Confluence

This is the first part to a short story that I wrote to be turned into a short comic book. My husband will take it and turn it into a comic book script and then one of our friends, Steven Doty, will take our words and make them into comic book art. As I'm not really sure when this will be published and it could be a while, I thought you might like to read part of Confluence now, though. The rest of the story can be found at Smashwords free of charge - just follow this link. http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/15921


Confluence

Morgan wouldn’t stay. I had known that since I met him and still I had to ask. I hated myself for that weakness but I couldn’t stop myself. He kept his back turned to me, shoulders stiff. As he settled his hat on his head, he turned so that I could see his jaw for just an instant. Rock-hard and clenched. He hadn’t wanted to be with me because he had known it would lead to this moment. Pulling his long coat off the rack, he sighed. He knew he had to turn one last time to look at me. To leave without a backwards glimpse was more than unforgivable - it was insulting, and Morgan was never insulting. I sat up on the bed, sheets pulled up around me as I waited for his goodbye. I was surprised to find there were no tears inside me - they were dried up, leaving an empty shell behind. I spoke first.

“You’ll never find what you’re looking for out there, Morgan. We both know that,” I told him. He turned at that and the hard, bleak stare he sent my way would have broken my heart if it hadn’t already been shattered. He stood at the door, ready to leave and unable to do so. He couldn’t speak because there were no words. Pulling the sheet loose and wrapping it around myself, I forced myself to get out of bed and go to him. I stood in front of him for a long minute before rising up on my toes and kissing him full on the mouth, a lingering, poignant kiss. We both knew there would be consequences for what we had done. His would be leaving his heart behind, a piece of his soul forever ripped out and left to wither. Mine would be the looks, the whispers, the outright stares and pointed fingers. I would hold my head high in public, cry in private, and he would die trying to drink away the memories. We were it for each other, and we both knew it. There would be no chance at happily ever after for us. There never had been. Not in this lifetime.

Morgan pulled me to his chest, a desperate and lonely gesture. Futile, because we both knew he had already let me go. Slowly the grip of his hands eased and he turned around. Opening the door, he walked through it and pulled it closed behind him. He never looked back.