Sobs racked her body, words choked out,
stilted and halting. A vice
clenched tight around her throat. Air. I
need
air.
“Try to take a breath, Mary.” Her voice
was there,
but distant. Courtney echoed somehow, almost through a
tunnel.
“I thought—” the gasp was
ragged and
painful, “I thought—he loved me. I thought we would be together
forever.” Pain. Make it stop, please
just make it
stop.
“That man’s a dog!”
Mary could see her.
Courtney
was touching her, but the touch was distant. It didn’t register.
Not
real.
“No!
No. He’s a good man.”
He is a good man.
He was a good man. He was,
once.
“I’m sorry.” Courtney shook her
head. Her
arms latched around Mary
holding her close. “I didn’t mean
that.”
“We were going to get
married. “ Her knees buckled.
Mary hit the ground, Courtney with her. “We were
going to be a family—have
a family. He was supposed to take care of me for the
rest of my—my—li—life.
I would never have to worry about anything because he—,
he—.” I can’t
even say it. God help me.
The words hurt too
much.
“There’ll be another guy, Mary. If you
just - -
“
“I don’t want another guy! I want
him!”
Courtney took a deep breath. “Mary, this
is going to
hurt, but he doesn’t love you anymore.” The look on Mary’s face told
her
that was a big mistake. “Isn’t that what he told you?” She was backpedaling
now. Courtney watched as her friend broke both on the inside and out.
Painful moans emanated from her throat.
To call them a sob or a cry, even a
wail, would have been a stretch.
“Mary, it’s time to get some help.
He’s not coming back.” She kept her
arms wrapped around her crumpled friend
on the floor, seemingly in the throes of
a grave injury, pitiful moans
poured out of her open mouth without stop.
Mary clenched her
eyes tight against the
pain, and the world.
It had been a year
— a year of hurt and
pain — a year of throwing up every single day, and
crying herself to sleep every
night. The days all meshed into one, and the
months dragged on as though they
would never end, as though the pain would
never end. And it
didn’t.
A broken heart really can
kill you. I still love him. But hate
him at the same time. I want to see
him, but I can’t. I need him. And I despise
him.
“I know
you’re sad,” Courtney said, “but
this will - - “
“I’m not
sad,” Mary snapped. “This isn’t
sad.” It won’t get better. It’s never
going to get better. I will never have anybody who loves me. Roger, my love
—
the only man I have ever truly loved. Why? Why did you hurt me so?
“Why
can’t you just love me back?”
“What?” Courtney
whispered, teetering on
the edge of her dear friend’s dream… or
nightmare…
“Why can’t I just find a man who can
love me? A man
who would die for me?”
“Roger did love you.”
“And now
he doesn’t.” Her words were
sharp and biting. “I want to be loved forever.
Someone who can love me for who
and what I am, for all eternity. Is that so
much to ask?”
Mary tried to stand, but her legs gave
way.
Collapsed on the floor, she buried her head. Away from Courtney. Away from
the world.
~†~
Her cries
echoed in her head. The
pounding on her brain coincided with the echo of
wails and moans in her ears. Head. Hurt. Throbbing. Mary fell
forwarded and vomited. She tried to crawl, but was too weak. The smell of fresh
dirt stung her sinuses. Dust surrounded her, blinding any line of
sight.
Hands. Don’t touch me. I never want to be touched again
by
anyone. Voices. I don’t want to hear you. I don’t want to listen. You
don’t
understand. No one does. I can’t. I don’t ever want to hurt like this
again. I
can’t do this alone. I can’t survive. Won’t this pounding in my
head
stop?
“Move along.” A foot connected with her
ribs, throwing her sideways.
Toppled sideways, face in the dirt,
Mary
pushed herself up.
Sandals.
Bare legs. Red
skirt. Sword? A centurion soldier.
“What?”
“Your king will be dead soon. Move
along.”
The ground shook when the huge cross was
lifted and seated into its gaping hole. Swaying back and forth with the weight
of the beaten and bloody human nailed to it, the broken pieces of Mary’s
heart
crumbled again. “What did he do?” Her heart ached just to look
upon the figure
that once was a man.
“Sedition. Claims
He’s the Messiah. A
new king, come to save the world, but can’t even save
himself. Now He’s a dead
king. Let’s see what He can do from the grave.”
The sky darkened, along with her
heart and
soul.
Laughter.
Mocking.
“I want the king’s
robe.”
“No, I want it
too.”
Clinking on the ground. Casting lots. Are
they betting for the
clothing of this gruesomely beaten man? Why? What did
this man do? Other than
love everyone. Love me. Enough to die for
me.
“Let’s help him die faster. Get these
crying
followers out of here.”
A spear. Pierced. Blood, no water flowed
from his pierced side, gushing down the wooden cross. “Ahhhhh.” It was but
a
whisper. He never cried out.
What?
You’re mumbling.
Mary inched closer. “What did you say?” Barely a hoarse
whisper, she
asked again. “What?”
“My God. My God. Why have you
forsaken
me?”
He groaned in pain, falling
forward against
the nails that held him up.
Dear God. That really is my son
up
there. His head lolled sideways, eyes opened. Glazed, but still focused,
on me.
He looked at me.
For you. I did this for you. I am the
one who loves you. I am the one who died for you.
And then He
smiled.
At me.
Because He loves
me.
“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.” John 3:16 NIV
Loretta Sinclair
©Sinclair Publishing, 2013
All Rights Reserved
Not Useable Without Permission
[email protected]
stilted and halting. A vice
clenched tight around her throat. Air. I
need
air.
“Try to take a breath, Mary.” Her voice
was there,
but distant. Courtney echoed somehow, almost through a
tunnel.
“I thought—” the gasp was
ragged and
painful, “I thought—he loved me. I thought we would be together
forever.” Pain. Make it stop, please
just make it
stop.
“That man’s a dog!”
Mary could see her.
Courtney
was touching her, but the touch was distant. It didn’t register.
Not
real.
“No!
No. He’s a good man.”
He is a good man.
He was a good man. He was,
once.
“I’m sorry.” Courtney shook her
head. Her
arms latched around Mary
holding her close. “I didn’t mean
that.”
“We were going to get
married. “ Her knees buckled.
Mary hit the ground, Courtney with her. “We were
going to be a family—have
a family. He was supposed to take care of me for the
rest of my—my—li—life.
I would never have to worry about anything because he—,
he—.” I can’t
even say it. God help me.
The words hurt too
much.
“There’ll be another guy, Mary. If you
just - -
“
“I don’t want another guy! I want
him!”
Courtney took a deep breath. “Mary, this
is going to
hurt, but he doesn’t love you anymore.” The look on Mary’s face told
her
that was a big mistake. “Isn’t that what he told you?” She was backpedaling
now. Courtney watched as her friend broke both on the inside and out.
Painful moans emanated from her throat.
To call them a sob or a cry, even a
wail, would have been a stretch.
“Mary, it’s time to get some help.
He’s not coming back.” She kept her
arms wrapped around her crumpled friend
on the floor, seemingly in the throes of
a grave injury, pitiful moans
poured out of her open mouth without stop.
Mary clenched her
eyes tight against the
pain, and the world.
It had been a year
— a year of hurt and
pain — a year of throwing up every single day, and
crying herself to sleep every
night. The days all meshed into one, and the
months dragged on as though they
would never end, as though the pain would
never end. And it
didn’t.
A broken heart really can
kill you. I still love him. But hate
him at the same time. I want to see
him, but I can’t. I need him. And I despise
him.
“I know
you’re sad,” Courtney said, “but
this will - - “
“I’m not
sad,” Mary snapped. “This isn’t
sad.” It won’t get better. It’s never
going to get better. I will never have anybody who loves me. Roger, my love
—
the only man I have ever truly loved. Why? Why did you hurt me so?
“Why
can’t you just love me back?”
“What?” Courtney
whispered, teetering on
the edge of her dear friend’s dream… or
nightmare…
“Why can’t I just find a man who can
love me? A man
who would die for me?”
“Roger did love you.”
“And now
he doesn’t.” Her words were
sharp and biting. “I want to be loved forever.
Someone who can love me for who
and what I am, for all eternity. Is that so
much to ask?”
Mary tried to stand, but her legs gave
way.
Collapsed on the floor, she buried her head. Away from Courtney. Away from
the world.
~†~
Her cries
echoed in her head. The
pounding on her brain coincided with the echo of
wails and moans in her ears. Head. Hurt. Throbbing. Mary fell
forwarded and vomited. She tried to crawl, but was too weak. The smell of fresh
dirt stung her sinuses. Dust surrounded her, blinding any line of
sight.
Hands. Don’t touch me. I never want to be touched again
by
anyone. Voices. I don’t want to hear you. I don’t want to listen. You
don’t
understand. No one does. I can’t. I don’t ever want to hurt like this
again. I
can’t do this alone. I can’t survive. Won’t this pounding in my
head
stop?
“Move along.” A foot connected with her
ribs, throwing her sideways.
Toppled sideways, face in the dirt,
Mary
pushed herself up.
Sandals.
Bare legs. Red
skirt. Sword? A centurion soldier.
“What?”
“Your king will be dead soon. Move
along.”
The ground shook when the huge cross was
lifted and seated into its gaping hole. Swaying back and forth with the weight
of the beaten and bloody human nailed to it, the broken pieces of Mary’s
heart
crumbled again. “What did he do?” Her heart ached just to look
upon the figure
that once was a man.
“Sedition. Claims
He’s the Messiah. A
new king, come to save the world, but can’t even save
himself. Now He’s a dead
king. Let’s see what He can do from the grave.”
The sky darkened, along with her
heart and
soul.
Laughter.
Mocking.
“I want the king’s
robe.”
“No, I want it
too.”
Clinking on the ground. Casting lots. Are
they betting for the
clothing of this gruesomely beaten man? Why? What did
this man do? Other than
love everyone. Love me. Enough to die for
me.
“Let’s help him die faster. Get these
crying
followers out of here.”
A spear. Pierced. Blood, no water flowed
from his pierced side, gushing down the wooden cross. “Ahhhhh.” It was but
a
whisper. He never cried out.
What?
You’re mumbling.
Mary inched closer. “What did you say?” Barely a hoarse
whisper, she
asked again. “What?”
“My God. My God. Why have you
forsaken
me?”
He groaned in pain, falling
forward against
the nails that held him up.
Dear God. That really is my son
up
there. His head lolled sideways, eyes opened. Glazed, but still focused,
on me.
He looked at me.
For you. I did this for you. I am the
one who loves you. I am the one who died for you.
And then He
smiled.
At me.
Because He loves
me.
“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.” John 3:16 NIV
Loretta Sinclair
©Sinclair Publishing, 2013
All Rights Reserved
Not Useable Without Permission
[email protected]