Like Romeo and Juliet, but smart!
Bronte’s POV
We’ve just finished making love for the umpteenth time this week together.
Is it already a week?
It seems just yesterday that you talked to me that way at Mooney’s and then we kissed.
And yeah, I know, I didn’t say ‘having sex’, but ‘making love’, for real.
I know how I’m feeling.
And judging by the way you look at me and smile, I guess I know how you’re feeling, too.
I know it wasn’t supposed to happen.
I know it’s a big mess.
I know that big troubles are ahead, but for now I don’t want to think about it .
I just want to enjoy this moment.
Mmm…
“You’re really enjoying my relaxing massage, sweetheart.” You murmur, pleased, as your hands work their magic on my shoulders. “You don’t even talk anymore.”
“You’re right. It's so overwhelming that it deletes any possible thoughts of mine.”
Another lie to add to the list.
“Please, Joe, don’t stop.”
I’m sincere now.
And you don’t stop and every touch of yours feels wonderful and I feel all the tension release from my sore muscles.
Such a relief for my shoulders who had to carry the heaviest load ever for weeks: the one of a lie.
To you, making you think everything is so perfect between us.
To my friends, making them believe I still want to go on with the plan.
I’m such an awful being, and I should feel guilty for feeling so good.
Even more when you hug me from behind and let me place my head against your chest, as my hands caress your forearms.
I’ve never felt so protected all my life as I’m feeling now, trapped in your tender embrace.
“You know this will end in tragedy, don’t you?” You murmur, as you hold me tighter.
My blood freezes in my veins.
Have you found out my secret?
Have you found out I’m double-crossing?
Are you going to kill me?
Just now that I’m convinced myself you’re not a killer?
And yet this is not the kind of grip that means to harm…
“What… what d-do you mean?” I try to play dumb, but my stuttering voice is failing me.
“I know how you are feeling, Bronte; because it’s the same way I do: when something is just so good, it can’t last forever. Even more if I have a marriage to break free from in the most peaceful way possible; for Henry’s sake.”
Ohhh, that’s it!
Good news, Louise: you can breathe again. You’ll go on living.
“Of course… Henry. Poor, sweet kid.” I sigh, feeling awful.
Okay, he’s not Kate’s biological son and more than once you told me she's not the most tender mother ever for sure; but it doesn’t make me feel any better.
“Hey, it’s not your fault. It’s my choice. I’m the main responsible of all this situation.” You seem to read my mind.
“We’re in this together, Joe. That’s why everything must be so gradual and Kate must never find out about us, not before you find the most delicate way to tell her.”
You snuggle and the tip of your nose tickles the tip of my ear.
“Mm. ‘Us’. It has such a beautiful sound. Say it again.” You purr.
Oh, dear, don’t get too fond of that word, it can’t last long.
“Okay, let’s knock on wood.”
“Huh?” You frown at me.
“Let’s not picture us in a fairytale, it would bring bad luck. Let’s put us into a drama scene, what would it be?”
I’ll go first, but only in my mind: you find out our newborn relationship is not 100% genuine… Your rage when you caught me inside your cage as I pretended to steal your books would be nothing compared to your potential reaction…
“Worst scenario possible? Uhm, let me think about it…” You almost sound amused. “Kate finds out about us long before I have the chance to tell her about it, and she reacts badly, so badly that she sends someone after you… and when I figure it out and try to save you… I arrive too late.”
Geez, this is not comforting!
I shiver and you wrap me in your warm embrace even more.
“Hey, hey, calm down. Nothing like that is going to happen; it’s you who asked for this game.” You soothe me with your deep voice.
“You’re right. My turn: you promised you would talk with Kate, but actually you never do, plus the guilt I feel for breaking up a family gets worse and worse, so after weeks of useless waiting…”
“You commit suicide.” You anticipate me.
What the fuck?
“Noooooo! I was about to say I would leave town and disappear without a trace.” I point out, right before slapping your shoulder. “Why in every possible scenario am I the one who ends up dead?”
“Well, because this way I’ll spend all the rest of my life mourning you, my love… Ain' t it the most romantic thing in the world? You should appreciate it!” You strike back, trying to kiss me, but I back off, annoyed.
“Well, I’d appreciate it a lot more if you died with me!”
“Bronte, don’t underestimate the value of mourning: there's a beautiful poetry by Edgar Allan Poe, probably less known than ‘The Raven’ and towards the end it goes like this: ‘For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams/ Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; /And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes’’”
“ ‘Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;/ And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side/Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride’”
You stare at me in awe as I’m reciting those verses.
“See? Don’t flatter yourself, snobby little shit, I also know that poetry very well.”
“Impressing.” You smile, kissing me. “And unexplainably sexy.”
I don’t know what exactly happened, I just know that we’re both naked again and you’re all over me, we’re making passionate love once more and I’m loving every moment of that.
Then I switch roles and remind myself that I still have to thank you for your amazing massage before.
I straddle you as you stare at me with clear expectations in your eyes.
I’m going to fulfill them.
My hands and mouth know exactly what to do and your moans prove to me how good I’m doing that.
“Here’s another drama scene that just popped in my mind: you give me an orgasm so intense that my heart can’t deal with that… but what a way to depart this world! And, see? This time it’s me who ends up dying!” You make me laugh.
“You can rest assured that I’ll mourn you until my last breath.” I lean closer to you for a sweet, fast kiss.
“I had no doubt about it.” You smirk, right before getting up and reaching for your clothes on the chair.
Something I like a lot less.
“However, I rest my case: mutual dying is a lot more romantic than mourning.” I insist, as I look for my bra, under the bed.
“So, you wish for something like Romeo and Juliet!” You mutter, as you button your shirt up.
“Yeah, just like Romeo and Juliet, but smart!”
You cock a confused eyebrow at me.
“Huh?”
And then a silly idea hits me.
“Just picture Romeo and Juliet nowadays, Juliet’s plan would have worked, since she could have sent a WhatsApp to Romeo, expalining that hers was just an apparent death.”
“Shrewd. And don’t forget the hashtag #ScrewMontecchiandCapuleti at the end of every text between them!” You make me laugh again, as you fasten your belt.
“I can totally see this happening, Romeo!” I chuckle, as I wear my cardigan.
“Well sure, my Montecchi are Kate and probably her siblings… but what about you, Juliet? You don’t have any Capuleti…”
Oh Joe, you have no idea how wrong you are.
I do have three Capuleti, it’s just that you still don’t know.
But what kind of heartless Juliet makes her Romeo fall in a trap?
Geez, I must take my mind off this.
“If you think about it, I guess that if Shakespeare had been born at the end of the Nineties, any of his most famous tragedies wouldn’t have been possible.” I state.
You caress your chin, as you stare at me, intrigued.
“Do you really think so?”
“Sure. Go on, name a tragedy. Anyone.”
“Hamlet.”
“Ophelia would never drown herself in a lake, because she would have been treated by an on-line psychological doctor who would have taught her how to love herself better and that no man is worth the price of her life. And probably she would tweet about that, quoting that Miley Cyrus’ song.”
It’s me who makes you laugh this time.
“Okay, I start to get your point, Bronte. So, let me try: King Lear would have figured out the true nature of his eldest daughters, because Cordelia would have exposed her sisters in an Instagram live!”
I chuckle.
“Right. And about Othello… Why trust the fucking Iago’s word, when you can hire a private investigator and get sure Desdemona has always been faithful.
“Wait, I’ve got another one: Macbeth would have never killed King Duncan, because following a Facebook group about toxic relationships he would have immediately seen the red flags in Lady Macbeth and got the hell away from her!”
And what about you, Joe, are you a red flag I can’t see? Or am I one for you?
“If Shakespeare could hear us now he probably would roll over in his grave!” You chuckle.
This made-up game seems to entertain you a lot and yet doesn’t prevent you from wearing your coat and walking towards the threshold.
I know you have to go back to your family, for now it’s the right thing to do.
But I wish I could spend more time with you, especially knowing how little I have left.
You lift my chin up and caress my cheek.
“Hey, what’s this sad face? You know I’m coming back tomorrow; first at the shop, and then here in our little, perfect world.” You murmur, giving me one last kiss.
Nope, Joe, our little word is anything but perfect, maybe I should warn you about it, right before you go.
“Joe!” I call you, I can clearly hear a hint of desperation in my tone.
You turn to look at me, oh so lovely.
“Yeah?”
Nope, I can’t screw up the work of many months, I can’t do this to my friends.
“Goodnight.” I cowardly changed my mind.
“Goodnight, sweetheart. You know what? I really enjoyed our Shakespeare game… if we survive any possible drama scene, we should write a book about revisited tragedies of other authors too, together.” You wink at me, before closing the door.
Oh, Joe, if we both survive the incoming drama scene, if you find again the desire of loving me after how much you’re going to hate me once my friends strike; there are so many things we will do together.
This is a promise.
--
THE END