lovestruck (short story).

 My dearest Jane,

How are you, my love? Oh! I can scarcely explain how desperately and terribly I miss you! How I long to see your beautiful face again! It has been less than two months since we saw each other last, and yet it feels like an eternity. I begged and begged Papa to let me visit you this winter, but he remains firm in his resolution that we not do any more travelling until summer at least. I am certain I shall go quite mad with impatience before then, for there is nothing I desire more than to be in your company once again. Oh, Jane! I am certain I am still as lovestruck as the day we met. Every night I go to sleep thinking of your beautiful blue eyes, and wake up thinking of your smile.

I’ve been thinking of the first time I saw you. It was summertime, and I had recently turned sixteen; Papa and I visited your uncle, eager to make the acquaintance of the niece now living with him. We entered the drawing room and there you were, sitting in a window seat with the afternoon sun lighting your blond curls up like spun gold, a cup of coffee clasped in your delicate gloved hand. You looked directly at me and smiled your beautiful smile, all dimples and sweetness. Oh, I am certain I become lovestruck that very moment! You looked exactly like an angel that had fallen out of Heaven.

We spent hours and hours in each other’s company that summer, running around the meadows of your uncle’s estate, playing with the dogs, and having delightful conversations in your treehouse. I had never had a friend like you, and it was glorious.

The day before Papa and I were due to travel back home, you and I went up to that small, cramped treehouse in the evening. The sky was a gorgeous pink, the sun bright orange as we lay down on our stomachs side by side, our arms touching; I was thrilled by the closeness. We played a game: taking it turns trying to flick pebbles into a small groove in the house’s wooden floor. Every time we failed, we had to do whatever the other asked us to. You went first – and failed. You smiled and turned to look at me, your face suddenly mere inches from mine, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe.

You felt the same way, didn’t you? Your lovely round cheeks went pink, and your voice was quiet and breathless as you asked, “So? What do you want me to do?”

Instead of responding, I kissed you. We kissed until the sun went down and the world turned dark velvety blue, until the air grew chill and your governess started calling for us. It’s still my favourite memory.

Sadly, we had to part ways the next day, but we kept up a close correspondence, and, while I missed you awfully, your thrillingly passionate letters made me feel that there was barely any distance between us. It was wonderous, especially as summer drew closer again and I knew I would see you soon – until you gave me those dreadful news. You would be married to a man you had only just met by the autumn. Your uncle had settled it.

Papa and I arrived at your country house, and while I was overjoyed to see you, I was grieved by the amount of time you spent alone with your suitor. However, it took me less than a day to ascertain you did not love him the way he loved you. You talked and laughed and went on long walks with him, but I could see in your downcast eyes that you were not happy. He could never make you happy.

But I could.

I resolved I had to do something.

It has so simple to ask him to accompany me as I walked into town, claiming I wanted to know my best friend’s future husband better. It was so simple to persuade him to walk along the cliffs with me, enjoying the fresh sea air.

So simple to trip him up with my boot and send him sprawling over the edge of the cliff.

Oh, you were so shocked when I told you! Your whole face went red and you said nothing for ages, until finally you whispered, “You killed him? You killed him in cold blood?”

I nodded happily. “Yes! Now we can be together, my dear! You’re mine. Forever and always.”

I reached for you, and you backed away, your eyes wide. “Stay away from me,” you said. “I – you – oh, dear lord, you’re a monster.”

I know you didn’t mean it. You were startled, but now you understand that it was the right thing to do; I did it so you would be happy. I did it for us.

Why won’t you reply to my letters, Jane? This is the tenth one I’m sending, and you haven’t responded to a single one. I miss you so very terribly, my love. Are you still upset? Do you miss your suitor? I know you didn’t love him; you loved me. I know because you kissed me. You’re mine, Jane. You’re mine and no-one else’s.

Why won’t you reply?

I don’t understand why Papa made us leave your home as soon as I told him what I’d done. He’s been so strange lately, insisting on us not leaving the estate at all and looking so scared. He insists I should not have any contact with others until I’m “better”. I don’t understand what he means by “better”; I feel perfectly fine. He doesn’t even like me sending letters. I’m having to write this in secrecy, which is rather thrilling.

Oh, Jane! I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything before.

Why won’t you write to me?

Please write to me.

Write to me.

WRITE TO ME.

Please.

I miss you so very desperately.

Yours,

XX