Alone

 

Chapter 25

 

Michael

 

 

She disappeared. I don't know where she went or why.

I knew the Tommy guy had visited her, but I thought that she would have come to me if anything had gone wrong. I had sat in my bedroom for hours, waiting for some sort of message from her. But it never came.

My sleep had been disturbed with imaginary weeping that my mind would create of my Jenna, each time my heart giving an astounding cry.

I had stood by her locker, missing most of my classes and risking the stares of my fellow classmates. I missed soccer practice to wait for someone who never showed. When asked, Pamela had nothing to say, but a simple, "She is gone." I never really truly knew what she meant, I prayed that it was not the type of disappearance that I feared would separate me from her forever.

I knew that she is out there somewhere. Waiting for the right time to finally come and confide in me again.

Time passed and I was accepted into my University of choice in Toronto, never wanting to stray from the safety of the place where Jenna might appear again. But time passed and she never returned.

I knew, or I had overheard, my mother talking to my father one night before I was to go for my first year of University about Jenna and Pamela. My mom was speaking in hushed tones for fear of me overhearing her, but it was too late for that.

Jenna had gone, at her request, back to her aunt's home in the States. She had told her mother that she needed some time away from everything, which is ironic because where her aunt lives is closer to her old home than anything else. So I didn't know if she had been running from something or running to something. I was angry.

Angry because the girl I loved could not trust in me and angry because instead of going to the future with me she had headed for her past. So the mystery of Jenna Louise had been solved.

My years in University passed slowly. I dated every once in a while, trying to find someone to patch up the holes in my heart, but to no avail. The closest had been a girl name Nicky Astair. Her black hair had reminded me of Jenna's and so had her smirk. But she had lacked a strong scar and was too wild for me to handle. She was a wonderful lover, but she was no Jenna. I could deny all of the possibilities that Jenna had been my one and only, that she had only been a somewhat destructive fling.

But who was I kidding?

My heart ached for her. It ached when I was named Valedictorian, it ached when I was accepted into the largest, most successful law firm in Toronto. I thought of her constantly in my darkened room of my pent house condo. I am a rich man. But what defines rich? Money value couldn't possibly be all. I honestly think I was richer in high school, when I was able to hold Jenna's hand.

My heart ached for her at my father's funeral after his heart had given out one hectic morning at work. She would have helped soothe my mother's broken soul.

It had been ten years since I had seen the woman that I knew would have become my everything. Sometimes I found myself staring at a picture that we had taken when she was still my neighbor. It had been a rare moment and her hair was still shorter than when she had left. She was smiling into the camera while my hand was around her waist. She had been starting to open up and we had confessed our utmost desires to each other. Her cheeks were a bright pink and her eyes sparkled in the sunlight. I was as happy as I could ever have been and I had instructed my mom to be very precise with the picture.

To outsiders, my loss of the woman who had become the love of my life was destructive. I knew other women wanted a chance, but no one shaped up to my Jenna. I wasn't so easily tricked into believing anyone could replace her.

Jesse had tried in vain to help me move on, he had introduced me to many girls from his banking firm who all admitted to finding me very attractive. But Jesse, having found his dream woman at the age of twenty-two and all ready having three children under his wing never knew what it felt like to lose the one—to have 'a one who got away'.

Every morning was a routine: get up, get ready, go to work.

Every night was the same: get off work, eat dinner on my own, watch the news, go to bed.

So imagine how surprised I am to enter my office this morning to find a client sitting at my desk quietly observing the picture of Jenna and I that I had framed in a gold picture frame.

"Excuse me," I say patiently, with the hope that she will put the picture back carefully, "Can I help you? My secretary didn't say anything about appointments today."

She turns around and smiles at me, "I don't have one, but I hope that's okay Michael."

I hold my breath as I take in the scar, her bright eyes, and short black hair. She is standing up now and has placed the photo back up on my desk. Her smile is apologetic, but careful.

She thinks I have forgotten.

"J-Jenna," I stutter, "J-Jenna L-Louise."

She nods and I see tears welling up in her eyes, "Hi Michael."

The End

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