Left At The Altar - Part Two

Left At The Altar

Part Two

A Short Story by Damien L Malcolm

If you would prefer a PDF of this, click here. 
Also a part of my recently released ebook, The Tiny 1st Volume: A Short Collection of Short Stories
Available for FREE on Kobo, Smashwords, iBooks, Google Play and other ebook retailers

This is Part Two to Left At The Altar. If you haven't read Part One, click here first.

I awoke dreamily, revelling for the first few moments in the silken fabric of the sheets wrapped tightly against my almost naked body. My eyes were still closed and I could feel the sticky remains of eye-shadow sticking my eyelids to the pillowcase. It took me a second to realise precisely where I was. Then, with a heavy feeling pressing on my chest and a throb in my head, I remembered. It was the day after what should have been my wedding. I had a hangover, was in my own bed instead of a fancy hotel on the coast... and Peter had left me at the altar.

Bastard. Son of a prick, bastard. Mongrel.

But then as I lay there, silently cursing under my breath at how humiliated and hurt I still felt over that deadbeat, I heard something coming from the direction of my kitchen. A cupboard door, a fry pan. Something sizzling and a waft of bacon. A male voice, humming.

Suddenly it all came back to me in a rush. Richard was here. Peter's brother, Richard. Ohh, and I'd spent last night cracking on to him! My God how had I embarrassed myself like that? What was wrong with me, flinging myself like that at a man I'd only known for a day? He must think I'm such a tramp.

“Hey Susan, you awake?” came his soft English accent through the door.

I pulled the sheets up over my face, hoping that if he couldn't see me when he came in the room, he'd just go away and leave me alone to wallow. It didn't work.

“Susan, what are you doing?” The voice was not muffled now; he must have opened the door.

“Go away!” I yelled though the sheets, wincing from the headache, before whimpering. “I'm not here.”

“Now now, don't be like that. Look, I've made you a scrumptious breakfast, with both coffee and orange juice. No doubt you have a slight hangover from last night and will need all the fluids you can get.”

I could hear his footsteps shuffling up beside the bed, and what sounded like my good silver breakfast tray being laid down on the bedside table. His presence was so intense I could feel him looming over the head of the bed, waiting for me to show myself. Slowly I pulled the sheet down until my eyes were peering out just above them. He was standing just centimetres from my face, wearing nothing besides a pair of boxer shorts. Oh. My. God.

“I'm so sorry for what I did last night,” I mumbled, ignoring the excitement stirring within me as I looked up at him. “You must think I'm such a loser.”

Richard smiled warmly. “The only loser in this scenario, Susan, is my idiot older brother. I can completely understand why you felt the need for affection last night. I would have too if I'd been made to feel that way by someone. Anyone would have.”

His words gave me a little more confidence. After a moment's hesitation I began to sit up properly, making sure I brought the sheet up with me to cover my bare boobs. My head was thumping, but thankfully I didn't feel sick. And the breakfast he'd made me looked yum. He caught me eyeing off the food, and instinctively picked up the tray and went to lay it over my knees for me.

However he stopped when there came a knock at the door to my apartment. Richard looked at me, and I at him, exchanging questioning looks. I had no idea who it could be. I flashed a glance at the bedside clock; it read only half past seven.

“I'll go see,” Richard said, placing the tray back on the bedside table and leaving the room. I wasn't about to stay there. Quickly, I got off the bed, wrapping the sheet around myself as I followed him out into the lounge.

After rounding the corner into the hallway, I looked up to see Peter standing in the doorway. The very man that only the afternoon before had left me on our wedding day was now standing in my bloody doorway. If I hadn't been so amused at his face, I'd have run up and hit him.

He was just standing there with this dumb expression, looking from his shirt-less brother to me, wrapped in a sheet. It was pretty clear I was mostly naked, and it didn't take a genius to imagine what he was thinking.

“What the hell?!” Peter demanded, turning fierce eyes on his brother.

Richard squared his bare shoulders. “What are you doing here, Peter?”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here? And why are you almost naked in my fiancé's apartment?”

“Your fiancé?” I blurted, stepping forward and almost losing my sheet. “I'm pretty sure you gave up that relationship when you ditched me at the wedding yesterday, Peter!”

“Look, I made a mistake, ok? I'm sorry. I just felt in over my head yesterday, that's all. I panicked. But that doesn't mean you should go shacking up with my brother! I came here this morning to straighten things out, only to find Mr Smooth here already making moves on my fiancé while the bed's not even cold.”

Richard opened his mouth to defend himself, but I cut him off. “We have nothing to 'straighten out', Peter. And no moves were made from Richard, you twit. He's the perfect gentleman, everything you're not. I seduced him.”

Richard stared at me with a stunned look in his eyes. It was technically a lie, of course. Indeed I did instigate the kiss, but nothing further had happened. However, I was quite happy to keep Peter guessing. He deserved it.

Though, I didn't expect what was about to happen. Richard had just started turning back to say something to his brother, when Peter's fist seemed to fire from nowhere. The punch caught Richard right in the chin, sending him back against the wall of my entryway.

“You idiot!” I screeched at Peter as I leapt forward to catch the flailing Richard. But Richard had balanced himself already. He brought a hand up to me, warning me off.

“Susan, I suggest you stay back. My big brother has once again forgotten his manners.” He turned to Peter with seething eyes. “And again I will need to teach him some.”

“Just try it, you wimp,” Peter taunted.

“Richard, no, you don't need to do this,” I pleaded, desperately holding my sheet around my boobs with one hand and reaching for his arm with the other. “Just shut the door on him.”

“I'm afraid that won't do. Not this time.”

Richard lunged forward and punched Peter in the chest, following up with a hit to the face. Peter wasn't backing down, though. He grabbed Richard around the shoulders and the two men fell into a wrestle, pushing each other back and forth across my entryway, grunting in anger.

As I watched them, two separate things occurred to me simultaneously. Firstly, I really did not like violence. It was so childish and pointless. Secondly, having two men fight over me was the sexiest thing ever!

After a few moments struggling, Richard got the upper hand and thrust Peter against the doorway. Peter's back struck the jamb in what looked like a painful thwack. Richard took advantage of his immediate upper-hand and grasped Peter's shirt, using it to throw him out into the corridor. Peter lost balance and fell to the carpet against the stair-rail, holding his shoulder and groaning.

“I've spent my whole life watching you disrespect women.” Richard yelled, pointing an accusing finger down at Peter. “And I've had quite enough.” He then turned and faced me. “Do you have any idea how many women he has been with, Susan?”

I was at a loss for words, all flustered over the fight and excitement.

“Hundreds,” he continued, not waiting for my answer. “Hundreds, Susan. I spent my high school years alone, watching him cruise through his senior years with a new girlfriend every week. Every single one he treated abhorrently. And he has never changed, flitting in and out of relationships, if you could call them that, leaving every single woman hurt and damaged in his wake. Has he ever shown you any respect, Susan?”

I didn't answer, but my eyes said it all.

“As I thought.” Turning to stare his brother down, Richard continued. “You're arrogant, narcissistic and downright cruel. Yet when I heard you had met a girl after running away to Australia, I thought maybe you had finally come to your senses and settled down. News of your wedding was a pleasant surprise, even if a slight shock. I flew in from London yesterday hardly believing I was about to see my big brother getting married. At the airport you seemed fine. And when I met this beautiful woman your were set to marry, I felt proud of you, Peter.”

“Ha! I doubt it,” Peter spat, slowly pulling himself up off the floor. “You've always been jealous of me. Pride? For me? Ridiculous. You're incapable of feeling anything of the sort, brother.”

“You are incapable of showing behaviour that warrants it, brother,” Richard retorted coolly. “And yet again, you did not even have the courage to face up to your own failure. Expecting me to do your dirty work, like I have always done...”

Richard turned to me, eyes sparkling, “However this time covering for him brought something special into my life. I met you, Susan. I got to spend almost an entire day with you. You are... just... I, I have no words to explain it.” He looked down at his feet, shaking his head. Then glanced back at me. His expression was so warm it made me tingle. “I must admit to you, from the very first time I saw you at the house yesterday morning, I felt drawn to you. Though, of course, I let my morals dictate my feelings. And as much as I felt compelled to console you yesterday after the wedding fell to pieces, out of a sense of duty to make up for my brother's failings, I had another more meaningful reason for staying.”

While something inside me knew what Richard was trying to say, still doubt and confusion rattled around in my head. I was staring intently into his deep blue eyes, trying to find some sign that this was pretend, a dream, trick or something. Why? Because the truth was so terrifying and amazing all at the same time there was a danger my head would explode.

He was waiting for me to say something, but all I could squeeze out was a meek, “You did?”

“Yes Susan. I am quite convinced that I have fallen in love with you. In fact, I believe it was indeed from the very moment I first saw you.”

“Oh come on,” came a loud, drawn out protest from Peter outside in the corridor. Richard frowned slightly, then turned, only taking his eyes from mine for a second.

“Do shut up, you imbecile,” he said, as he slammed the door shut in Peter's face.

Turning back to me, Richard took my hand in his. I swear my heart stopped beating. It just stopped. Completely. And I stood there frozen, panicking about what he was going to say... or ask.

No... he could not be about to ask me if I would marry him! I hardly knew him. But what if he did? Nah, he wouldn't. But my God he was so incredible. Should I say yes? But, oh I don't know. Maybe he'll say something completely different. Oh shut up Susan and quickly decide what to answer in case he does...!

“Susan Kemp, you have had a terrible twenty-four hours, yet in contrast my time since meeting you has been the brightest I have ever known. I want to ask something of you.”

“Yes,” I choked, “What's that?”

“Firstly, would you care to come eat breakfast with me on the patio?”

“Hmm mmm,” I nodded pathetically, petty sure I still hadn't taken a breath yet.

I was so transfixed on Richard's face, I didn't even notice whether my boobs were still covered or not.

“Then after breakfast, will you fly with me back to London? You could take some time off, away from here. I will show you my home, we'll get to know each other and we can just... see where things take us. Do you feel that is a good idea?”

Every feeling I had been bottling up in the last ten minutes coupled with the trauma of yesterday, and together they all came rushing down on me in a single moment. Anger, fear, happiness, relief, sorrow and twenty-six years of fairytale princess fantasies, all converging in one fell swoop. I flustered embarrassingly for a second, feeling like a giddy school-girl meeting her favourite boy-band backstage at a pop concert.

Finally when I had pulled myself together, I squeezed his hand with both of mine. The sheet fell to the floor unheeded, and with a relieved sigh I gave him my answer.

“Yes. Yes I do.”

Haven't had enough? Want to read my best short story yet? Click here.

Bowled Me Over, That's For Sure!!

To say I'm surprised right now would be one of the biggest understatements of my life, simple as that. So no, I won't use the word "surprised" at all. I will however freely use the following words:
*Amazed
*Astounded
*Dumbstruck
*Flabbergasted
*Jiggered
*Astonished
*Stunned
*Stupefied
*A Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh
*Goggle-eyed
*Dumbfounded
*Thunderstuck and
*Startled

See for yourself,

A terrifying picture of an author in its natural habitat.

And why am I currently feeling all these things? From the reaction to my latest book, Essence Of Betrayal. I never thought that little piece of work would cause such a reaction in people. I mean, yeah, I liked it. That's why I wrote the darn thing. The idea, direction and story in general thrilled me to bits every step of the way. But that's me. I felt like I was living the story, hence the reason why I found it so captivating. To have other people describe similar experiences has just blown me away.

It's only been out couple of months, and here's what people so far have said:

Mary said:
"Wow! I have taken advantage of the heatwave of the weekend to step into a world of intrigue! After starting to read "Essence of Betrayal" by Damien L Malcolm on the weekend I found myself pondering the questions, "Do I really need to eat?" and, "Do I really need to sleep?"... I spent every moment I could engrossed in the world of Jack Mullens and enjoyed every twist and turn to the last page! ... What an awesome read Damien! I enjoyed it right from the first sentence that sucks you right into a riveting read! Awesome book and I look forward to reading your next novel!"

Barbara said:
"I stayed up till 1am the first night, then again the next night. I just had to read to the end and find out what happened!" 

John said:
"What a damn rush! Great work mate. Had me going."

Teresa said:
"I just finished reading [the new] crime solving novel, Essence of Betrayal by Damien L Malcolm. It was a nail biting, page turner till the end and I am SUPER impressed! I couldn't stop reading it! Well done, Damien! I loved it!"

And also,

"I want my fingernails back!...It is very funny that book, as well as nerve wracking! You owe me big time, Damien. I had to get acrylic nails to hide my bitten natural nails! I haven't bitten my nails for a long, long time!"

Lorraine said:
"I couldn't put it down! I never guessed who the bad guy really was. Just amazing. From the first page I was hooked. Brilliant read." 

Doris said:
"I have to tell you I really enjoyed your book. I read the first couple of chapters the night I bought it, and said to myself 'Well, looks like I won't be getting anything done tomorrow!' You did a great job. Well done."

Helen said:
"What a book! I think I'm in love with Jack."

It has even had a 4 star recommendation from professional US online book reviewer, blogger and author, Kay Brooks from Confessions Of A Word Addict.

 

"Action and intrigue drove this story from point to point, whether it's following a lead or finding a place to clear his head. Once the first bombshell was dropped, the pace was quickly set. There weren't a lot of places where I found a lull in the action or plot. In fact, it seemed to me like this was twist after twist. When I thought I had a handle on where the book was going, another bombshell was dropped. Before the ending I didn't know what to think about who was on which side. Even the setting of the book provided a few twists of its own. The dialogue and clues didn't give much away before it was time and made the book enjoyable to read...I wholeheartedly recommend this book for anyone who loves a multi-twisting mystery or an action-packed thrill ride through an Australian town."

Read the full review here.

So now do you see why I'm so stunned at the reactions? I'm just a bloke living in a small country town, with now 2 books and a couple of short stories under my belt. Yes, I may have been writing since I was 15, on and off, but in the grand scheme of things I'm a nobody with zero history or exposure and hardly a pinch of decent life-experience to go on. At least that's what I see from inside this shell. There's an imagination, yes. Helped me through a lot, that little puddle of grey matter.

But the words in the opinions you read above are reserved for famous, great thriller authors. John Grisham, Agatha Christie, Matthew Reilly, Patricia Cornwell, and Michael Connelly. Not Damien L. Malcolm. Who the hell is he??

I just can't believe it. And for the first time actually being lost for words to write, all I can say is thank you. From the bottom of my heart, for all the support and encouragement, thank you.

Till next time,

-Damien.

Left At The Altar - A Short Story

Left At The Altar

A short story by Damien L. Malcolm.

For a PDF copy of this, click here. 
Also a part of my recently released ebook, The Tiny 1st Volume: A Short Collection of Short Stories
Available for FREE on Kobo, Smashwords, iBooks, Google Play and other ebook retailers

I never thought this could happen to me. Never.

I mean, in all my twenty-six years I've always considered myself a practical sort of girl. Pessimistic, even. Mainly because bad things had a habit of coming my way. But the idea of having a man actually leave me on our wedding day was not something that had ever crossed my mind before that day.

And through a text message!

To his BROTHER!

The bloody nerve!

And there I was six hours later sitting at the bridal table in my dress—my beautiful white lace goddam fifteen-hundred-dollar dress!—with a vacant chair next to me where my groom should have been sitting, and more empty wine glasses than I would care to count.

“What?” I hear you ask. “What were you thinking, Susan? You still went on with the reception???”

Yes, of course I did! Couldn't exactly turn away a hundred and forty embarrassed guests and a pre-paid twelve-hundred-dollar hall booking just because my idiot-brain, spineless fiancé couldn't face the music. I mean half of them had travelled from bloody Perth to come to “Peter and Susan's wedding”! The question you should be asking is, why the hell did I stay?

Answer to that is simple. His brother. Yes, yes, the very same brother who had gotten that gutless text from moron-head. He had to come to the back room, five minutes before I was to walk down the isle, to tell me that his good-for-nothing brother had chickened out. Richard Dalton had sat with me while I cried for ten straight minutes, then helped me go out and tell all my friends and family that the wedding was off.

Then he sat with me for another hour while I cried some more. You'd think my mother might have been there for me, but not surprisingly she was too busy wallowing in her own disappointment. She'd never been good at tears. After bawling, when I was about to run home to hide in a corner to drink away my sorrows, he had convinced me to stay. And for some God-unknown reason, I'd let him talk me into it.

But thankfully, he hadn't left me alone to face the hundred-plus guests all walking morosely past me at the table like I was some cadaver lying in an open casket. Instead, he had sat with me all night, fending off their pitiful looks and sad questions. All this, and I'd only met him for the first time that morning, when he had flown in from England for his brother's wedding.

I could see him now, weaving his way back through the half-dancing crowd with a fresh glass in each hand; orange juice for him, white wine for me. Looking at him, even the way he casually and respectfully negotiated the moving people, I saw just how different Richard was from his brother. He actually had manners.

Peter, while I thought I had loved him for the last three years, was the sort of man you couldn't put a finger on. Like, when you ask yourself, “So, what do I really see in him?” you actually have nothing that immediately springs to mind. Sure, he was tall and handsome with an accent like James Bond, good hair and a decent job. And sure, he bought me stuff every now and again, had stayed with me for three years and was ok in bed.

Just ok, that is. I'd had better... and worse.

But when I would ask myself why exactly I loved him, the answer that came back was always vague, abstract somehow. On the other hand, arrogant, pig-headed and somewhat narcissistic were a few words that came to mind when we were fighting and I was trying to find reasons not to like him. He could be all of those. Not really a good basis for a marriage, I know. But come on! It had been three years. Longest relationship I'd ever had. Surely if you've been with someone that long marriage is the only logical conclusion.

Though now I think about it, perhaps my current predicament negates that last statement.

My seat jolted a little as Richard slipped into the Groom's chair beside me, waking me from my thoughts. I turned to him with feigned nonchalance, trying so hard to hide how broken I still was underneath. A broad smile crossed his lips.

“Hey Susan,” he said with his smooth British swagger. “You know, I think I might look too good in this chair. What do you think? Perhaps if I sit here long enough, people won't notice which Dalton brother you married.”

“I'm not going to marry you!” I retorted playfully, sounding a little too drunk and trying to block out the emotional quiver in my voice. “What's to say you won't do exactly what your idiot brother did and leave me at the altar?”

Suddenly his expression changed, a mask of seriousness taking over. He stared into my eyes with incredible intensity and took my free hand in his.

“Susan Kemp, the way my brother has treated you is beyond comprehension. From what I can tell he has been disrespecting you for a long time, hasn't he? I could never condone such abhorrent behaviour, and wouldn't think of doing anything like that to you. I don't believe I could forgive my brother for what he did. Nor will I be in any hurry to talk to him again, in fact. He should never have hurt you like that. You deserve so much more.”

God I loved the way he said my name. He held my stare for so long that even through the on-setting drunken haze gradually filling my head, I felt a strange tingle go down my spine. I knew he meant every word. He was so unbelievably good-looking. So rugged and masculine. I'd only ever seen a picture taken years before, when Peter and him were fishing on a beach in Wales. But the man before me now... just... wow.

Abruptly, the jovial sparkle returned to his eyes and he smiled warmly at me.

“Susan, if there's one thing I know, it's a drunk lady when one I see. Come, I'll take you home now.”

“I am not drunk,” I protested, doubtless with an encroaching slur belying my words, “I'm just a bit tipsy. And I'm no lady, either, mister.” I shook a finger at him. “Besides, I can't leave yet; it's still only early.”

“It is almost eleven o'clock. Plenty late enough. Come on.”

With that, he helped me to my slightly wobbly feet. We went around a few people—close friends, mainly, and my mum—and said our goodnights. Didn't do that for too long, though, because after the first five or six, I just got plain sick and tired of everyone's puppy-dog eyes and cagey words. They must have thought if they said the wrong thing, I'd crack like an egg.

They couldn't have been further from the truth.

By that point, whether from letting it all out with the earlier crying or covering it up with the wine afterwards, I felt beyond caring, past the hurt. Sure, I'd probably have another cry tomorrow, and the next day; maybe all week, even. However after sitting there with my thoughts for the evening, I'd found a way to work through the initial shock. Great tool called anger, actually. I simply pointed every angry bone I had in Peter's direction and instantly I felt so much better.

Peter the slime-ball had made his choice and done a runner. Good for him. May the loser get genital crabs and be itchy for evermore!

I fell asleep in Richard's car on the drive home, leaning across in my slumber and drooling on his shoulder. Yet another thing to be proud of. I didn't vomit, though, so at least that's something. He had to gently shake me awake after he'd pulled up outside my apartment building on the esplanade. We sat there for a moment in silence while I woke myself properly. After a few minutes, he asked me how I was doing.

Bad mistake.

Obviously I wasn't as good as I thought I was, because after stumbling off on a monologue rhetorically asking how I could have been so stupid, with multiple “why me” variants thrown in, I abruptly fell apart again, sobbing into poor Richard's shoulder for only the hundredth time that night. That man was amazing, though, you know. He never told me to buck up, or get over myself like Peter would've done. He didn't once push me away or hurt my feelings further.

Instead, Richard just held me. That's all. Everything I needed. There was only one thing he said the whole time, as barely a whisper in my ear.

“You are worth so much more than him, Susan. Remember that.”

The words were lovely, and exactly what I needed to hear. Though my only reaction was to cry even louder.

When I finally did settle down, Richard pulled back and studied my face. I must have looked like a melting raccoon by then. He reached up with one gentle hand and brushed his palm across my cheek, wiping tears and running mascara.

“You look a mess, Miss Kemp. About time we get you some rest, I think.”

“Yeah.” I sounded the way I felt; like a lost little girl. His fingers pushed aside a length of hair from my face, ran to the tip of my chin, then softly fell away.

He got out and came around to my side, opened the door and helped me out of the car. I could hear the waves crashing behind the small sand-hill across the road as the cool sea-breeze caressed my face. Crickets chirped in the bushes, probably laughing at me like they did every time something stupid had happened in my life. Little bastards, I thought with a hint of pointless vindictiveness.

I had some trouble negotiating the stairs to my floor, and Richard had to help. Only problem was the one place he could lay a hand to balance me was around my lower back and upper-right butt cheek. He didn't mean anything by it, of course, and ordinarily such a thing wouldn't have caused too much fuss. Except it did. The way Richard had been so caring all night, and shown me such respect and attention, stirred an odd set of feelings inside of me. His hand felt hot, and sexy.

I had never experienced such a thing before. My track record with men had been nothing if not a wobbly path from one disaster to the next. Peter hadn't exactly been a catch, proven nicely by today's abandonment, and the one thing not one past boyfriend had ever done was treat me with respect. I had felt loved before, sort of, and lusted after, but never respected. Not until tonight.

We only had two flights to climb up to my room, but by the time we reached the door my cheeks were burning, I was breathing kinda heavy and starting to break into a sweat. None of that was from the walking. Everything Richard had said or done since I had met him that morning was filtering slowly though my groggy mind, turning me on like I couldn't believe.

I fumbled with the keys and unlocked the door. The moment it was open, I spun around and grabbed his shirt collar. He was surprised, but didn't stop me from pulling him into my apartment. My back hit the opposite wall of the entryway. I held him fast and drew his lips to mine. I knew it was crazy, however I was suddenly so aroused that controlling myself simply wasn't an option any more.

His lips were soft and warm, and knew exactly where to go and what to do. I could feel the fire rising up from my loins as he kissed me, and I instinctively pushed my hips outward to drive closer to him. With one hand gripping my waist tightly, his other hand dropped from the side of my face, where it had been gently caressing my hair-line and neck, and started moving slowly down my shoulder, then arm, before crossing over and brushing my left breast one finger tip at a time. I could feel him swelling against my upper thigh. I wanted him so bad. Oh god, the tingling from my nipples was electrifying!

Then it stopped. One second it's on, the next he'd backed away and was standing against the opposite wall, half illuminated in the light from the hall outside the still-open door. Hot to cold in an instant. I knew at once what was wrong. The look on his flushed face said it all.

“We can't, Susan.”

“Why?” I asked despite knowing the answer, with every feminine chemical loose in my body giving my voice a shaky quiver. “Why not?”

“We just can't. You got left at the altar this afternoon. No great loss, because my brother is an idiot, but it is still affecting you. You've had a terrible day, and far too much to drink. You're maybe not thinking right, and I certainly know I'm not. We both need sleep. We should talk again in the morning.”

I stared at him for a long while, trying in all honesty to do two things at once, firstly attempting to cool myself down a little, and secondly willing him to change his mind. I mean, I knew he was right. I knew that. But damn it if that didn't make me want him even more. What man turns down a chance to get a woman into bed because it goes against his morals? None I'd ever met before. Not least Peter. But this man had so much honour and respect for me as a person, he was willing to hold back and not take advantage.

It was the sexiest thing that'd ever happened to me!

Then the idea struck me that he was most likely going to leave now. My heart sank. With tears welling in my eyes at the thought, I looked down at my feet and asked, “So what now?” I knew his answer would involve him going back to his hotel. I so didn't want that, but had no idea how to say it.

“What now, you ask?” Richard smiled and stepped across to me. He wrapped his strong arms around my shoulders and hugged me warmly.

There was no way to tell what exactly I was feeling at that point. Confusion was about the strongest. All I knew was it felt so good to be supported and cared for by him. Too good. Could it just be leftover feelings from my ordeal that day, or was I starting to feel something for this man? Couldn't be real, surely. I'd known him less than fourteen hours. No, must just have been feeling needy again; clinging to anyone who seemed to care the slightest bit.

My therapist says I do that because my dad left mum for a bikini model when I was ten. I think it's just because actually all men are pigs, but when one shows a little heart I draw too much into it because I refuse to believe the truth.

Richard's breath right next to my ear rumbled like a sleeping lion, and it threatened to rekindle my passion for him. I struggled so hard to keep my hands on his back, not drifting downward. Finally he pulled back just a little and whispered.

“What we do now is, I help you to bed. You fall unconscious and dream away today. I sleep on the couch. In the morning, I'll make us breakfast and we'll talk, ok?”

Oh thank God, he's not leaving. He's not going to leave me. I let him pull out of the embrace and gently lead me down the hall into the living room. It must have been from the sudden excitement, but I was completely exhausted. It just fell on me like a weight. Once in the bedroom, Richard helped me get out of my wedding dress like a total gentleman, never touching me unnecessarily despite my still totally wanting the opposite. Then carefully removed the bulk of my smeared make-up with some wipes I kept on the bedside table. He lay me on my bed, kissed me softly on the forehead and wished me a goodnight, then he quietly left the room.

For a little while I could hear him quietly shuffling around in the kitchen and living areas, probably getting his own bedding sorted. But soon I was fast asleep and dreaming of the morning. The start of a new day, a new life.

With any luck, I could stop the constant hoping for something better to come along.

Richard was here now, and better than anything I could have wished for.

Don't feel like you've had enough? Click here for Part Two

Hope In The Deep - A short story by Damien L Malcolm

Hope In The Deep

A short story by Damien L. Malcolm

Download a PDF here for reading offline.
Also a part of my recently released ebook, The Tiny 1st Volume: A Short Collection of Short Stories
Available for FREE on Kobo, Smashwords, iBooks, Google Play and other ebook retailers

 

This was it.

It had been two months since everything happened, and now Erica had finally worked up the courage to bring it to an end.

As she stood on the edge, looking down into the dark, swirling water below, it felt like everything was settled, complete. Her life had been tragically broken and confused for so long now, it was good to at last have peace.

Last February had been the turning point, when her world caved in around her. That night. She would never forget it. Her husband, Gavin, had taken their daughter, Lisa, to soccer practice after school, and waited with her until home time. He had the luxury of doing that sort of thing.

Being between jobs for the previous few months had allowed him a lot of time to form a closer relationship with Lisa. Closer than Erica ever had. Working her office job in the city and climbing the corporate ladder had sapped a lot from her relationships over the years, not least costing her the motherly bond she should have had with her only daughter.

Not that any of that mattered now. Lisa was gone, along with her father. She had only been thirteen years old when her life had been cut short.

Tears welled in Erica's eyes as she remembered her daughter's face, her hair, her smile. One lonely droplet left her eyelash and plummeted down into the darkness, caught in the wind billowing past under the old iron bridge beneath her feet.

That Thursday, Erica had been working late at the office, as usual. The soccer practice was rained out early. She was looking out the window of her high-rise office, seeing the black clouds rolling in from the west over the mountains, and wondering how her husband and daughter were going.

From the police reports, an animal ran onto the road right in front of them. While Gavin had done his best to avoid collision, the slick wet road offered no traction. Their car had left the road and fallen down the embankment. Both husband and child had died instantly on impact with the bottom of the ravine.

When Erica came home that evening to an empty house, she had not been worried at all. They may have gone to a friend's place on the way home from practice, and Gavin simply forgot to let her know. He was often doing things like that. They had been married sixteen years, and while she still loved him with every part of herself, sometimes the communication slipped. But then a phone call did come, and her universe shattered. All hope that she had ever possessed left her in a rush, leaving nothing but hollow emptiness.

Erica was a strong woman, or had been. In recent times she felt as if that strength had failed her. Along with everything else. She had been constantly sick, constantly drawn and tired. She found things difficult to remember since the night of the accident, but knew there must have been the crash investigation, the funeral, visits by caring family members and friends that probably went on for weeks. Went on until they thought she was ok and could manage on her own. She hadn't taken notice of any of it.

A wry smile crossed her lips, though, as the wind whipped blonde hair around her face.

Don't suppose they'd consider me “ok” now.

It had taken her this long, struggling to hold some sort of life together—unable to get out of bed every day—for her to realise it just wasn't meant to be. She had lost her job, there was less than a week until the bank foreclosed on their house, unpaid bills lingered on the kitchen counter and half of her so-called friends had turned their backs on her grief. Family may have still been there, but all Erica felt was lonely, lost and forgotten.

“Shouldn't she have started getting over it by now?” She had heard one of them say when they thought she was out of earshot. A woman who Erica thought was a friend.

Get over it? How was she ever going to get over losing the two people that made her truly complete, the only two people in the world that formed the other parts of her? The husband she had loved since high school, and the daughter they never thought they could have. After the cancer, she was told she couldn't get pregnant. Lisa had been a one-in-a-million miracle, and Gavin the man that helped that miracle come true. They were everything to her. What did people expect, she'd just forget them, brush off and move on?

“No,” Erica had said to herself, while staring at the dark ceiling above her bed in the middle of another sleepless night. “I will never get over losing my husband or our daughter. Never.”

She decided then that if her life couldn't have them in it, then she didn't need to be alive. Simple as that.

Once she had made the choice of what she was going to do, things became easier somehow. Abstract concepts would sometimes run through her mind. Hope. Future. Love. Laughter. These were just words to her now. Words with nothing but an echo of symbolism reaching out from a life she had lost. She could forget them.

Presently, as the cool midnight breeze rattled the framework of the bridge she stood on, Erica knew it was time to go. It would be quick, she knew. Just the impact of the water alone would most likely knock her unconscious, so with any luck she wouldn't have to feel the actual sensation of drowning. Not this time.

A lone truck rumbled past behind her, crossing the bridge into the city on some late-night delivery run. The sound jolted her, as if shaking her from a dream. Erica knew that if she was truly going to do this, it would have to be now. She steeled her nerves, tightened her grip on the metal ledge at her waist, leaned her upper-body out over the water and took a deep breath.

She let go.

The fall was somehow both terrifying, exhilarating and peaceful all at once. Like flying. It seemed to Erica to last for aeons, though in reality it was only a little over three seconds. The moment before she hit the water, Erica thought she saw an mirage of her husband looking up at her from the murky surface of the river. It was flushed away as she struck the surface, plunging instantly into the icy water.

The water was so cold it felt like frozen demons tearing at her skin. She could hardly move, and while she could see a little, all she could hear was the deep thumping of her own heart. The darkness deepened as she sank into the abyss; chilled shadowy water swirling, enveloping around her.

The cold and the oppressiveness, however, felt soothing to her somehow. It was as if her immediate surroundings were adapting to match the frequency and pitch of her own depressive sorrow. Erica welcomed it, the gentle falling, sinking. It was calming the way the blackness seemed to reach out and wrap around her, like a blanket, protecting her from the hurt and loss that waited above the surface. Waited to claim her sanity.

It wouldn't be long now. Somewhere inside, Erica could feel her lungs striving for breath, fighting so hard for that sweet oxygen that would keep her body alive. She closed her eyes and focused her mind against it. Soon the urge would start to hurt, she knew. For weeks now, she had been practising. Filling the bathtub and submersing her head in the water. While she had never been able to see it through to the end till now, it had given her the experience she needed; she knew what it felt like to drown, so she was fully prepared for what was to come.

It wouldn't take long now, and she would be with Gavin and Lisa again. Her heartbeat began to slow, and with her eyes still clamped shut she focused on every pulse, willing it to slow further, to just release her from life.

“Love, what are you doing?”

Erica abruptly opened her eyes. Her husband's voice had come through so clearly. But how...?

“I'm here, Erica, right beside you. What are you doing to yourself?”

She turned to the voice and saw what she thought could only be an hallucination. Gavin was there, floating beside her in the darkness, though not even really floating, and with a strange light behind him. She shook her head in confusion, releasing bubbles of air from her mouth as she moved.

“Don't panic, love. It's alright. You can talk to me.”

As she looked on, his image seemed to take on further clarity and become more solid. She hesitated for a moment before trying to put words together. She couldn't understand how, but the water was gone, the cold gone. There was just black void surrounding them, pure nothingness.

“H... How are you here? Am I dead?” The strained voice did not come from Erica's mouth, but from somewhere else. Perhaps only in her mind, she wasn't sure.

“No, not yet. I'm here to try to talk some sense into you, Erica. We've been watching you, you know. Lisa and I both have. You can't do this to yourself. There's so much more you have to live for.”

“To live for?” she echoed, starting to cry. “What could I possibly have to live for? You're gone. You and Lisa were all I had, and you're both gone." She was so overcome with grief and confusion, Erica could hardly get her words out. "There's nothing left now.”

“That is not true, love. I'm so sorry I had to leave you. But sometimes our path turns sharply when we're not prepared for it. Sometimes they're meant to end. Nobody is ready for that, not least those who are left behind. But I'm here now because I love you, and I don't want to see you waste your life like this. You mean too much to me.”

“But you're gone, Gavin! I can't mean anything to you, because you're not here any more. You're not with me!”

“I know, love. I'm so sorry."

Gavin paused. Erica cried. She cried the tears that had been stored up inside of her for two long months. Each sob racked her body in deep, heart-breaking sighs. She was angry at him for leaving, and angry at herself for feeling angry. She loved him so much that seeing him there through her tears like he was still alive, when she knew he was gone, just tore through her heart like a dagger. The pain felt as if it would never go away. But then, she didn't want it to go away because it meant she might lose sight of him, forget him somehow.
When Gavin's spirit spoke again his calm voice came with a tangible flood of hope and a warmth that Erica could feel flowing into her. It felt like the most loving hug she had ever experienced. Her sobs slowed as she felt his energy wrap around her.

"But you know, not every part of me is gone,” he whispered next to her ear. “I need you to stay alive, because someone needs to be around to raise our son.”

“What?” She pulled back, only to find the image of Gavin still sitting apart from her, like he had never moved. Energy poured from him, reaching for her. He was smiling lovingly at her.

“Haven't you felt it yet, Erica. He's inside you right now, growing.”

“But... how? I can't be...”

“You are, my love. We lost one child. Don't let us lose another. Please, Erica. You need to do this for me. I can't be with you now, so I'm going to need you to be strong for me and our son, ok? You need to make up for what I can't give him. He is going to need you. Can you do that for me?”

Erica was looking down at her belly and rubbing it gently in disbelief, “I.. I think so.”

“That's good Erica. I'm gonna go now, but I'll still be around for you. Always. I will never leave your side.”

“No, don't go! I still need you. You can't...”

“I have to, love. I have to. And you need to rise up and take a breath.”

Erica started to panic as Gavin's image began fading away. She couldn't cope with losing him for a second time. She tried to move toward him, but he seemed to gradually drift further away any time she moved. Suddenly, a bright light struck through, cutting between Erica and her husband's spirit. The wet cold reclaimed her senses, cruelly ripping her from the dream. She was back in the river. She cried out, but her voice was muffled in the water. She couldn't see Gavin at all now, but just as she was thought she would crumble apart completely, thought she had lost him again, his voice echoed in her head as if coming from a distance.

“I love you Erica. Be strong for me now. Take that breath, then just keep on breathing.”

“I love you to, Gavin. I will try. I miss you... so much...”

“Good girl. I miss you too. We both do. But I'll always be right beside you... Always... Take that breath, love.”

The light got brighter, as if shining directly on her from above. Erica looked toward it and was surprised to see she was only a metre or so below the surface, and what looked like the keel of a boat was in the water beside her. As she kicked her feet and rose, she couldn't help but let a smile cross her lips. The water had done exactly what she had wanted. It had taken her life. Her old life.

Hope had given her a new start.

If you would like to read another of my short stories, click here