Atonement

By Seniya

Misery

You sit there in

your heartache
waiting on some beautiful boy to
to save you from your old ways
you play forgiveness .Watch it now,
here he comes.

He doesn't look a

Thing like Jesus
But he talks like

a gentleman
like you imagined
when you were

young.

When You Were Young by The Killers

She didn't know what love was. And for once her ignorance could not be linked to a lack of preparation—rather; it was due to a lack of information. Love was essentially a word, a word that people had made into an adjective to describe a rush of foolish sensations and emotions that some other person had undoubtedly inflicted upon them.

So yes, she knew that love was an actual thing, although not tangible, more of an imaginary expression, like a ghost of a word, something that made all of the other residents of the dictionary quiver in fear. Love made the gruesome hell flinch because the aftermath of love often left men craving the perfume of brimstone and the embrace of the fire. Love made pain shake and shiver, because love held the very nectar of pain in its black and white heart…

It wasn't as grim a discovery as my prose would suggest, for it was only after that initial realization that Will noticed that love was also a verb—and a noun. Love made men do things, and say things, foolish things that they once again attributed to that rush of emotion and sensation—and love was the name of their subsequent regrets and remorse.

There was heartbreak in love, based on the fact that humans needed to feel, and they would endure any number of sleepless nights and lonesome days if it meant that love, or something like it, would eventually find them.

And Will, raised on Lifetime Original Movies and Meg Ryan rentals had always braced her young heart for the onset of this love. It would be dramatic and powerful, and yes, there would be tears, but their salt would only add to the flavor of the experience.

But her waiting had been in vain…

…love hadn't come.

There had been crushes, Kyle Linton in the first grade was a particularly memorable one, and then him…but her first boyfriend, he'd loved her. He'd told her so in a nervous voice; he'd fallen over the words before finally smiling shyly at her…waiting for the echo that didn't come. That was the problem wasn't it; because she wasn't certain if she loved him.

She'd been patient with it, watching impassively as her heart had moved from excitement to mere recognition whenever he kissed her. Still, she'd held on, imagining that this was what love was—certainly it wasn't possible to still feel those stomach churning sensations years after the ignition of a relationship.

She was being silly.

She'd decided then that she was already in love. No matter that it didn't paint fireworks across the ceilings of the heavens or cause her to feel anything other than guilt when she'd told his eager face for the first time.

She really, truly, honestly did love him.

And then he'd reappeared…and kissed her—not once—more than twice.

An amazing kiss—he had lips that could set her blood on fire.

Oh lord, she'd been ruined. She'd panicked, she'd run through half empty streets and crowded hallways in the middle of the night just so she could chastise her own stupid, lecherous heart.

She'd hated herself for a long time after that, she'd blamed herself as well—because although he'd been the one to start this, she wanted it for so long—and it couldn't be right.

Love had flown through the window of her heart.

It was then that she realized her folly, she was sixteen. A child—teenager? Somehow expecting herself to make the complicated decisions of a woman? Yes, certainly, there were days that she felt as though she'd lived through three lifetimes but it didn't change matters. She was still sixteen, too young, far too young to comprehend the magnitude of these sensations and emotions. She still didn't know what love truly was, somehow that had made her feel worse. Love for her mother? Love for her friends? Love for herself? They weren't the same thing…

He'd left her alone after that…running away from him hadn't possibly been very healthy to his ego, not to mention her subsequent rebuttal. For his evasion she knew that she should be grateful. But there were times (not often of course) when her mind would run to that night…his mouth, his voice, and her heart would shiver, her stomach would plummet—and again she'd wonder, exactly what she was doing.

What she was feeling.

For apparently, her heart and her mind had two separate motives and decisions on how to handle this teenaged heartache, and after a time she realized that she didn't want anything to do with either of them.

There were even more times recently, when she'd seen him watching her…felt his gaze on her nape…felt his hands as they just barely grazed her skin. Torture…that's what it'd been, and she'd broken—sought him out once in the middle of the day, and pressed her lips against his…stupid? Very.

Now, love had nothing to do with her—and she was a selfish, heartless adulteress…it wasn't fair, love was too pretty a phantom to haunt her.

Lust apparently was a far better word, noun, verb or adjective—maybe there was something psychological to this, maybe she kept clinging to this little boy smitten thirteen year old because…no one was coming to save her from this sinking ship and the only man who wanted to meet her atop of the Empire State Building, she didn't want to see…

It had torn away at her for a long time, before she'd finally decided that she wasn't this selfish…she'd found Matt, and told him that it was over—he'd asked why—and she'd told him that she needed time (a line rehearsed seventeen times in her bathroom mirror) and that she was sorry. She didn't love him, she'd tried and failed—he needed better, a girl who would dote upon him and give him everything…too bad she hadn't told him that.

She was still too embarrassed to admit that she had been unsuccessful.

……………………………

So maybe it hadn't been love, but her obsession over that one word had certainly made her just as miserable as any divorcee.

She had taken pride in the fact that at least she hadn't run straight to Caleb's arms in the aftermath. She had wanted to, but inside, there had been a wall of guilt and confusion that had kept her trapped safely in her bedroom for weeks afterwards.

She'd stayed there, once again waiting, waiting for these emotions and sensations to fade away just as they had done with Matt.

They didn't.

For after three years of tenacity, they were pretty damn invisible by now—and she'd fallen victim again, her body had filled with the stagnant, stubborn hope that she could discover what love was—because perhaps the definition lay in him.

This treacherous word that fed on misery…

…it didn't seem like something that she should aspire to find.

But already, she could feel it, her soul crawling out from under the layers of shattered dreams with her broken heart cradled in its elegant arms.

She bit her lip, took a deep breath and smiled. Her way, as subtle and wordless as it was, of granting the hope welcome.

……………………………

Author: The lyrics up there are supposed to look like a crucifix. Hell yes, I was born catholic; it's in my blood man. It doesn't really go with the story…but what the hell, I saw Jesus in the lyrics and spazzed.

Actually, I decided that this chapter would be the Will/Matt break up chapter so I wanted Will to examine love, and if the fiction in the bible has once shred of truth to it, then Jesus Christ dying on the cross was the greatest act of love ever…well, it should be, to me those mothers who die to save their children are right up there too.

I am writing cookies and nervous as asked, nervous is pretty much planned out but for cookies…I wanted to do a really weird one with Will buying condoms, you know how it is when you want to buy something embarrassing you snatch up everything else in the store to hide it…but I know you guys are kinds sensitive on the sex issue, so give me some feedback on that before I go writing it.

Happy Holidays if I don't meet up with you before then!

Next: S is for Stay.