When Love Is Not Enough

The moon glowed alluringly over Clayton County, clear and bright. The strongest of the stars lent their glory to the moon’s symphony, a silent song played by the heavens. It was a summer’s night, one that could conjure up worlds of magic, thoughts of lust and desire. It was the kind of night ripe for lovers. Lawrence Chelton sat in his sport utility vehicle in the moon-made shadow of the neighborhood’s tallest oak. On a night when many found reason to celebrate love, Lawrence was trying his best not to celebrate rage. He could see it. It was red, a bright red thing, just behind his eyes. He imagined himself with a gun, a knife, a bat, his bare fists. He imagined himself shooting, stabbing, gutting, hitting, killing, all in a vain effort to drown out the hurt. For he knew no matter how much harm he did, none of it would take away the gut wrenching pain he felt inside, and so action remained relegated to the arena of his tortured imagination. His heart had been torn asunder. His soul was suffering. His joyous love, which was like a raw open thing unabashed and unashamed, had been struck a mortal blow. Lawrence felt soiled, soiled by foul betrayal. His was a love denied … for the second time. The writing had oh-so-strongly been on the wall, a phrase that was a metaphor for what could only have been his blind ambition. It was the only way he could explain it. Deep inside he had known it was coming to this. His friends had intimated as much, but he had not believed, he could not. When true love is all you want, all you feel you need, a desire that burns as bright as the noonday sun, you can’t be expected to see what’s happening on the sidelines. The object of your affection can blot out any-and-all distractions, even the slightest of contradictions; hers is absolute. When something so strong is betrayed, the sun sets on love. Like the blackest night it descends behind the heaviest of curtains. All is done, love is swallowed in a nimbus, and at the center something red, hard, and terrible begins to stir. Lawrence gripped the steering wheel of his Mitsubishi Montero. The muscles around his brown knuckles flexed. The skin of his fist faded to white under the sheer pressure. His anger was a palpable thing, consuming the air inside his SUV. Yet, he still hadn’t uttered a word. It was long in coming. “Damn,” he whispered through clenched teeth, stirring, struggling to hold back his tears. “Damn.” It was the only thing he could say, the only thing he dared say. He truly feared the possibility of stronger, harsher words driving the growing Red within him, pushing him to action, and unleashing the images in his mind. He frowned ominously, slowly shaking his head from side to side. He knew if he stepped one foot outside his truck, he would disgorge chaos on Brightling Lane. He felt his anger was strong enough to topple the house at which he now stared. He didn’t want to even begin to contemplate what he would do to the people inside. She had told him she would be home alone studying. She had said she would be there for at least an hour or so, alone. Then later, she was going to meet up with her study group. Lawrence knew the people who comprised her study group, two boys, and two girls. One of the boys was Torrance. Adina said they were good friends. He had helped her through some rough times in their pre-med curriculum. However, over the past year Lawrence had become more suspicious of their relationship. As of late it seemed as though she was spending more time with her study group than she was with him. It was either school, or something school related, like her steadily escalating duties in the Delta Xi sorority. He never questioned her or her priorities. Trust was implicit. Everything they did was supposed to strengthen their future together. Some things were social—the more educational tasks would benefit the financial. Lawrence could be a patient man, especially when the future seemed so bright. But brightness had given way to darkness. Whispers among his friends and echoing images of things he had seen, and heard, when he supposedly wasn’t paying attention, had pushed him to do this. His home was off Cascade Road in Southwest Atlanta. To visit his fiancé he had to drive almost thirty miles. It was a voyage he undertook almost everyday. He was proud to do it. Admittedly, things were easier when he was living in the house with her, but her recent request that he move back home, provide her with a little space before they make it permanent was not unreasonable, not when they intended to spend the rest of their lives together. So here he was in Clayton County, Rex Georgia, thirty miles outside the metro area, thirty miles from home. He had tried to convince himself he was coming over unannounced to see if she would like to grab a bite to eat before going to her study group. He had tried. Unfortunately, the lie couldn’t drown out the truth. He had wanted to know, to see for himself. He had doubted. He doubted no longer. Lawrence looked at the Honda Civic parked in the driveway of the house he had called home, parked right behind Adina’s Accord. He looked at the large window in the front of the house. The drapes were drawn, but the lights were on. The shadows of two people played about on the curtains. The two figures had just finished pillow fighting, or that was the way it looked to Lawrence. Now, they were engaged in an embrace. Their shadowy heads were pressed together. There was no doubt in Lawrence’s mind. His future wife-to-be was passionately, hungrily, voraciously, kissing another man. She was kissing Torrance. He watched, and watched, and watched, as they continued to devour each other. The seconds dragged into minutes. Then, he saw something else. The shadows were groping at each other, pulling at each other. They were removing each other’s clothes. Lawrence shut his eyes. He leaned his head back against the headrest and tried to keep his bottom lip from quivering. A tear escaped him. “Why?” He mouthed the word silently. He didn’t understand. To him, it simply made no sense. Love wasn’t supposed to be this way. Never in his worst nightmares had he imagined it might come to this.