Fabulous readers,
This is a sequel to the O Faithful Night story. Please note, however, that sequel has matured. I wanted to capture innocence in my first story, and now I'm here to capture how quickly innocence can turn sour. Love is sometimes beautiful, love is sometimes ugly. They say that you hate the person you love the most, that love and hate are two sides of the same coin.
Will I be trying really hard for you to experience feels throughout this story, however? Yes. I'm sorry.
On a side note, I'm sorry for the length of this chapter. I don't have much of a story line to work with yet. I only have a direction and outcome I want to head towards. Having said that, this story will take quit a bit of time to construct. Expect chapters once a week, unless some stroke of luck comes my way and gives me a well constructed plan and a manual on how to write.
-The wind blows. Earth crumbles. Water flows. Fire burns. Disclaimers disclaim-
Years came and went. Fall, winter, spring, summer. For as long as the Earth rotated, so did those seasons come in that order. And for as long as winter remained in that balance, Jamie would never see his winter spirit again.
Never again would he know that frozen touch, those cool lips. Jamie had been ashamed of himself for so long. He blamed himself for all wrong that had happened. He had been too forceful, obviously; Jack wasn't interested. He was stupid to think that moving that fast in such a new romance would be a good idea.
He looked back on that morning with humility. He had woken up to an empty bed and thought nothing of it. He was even glad that morning. How stupid he had been. He had become a man and trotted around with a sort of pride orbiting his body. He smiled at breakfast; he played and jested with his sister; he practically skipped whenever he walked. His parents though him love sick and looked at their son with happiness.
Days had passed. Then weeks. Jamie's smile slowly faded to a humble face. Then his face slumped into a somber expression.
He sat alone in his room, looking at the window, his back turned to the door. He had been like that for sometime, locked up in his room, watching, waiting, hoping.
His mom entered, calling out to him in a soft voice.
He turned, tears streaming down his face. "He used me, Mom." He sniffed and choked called out to his mother, "Mommy. He's gone and hasn't come back," he hiccuped. He felt stupid for calling her mommy, but he was so distraught. He wanted nothing more than to be that three year old boy. He wanted her to pick him up and hug him tight.
He had been holding it in for so long. The tears felt foreign on his face, the hurt him as if they were acid streaming down his cheeks. He wiped them away with his sleeve, choking on his own breath.
"Why would he do that?" Why would he do that?
His mother held him that night, cradling him and rubbing his back as he cried. He told her about Jack, told her about their brief love. He was embarrassed to tell her what he had done. He hung his head in shame. "I'm sorry Mom."
It was a lot for a mother to take in, no doubt. Hearing her son hand not only taken that brave step into adulthood, but also hearing her son's sexuality in the same breath. She showed no strain, however. She only held Jamie, rocking him as they sat on his bed. How could she be mad? How could she be shocked? Her son was broken. A mother could not help but feel her child's pain.
For a while he had remembered their nights with embarrassment and often looked at it as something he shouldn't have done. He filled his head with "what ifs" and wondered about the outcomes of these fantasy scenarios. The more he looked at it in that way, the more his heart ached. Wounds refused to heal and it took him all summer that year to realize it.
He had been slumped at his computer desk, guilt playing on his mind and heart once again. Whenever he found himself alone with his thoughts for extended amounts of time, he found his mind wondering. He was the cruelest person to himself. His mind often insulted him, mocked him. He only had the strength to see the bad.
He was so tired of the bad; so tired of the pain.
He was stabbing his pencil into his notepad, scolding himself. He had been miserable that day. Most days, he often went on without pain or thought, but he was finding it very difficult on that late summer eve. He remembered waking up without him. He remembered what he had said to him before.
Never once did he remember the feel of him. The kiss of his lips. The pain and satisfaction in sex. He wondered why. His mind now wondered to Jack's hands, the touch of them on his skin. He remembered the struggle. The innocent embarrassment as they experimented with each other's bodies.
Jamie blushed. He remembered the feel of Jack, the feeling of him inside, the feeling of him as he thrust.
He blinked. Those thoughts did not embarrass him, but filled him with joy. He dropped his pencil and leaned back in his chair. That night had been good. It had felt amazing. It had been amazing. He smiled.
He realized that day that the mistakes of the past were merely treasures for him to have and to hold. Though Jack remained a void in his life, his memory of him filled him with a sense of comfort. He had given him so much. He had experienced so much. He had not made a mistake, but experienced good.
He kept that thought in his mind and his pain melted away. His heart healed. His mind came to a rest. He brought happiness to himself, replacing the misery and banishing it away.
