. Don't you forget that." I could still see her face brightening when she bought a new vase or picked out some colorful drapes for the living room. My mother had a smile that could make anyone's spirits lift. Luckily, she passed it on to me. Taking a deep breath, I walked up to the door, and set the bags down. The knocker on the door used to be a sterling silver, but now it rusted and bronze.
"Can I pull it?" Nathaniel asked, softly.
Nodding, I held him up to the door and watched as his small hand wrapped around the knocker. He knocked three times and then I brought him back to me.
"Do you think anyone is home, momma?" His cherub face was filled with hope. For once, I wanted to do something right for him, instead of putting him through hell. We've moved from motel to motel, boarding house to boarding house and this was our last stop. Our last choice. I hadn't any money and he was already growing out of his clothes. If only his father was...
The sound of feet bounding down the steps, startled me. I expected somebody would be home but my father never was so quick to answer the door. He hated visitors, and if he opened the door and saw me, he'd wish he wasn't so hasty. Fear curled in my stomach. It was a bad idea to come here. It was a bad idea to think that after all this time...
The door opened.
"Hello," Standing in the doorway, was a man that was not my father. He was tall with dark hair and blue eyes that stood out in the night. A smile was pasted on his face but it suddenly drifted away, once he took us in. Had father told his guest who I was and what I'd done? Did he feel disgusted?
"Come in, miss." he said, stepping aside.
Confused, I hesitated, wondering at his generosity and more importantly, who he was. The warmth that poured outside from inside the house, was inviting. Nodding, I stepped pass him and into the house.
^
I thought that I scared Miss Lucy away, but here she was, feeding breakfast to me. And she was as cheery as ever. A smile was pasted on her porcelain face and each time I winced at how disgusting the food was, she giggled. The way she looked at me, made my insides curl up. It hurt to feel comforted by her soft voice and bright eyes. This was a time of war and I was in pain. My arms were missing and I had no one to go home to, if I made it out of hell alive. There was no reason for me to feel relieved. Not even a simple smile should wash away this bitter facade. Being pessimistic is what was going to keep me alive. I wasn't going out like Simon. Full of hope. God builds you up with that crap, only to let you die. And there he was, right beside me in the cot over, praying. Humming hymns and spitting scriptures, as if they were going to help. And they didn't. There was no point to hope.
"Why look so down?" Lucy asked, smoothing out her skirt.
"That was not a smart question, Miss Lucy." I muttered, fighting the flames rising up my neck.
"Oh please. I know the obvious reasons, its just there's something in your eyes."
I wanted to shrug but then I remembered I had no arms. Closing my eyes, I thought back to the day my soldiering life ended. There were bombs and rain and screams. It was all a little fuzzy, but I'd never forget the bloodcurdling screams. Men died, their skin rotted and lifeless, just like Simon. Tears were streaming down my face, when I opened my eyes again. Worry sprinkled across Lucy's face, as she wiped the tears away.
"I pray for you everyday." she whispered.
The fire that was moving up my neck, turned wild and started scorching every ounce of sorrow that I contained. They burned and turned into ashes, as anger spread across my face. Lucy moved back, her lips puckering and her brows furrowing.
"Why pray for a wretch like me, huh? You don't know me and yet, you're trying to inject me with words of God and hope and prayer. [i]God. You make him seem like he's so righteous and fair, but really he doesn't give a damn about any of us. We're just here to suffer for his amusement. If he cared, this war would be suffering and I would not be suffering the way I do."[/i]
Lucy nodded and closed her eyes. Pain started to build in the center of my head. I had thought my words would make her leave me for good, but she stayed. She was a brave girl to associate herself with a sinner, an atheist. Taking deep breaths, I gazed at her, wondering why her hands were pressed together like the bodies of the soldiers that were killed. Words poured from her lips, sounding like millions of matches lighting. She was praying. Lucy was praying for me.
lol
I like Lucy, because I think she is a good character. Actually, I really like all your characters that you're developing.
