(Betrayal Part 7)



Copyright December 2000

Where is he?

I look out and see darkness. A chill creeps under my skin. The night is cold and lonely without him.

Why won't he come home?

I wander into his room, my fingers trailing across a tumbled stack of CDs.

Is he mad at me?

His bed is soft, the pillows a comfort when held in my arms.

Did I hurt him? Hurt his feelings when I retreated to hide behind a locked door?

I look out his bedroom window, my gaze caught by the clouds drifting across the night's full moon.

I wish he'd come home. Come home to me.

I jump up, ready to run.

Oh God! What am I thinking? Do I understand the consequences of that thought? Do I want my friend to come home? Or . . . do I want a lover to come home?

I feel the threat of tears . . . again. And now there's a new pain in my heart.

No . . . not a pain . . . a fear.

I don't want to lose my friend. Please God, don't let me lose him. I've lost enough to last a lifetime.

A shaft of light crawls across the room. I watch it, mesmerized. It hesitates as it falls across a photograph on the bedside table. A stunned silence descends over my heart.

The simple silver frame holds a picture of myself.

I stare into my own smiling eyes, a past happiness captured for eternity. I wake from my emotional stupor and truly examine my friend's bedroom. My breath is lost in confused surprise.

I can't remember the last time I was here in my friend's private sanctuary. We try to respect each other's space. But I'm quite certain that what I'm looking at was not here before.

A wall of photos. A wall of memories. A wall of me. Me and my friend.

I stare at the smiles, the hugs, the friendship . . . the love framed in a revealing display.

I retreat to my room but I leave the door open. As I pace back and forth, thoughts tripping over each other, my gaze keeps wandering back to my friend's room.

Is that wall of photos a secret confession? A declaration of feelings?

What is the answer?


Do I want to know the answer? Am I ready for the answer?

The rumble of an engine pulls me to the window.

He's back.

I press my face to the cold glass, lost to the questions battering my mind and heart.

He sits there, his face hidden from me. I want to brush back that curtain of hair and read the truth in his eyes. I think it's time to know . . . to understand.

No! NO!

He's leaving. He's leaving me.

I can't let him go. Not now. Not when I need him. Need the answers only he knows.

I fly downstairs and out the door. The cold slaps me with brutal clarity.

I will not let him escape.

I reach out and take hold of my . . . future?

T o be continued . . .