Rated PG-13 for talk of rape (well, you've read the word, and there ain't much more than that) and suicide and a darkish topic. But I am proud to announce that there is a tad bit of corny-ness for all you corny-lovers.
Unfaithful
Head ducked down, I walk the sandy, dusty streets of Sabbia. My light blonde hair whips around in the dry wind, and I try my hardest to ignore those around me.
The villagers all scorn me. I'm not like them. I have features unlike those of Sabbia. Here, people have tanned skin, dark eyes, and mostly black or brown hair.
I have light features: blonde hair, fair skin, and bright blue-green eyes.
~*~
My dad had wandered into the world of money and greed, working for a man named Paden. Mom couldn't care for me, so she abandoned me and went off to live her own life when I was seven. I lived as a mendicant. What little money I made was lost to muggers and pickpockets. I barely made it, barely survived at all. I didn't know what it was like to have daily meals, clothes without holes, or... or a family.
~*~
I looked up when I reached a small house near the edge of Sabbia. Near the right side of the house stood a young man with brown hair. I smiled faintly and quickened my pace. When I reached him, I tapped him on the shoulder and laced my fingers behind my back as he turned to face me. His hazel eyes landed on me and I saw his mouth twitch into a small, almost nonexistent, ghost of a smile.
This was the one who understood me.
~*~
When I was 10 I met him. I had just crawled out of the house of a nasty—but successful—rapist, crying like a pitiful baby. My hair was a mess; my clothes were barely there, ripped where the perverse man had clawed them away to get to my virgin flesh.
I lay on my stomach on the side of the pathway, tears running down my face. Then, a shadow fell across me. I looked up, and through my salty tears saw the figure of a brunette boy. He wore traditional brown clothes and an emotionless face.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes, sniffling. I inquired what he was looking at with a slight hiccup, telling him that unless he had something to tell me, he could just leave. Fight back, he told me, and you won't get so pathetically hurt. He then turned and walked off, leaving me sitting there in the growing darkness.
It wasn't until a week later that I saw him again. I was watching from afar as some children my age played, giggling and calling each other's names with a gleeful bliss that I couldn't understand. I walked away from them and weaved my way through the village.
I went straight to the small, rarely used playground that I always went to during the less-exciting parts of my life. However, instead of being alone as usual, the boy was sitting there.
He was sitting by himself on one of the swings, rocking back and forth slowly. I hesitated a little, being shy and cautious around people at that time. Finally, I sucked in a breath and strode over, taking the swing next to him. His gaze slid to me for a second before it returned to the ground silently.
We swung that way for a quite a while, in a silence that could be cut through with a knife. I glanced over at him once and noticed that in one hand he held a very old and tattered teddy bear.
It's cute, I told him softly. No, it's childish, he snapped with an edge of coldness. I winced a bit at the raw, harsh tone, but sighed.
I still think it's cute. I don't see how it's childish, I say, it seems fine to me.
He finally lifted his head to look at me, and nodded slowly, as if asking if I was telling the truth. I'm... I'm Galen, he told me. I smiled at him. My name's Sarina, I replied, and right then is when our friendship began.
It didn't stay so pure and innocent, though. As we grew into our early teenage years, we blossomed a deep affection for each other. We never confessed it in words, but we both understood at 12 years of age, when we shared our first small kiss.
It was my fault, really. Clumsy me was running to meet him at the playground like we always did, but tripped over a broken part of the sidewalk. I fell on him and my mouth pushed onto his. We were both frozen in place for a moment, shocked. I was embarrassed as heck, and started to get up as soon as I realized what was happening. Imagine my surprise when he stopped me from getting up and kept kissing-and I didn't mind! After that, we both understood it: we had fallen in love.
~*~
He asks me what made me run over here so quickly, and why am I so dressed up? I reply with a smile, telling him that I'm going out with his sister, Jemma, for some fun. He nods, telling me to be back soon—we live together now, just the two of us. I tell him I won't be long, not to worry. I kiss him lightly on the cheek, then turn around in my light blue dress and wave.
He doesn't wave back, watching me go, and I feel a nasty pang of guilt. He has sadness, pain in his eyes when I told him I was going out. Because he knows.
He's not the only one.
~*~
It started three months ago. I really was out with Jemma, we were shopping for clothes. We were walking out of a market with a few new clothes, chattering aimlessly. Suddenly, an older man who was blatantly drunk approached us and, well, he suggested some things that I'd rather not repeat. Anyways, Jemma and I were appalled, and began to walk off and leave the perverse man behind. He wasn't going to let is get away. He grabbed both of us by the arm roughly and began to drag us into the alleyway next to the store.
Jemma fought him, and the man finally let her go and she stumbled forward, away from him. He then grabbed me with his other hand and breathed alcoholic air on my face as he told me what he intended to do. I shook in pure horror as I continued to struggle against him.
Jemma shouted that she would try to get help, and ran off, leaving me alone with the drunk.
The man, finding that she was no longer there to threaten him, slammed me against the wall of the building. I hit my head and cried out, feeling a small trick of blood run down my hair and neck.
He began to feel me over relentlessly, pricking and prying at my clothes. I started to cry, knowing that I was going to get raped, just like when I was 10.
Just as he finished unbuttoning my shirt, he was yanked off of me and thrown into the other wall. I quickly redid the buttons and watched a boy with dirty blonde hair and fiery brown, almost red, eyes punch him in the stomach and put a pocketknife to his neck.
Don’t touch her again, he said angrily, you sick drunken fool. The man nodded hurriedly, staring with wide eyes at the knife. Good, the boy said, now get out of here. The drunkard scrambled away from the boy as quickly as possible, fearing his life.
The blonde turned to face me, and his anger melted into a kind gaze. He inquired if I was alright, and did I need help to get home? I shook my head and told him I would be fine, that my friend should be here to help me home soon anyways. He nodded, smiling a little at me.
He told me his name was Cole, and he's sorry that I got so roughly attacked. I'm Sarina, I replied, and thank you for helping.
He told me to go and find my friend; being out so late at night was dangerous if I couldn't find the strength to fight back. I nodded and, after telling him goodbye, left the alleyway and searched for Jemma.
The next Thursday, Jemma and I were out and about again. I had told her about Cole, and she was highly amused that I described him with such detail, teasing that I liked him. I told her that it was preposterous, I loved her brother.
We had turned to enter a restaurant for dinner when I bumped into Cole. He was leaning against the wall of the restaurant, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
When he looked down at me, startled at being run into he grinned.
Long time no see, he said, the asked how I was doing. I told him that I was fine, thanks to him, and introduced him to Jemma with a slightly tied tongue. She nodded a greeting, then looked at me and said that she suddenly had to be somewhere else, and that she's sorry that she has to break our night out. I knew what she was thinking, the devious woman.
As I waved her off, Cole asked what we were doing out. I vaguely told him that we had been out looking at clothes and came here to refuel with some food. He tossed his cigarette into the sandy ground and smothered it with his foot, jerking his head slightly towards the restaurant. He inquired if I'd like for him to pay, if I didn't mind eating with a street kid. I laughed a little and told him that I didn't mind at all, thank you very much. He nodded, and together we walked into the building.
From then on, he escorted Jemma and me around the village markets, making sure no perverse or drunken men came after us again.
I started to get to know him, and talked to him a lot about what was going on in my life. I told him about Galen, oh yes, for I was proud to be with him. Soon, however, he fell out of the conversations. We just talked about what happened in our personal lives, and before I know it, we had begun to flirt.
Eventually Jemma stopped coming altogether, for she was being ignored almost the entire time. However, every night I went out, I told Galen that I was going out with Jemma.
I didn't know why I was lying then, but I soon learned.
Cole took me out to Sabbia Hill, an excellent place to see stars at night. We sat together on a blanket over the sandy ground. I looked at him and thanked him for spending time with me; I really enjoyed it. He told me that it was a joy for him spending time with me; that he didn't mind at all.
And then we kissed.
It was a small kiss, and as soon as it was over I was shocked. But he just grinned, telling me that he was in love with me, and kissed me again.
I never once protested.
He walked me home and said goodnight, and as soon as I walked through the front door of the house, I felt like a traitor. Galen was there, arms crossed, and his face was emotionless—something I hadn't seen since we had first met.
I nervously asked him what he did while Jemma and I were out, trying to keep my voice natural. He told me not much, that he just walked around Sabbia. Oh no, I thought, did he see Cole and me?
He took a step forward, giving me a kiss, and put his hand on my arms. Sarina, he says, looking at me with studying eyes, did anyone else go with you and Jemma?
I denied it, and assured him that I would never keep anything from him. I tell him that Jemma and I prefer to go shopping, just the two of us, because we have such fun and random conversations.
He nodded, letting go of my arms. He tells me to go off to bed, then, and motions towards the stairs. I reply with a simple okay, then tell him that I'll see him up there.
As I turned and headed up the steps, pain rushed into me.
I looked back at him, and to my horror I saw him sitting on the couch, face resting in his hand.
He knew.
I had lied outright to him, and he knew.
But I persisted.
I continued to leave once or twice a week, still claiming to be going out for a night of fun with Jemma. I would kiss him on the lips and tell him that I loved him.
But every time that I walked out of the door, he would watch me go with a crushed expression, painfully betrayed. I felt terrible, but by the time I was with Cole, I had shamelessly forgotten him. I would spend time until late at night, sometimes even early in the morning hours, with him, kissing, holding, and loving. The things I should be doing with Galen, but I did with him instead.
Galen got what leftovers I felt like sharing. He was second-hand, an old toy to play with every once in a while, even though it was broken.
Cole knew full well that I still claimed to be with Galen, and he didn't seem to mind at all. Just keep this between us, he would tell me, and we'll never have to worry. I would always agree, and continue to share my passion with him, even though it was so wrong.
Every time I kissed him, every time I said I loved him, every time I lied to him, every time I walked out of the door to go with Cole, I could see Galen dying. Inside, it was ripping him apart. For my love was disappearing, little by little, thinning and becoming nothing.
But he tried to trust me, I know he did. I could hear the slight pleading in his voice every time that he told me that he loved me. Every time, I would tell him that I loved him just as much—even through that was becoming a lie, a knife to his heart.
He knew I was unfaithful. It killed him inside to know that I'm happy with another guy.
I was becoming a murderer.
~*~
I walked through town, my dress billowing in the wind, as I headed for the back parts of Sabbia. There, I walked to the alley between ratty apartment buildings. I saw Cole then, sitting on the ground and leaning against the wall with a lit cigarette between his fingers and a mutt dog lying next to him.
He looked up when I came, and hurriedly put out the cigarette, saying hello. I bent over slightly to scratch the dog behind its ears.
I remind him that he shouldn't be smoking, and go on to tell him about how disgusting the habit is. He apologized and shrugged, telling me that he needed one. I straightened back up with a slight scowl, telling him that no one needs cigarettes, they just want to have them. He stood up and sighed, telling me that we shouldn't fight. I nodded, and together we both headed out into the night.
We came to the Hill, like we did most of the time. He laid out the blanket he'd been carrying, and we both sat down to look up at the sky. We talked for a while, updating each other on the events that had occurred in our lives in the previous few days, since we saw each other last.
Then he made his move, linking an arm around my waist. I turned to him and he smiled, pushing his mouth onto mine. I kissed back with an eagerness that is so wrong and cruel to the one sitting at home alone, but I didn't notice. Cole lightly pushed me down on the blanket and continued to kiss me, sliding his tongue into my mouth and exploring. I tangled my fingers in his hair, and played with his tongue with my own in a state of passion.
Hours later, he folded up the blanket, and put it under his arm. I sat up and adjusted myself, kissing him once more.
He told me that I should be heading home soon; that we wouldn't want to be caught by Galen. I agreed with a sigh. I told him goodbye and head homeward.
With every step that I toke, the shame flooded back. We had almost crossed the line that night, and I hadn't dared to go that far with even Galen yet.
At home, I looked into the window first, to see if he was waiting for me. I saw something that I have never seen before.
Galen was on the couch. He had his face in his hands, yes, I had seen that before. What I had never seen was the tears that were sliding down his cheeks and onto his lap. I watched with ashamed eyes, realizing what I was doing to him once again. This time, however, it was not only killing him, but is stabbing me as well.
I didn't want to do this any more. I didn't want to hurt him like this.
I backed away from the window, turned on my heel, and ran. I ran and ran and ran, all the way to the other side of Sabbia again, to the alleyway.
I cried for Cole, insisting that we talk. Cole! Cole!! We need to-
I stopped, eyes widening in mortification. Cole was there, and on his lap sat Jemma, half-dressed. She pulled back from a fiery kiss she was sharing with Cole and stared at me, feeling around for her shirt in order to cover herself properly.
Cole took her off of his lap and quickly stood, shirtless himself. He told me that it wasn't as it seems; that if I would only let him explain, then I'd understand that it's just a big misunderstanding.
Tears flooded my eyes. Explain?! I cried. Explain what, that you're stabbing me in the back?! That you're being a traitor?!
Jemma yelled back, telling me that Cole is doing the same thing that I am doing. That I had no right yelling at him; that I'm being a hypocrite.
I stopped, the fire leaving my eyes. I softly told her that she was right; I was a hypocrite. I'd been leaving him all alone, coming to give myself to someone who betrayed me as I have done...
Cole pleaded, asking me to listen to him, to his excuse.
I told him that I don't want an explanation, trying to keep my voice calm; the tears streaming out of my eyes. I knew what he felt like; I knew what pain I've been giving to him. I turned from them and walked away.
I don't want to do this any more, I whispered. I don't want to do this to him; to kill him.
~*~
I stand now at the edge of a large crevice in the desert, looking down.
One step is all it will take to stop this. To stop the pain. To stop giving pain. I am sick of being this way. I am sick of tearing people apart, of having such a large amount of guilt eating away at me. All I need to do is fall, and I will never worry anyone ever again.
I start to step forward.
Don't!
I turn, slightly startled at hearing someone out here so late at night. I let out a small cry when I see Galen staring at me.
I ask him what he's doing there, and why isn't he at home?
He tells me that he saw me in the window and followed me. He saw them together, his sister and Cole, and that he's sorry that they hurt me.
My tears start to fall again. I tell him that I'm sorry, that he has no reason to be apologizing. That it's all my fault.
He demands that I stop, looking in my eyes with such an intense ferocity that I've never seen before. He tells me that even though I've put him through so much, that he doesn't want me to die.
I quietly ask why, looking over the edge. I tell him that I've put him in so much pain, and that I don't deserve to continue to breathe.
He replies, telling me that if I walk off of the cliff ahead, than I'll be bringing him more pain than he's ever felt. He tells me that he's known about Cole and I, but, regardless, he still loves me.
I look back at him and ask why. I inform him that I'm not good enough to be loved; that it's my fault that I've been slowly killing him on the inside.
He tells me that he agrees, but if I fall down that crevice, than I'll still be a murderer. But not just to myself any more. To him as well. He says that he still loves me because he saw the guilt in my eyes whenever I looked into the window, and he knows that I'm sorry.
He stops for a moment, as though trying to piece together his words correctly before quietly telling me that he can't go one without my. Yes, I've hurt him more than anyone ever has or ever will, but he can't imagine a day without me by his side.
I lower my head and take a step away from the edge of the unfathomable canyon. I turn towards him and run, weak and sobbing. He catches me in his arms and holds me as I cry onto his shirt.
I look up at him, and in a small voice, I tell him,
"I don't want to be a murder."
