Conclusion

Conclusion:

 

    Regina lay on her bed in her room, looking out the window at the full moon in the sky, with its mesmerizing, yet somber glow. That's how Jamone was. At first, he mesmerized her senses, and then he brought nothing but sadness.

    As Regina wiped away her tears, she heard the front door open. She frantically rushed to Jamone as he staggered in.

    "Why didn't you call? You've been gone all night. You said you would be back hours ago. I was worried."

    "You are not my mother," he replied in a sluggish tone. He also reeked of alcohol. He had something in his pocket. He clutched it tightly to his body, as if he was concealing it. When she tried to embrace him, he shook uncontrollably, and she knew it was not only from the cold.

    Then he kissed her. She pulled back, tasting the remnant of marijuana, but she was used to that, there was something else. A bitter taste. His pupils were dilated, he looked a mess.

    "What's that on your lips? That bitter taste?" Regina asked, wiping her mouth with her sleeve.
    "It's coke."

    Regina felt her legs go numb, dizziness taking over her, her mind spinning in circles. "No, no, you are selling and doing drugs? You told me you stopped years ago?"

    Jamone walked closer to her yet she inched backwards, fear a lump in her throat that she could not swallow down.

    "I did it for you. Ya know, to pay back the studio equipment." His speech was slurred. He looked drugged up, incapable of any rationality.

    Regina fumbled for her cell phone, nervously dialing numbers.

    "What are you doing?" Jamone asked, charging at her like a bull in slow motion.    "Calling the cops on your a*s," she said with hesitance, as if cotton balls were lodged in her mouth.

    What happened next was as if someone pushed a slow motion button on a movie, it was hard for her to recall every detail that had occurred.

    Next thing she saw was Jamone pull out what appeared to be a pistol from his jacket pocket. He held it up at her, and it looked Regina straight in the eyes like a taunting death threat. She tried to scream but nothing came out. She felt all choked up.

    Jamone's eyes looked wild, as if some other entity took over him, a parasite eating away at his former self. The one Regina first met.

    He staggered closer to her.

    Regina shielded herself. "No, don't Jamone. Don't hurt me." She felt weak, crippled, helpless, her voice shaky, tears escaped her eyes.

    Then a knock came from the door as it were an answered prayer.

    This happened to distract Jamone. Regina prayed incessantly in her mind, and while she did this she grabbed Jamone's wrist. He cried out in pain at her surprising strength he never realized before. The gun fell to the ground. After this, she lifted her leg, and with one quick blow, she knocked it into his groin. As he lay on the ground curled up in a ball of agony, he let out a barely audible, raspy, short word, "B***h."

    Regina's eyes darted quickly over to their bedroom dresser, her mind working with light speed, as if she were a member of a bomb squad attempting to detonate a bomb. She saw the glimmer of silver. The handcuffs! she thought. It was ironic how an object that was once used to excite their relationship was now used to bind him for her safety. She slapped it on both of his wrists as he tried to stand back up.

    "Hope I severed any chance for you to provide any more seed around the world, you a*****e..."

    She continued to hear the knocking at their door, probably from a worried tenant, and as she turned her back towards Jamone to go answer it, that's when she heard it.

    The handcuffs were not put on tightly enough. He loosened them off. Then her eyes darted to where the gun used to be. It was no longer there.

    Suddenly, the horrifying gunshot ripped through the apartment.

    Blackness soon enveloped her in its murky arms. And she was afraid it was the end.

 

Forward: One year later

 

    "And I thought it was all over," Regina said, staring at her kind therapist across the room.

    Her therapist's legs uncrossed, and then crossed to the other side. She lifted her glasses further up the brim of her nose. Her green eyes looked sadly over at Regina. "That must have been a frightening experience for you."

    Regina pulled her tank top down below her left shoulder, exposing a year-old gunshot wound.

    Her therapist grimaced.

    "It barely graced my shoulder, and luckily I survived. The tenant knocking at the door had called the cops, and soon they came to our place, and arrested Jamone on the spot."

    "And then what happened?" her therapist asked, looking at her through wide eyes.

    "He was convicted for attempted murder, and charges of cocaine and marijuana possession. He's going to be in jail for at least, um...a long time...let's just say that."

    Her therapist nodded. "He got what he deserved, huh? I'm glad he didn't do more damage."

    Regina grew pensive as she looked out the window, lost in her own world.

    "This wound has mended and it's superficial," she said, pointing to her left shoulder. "But this wound," she pointed to her heart, "has not yet mended. And may not for a long time."

 

    After Regina left her therapist's office, she began to reflect on the past year after the end of her horrible relationship with Jamone.

    She had moved in with some friends, and continued to work at her secretarial job. In regards to his debts, she was still paying them. When she was taken to the hospital right after she was shot, she had been told the news that someone had broken into her apartment and stole the studio equipment. She knew it was Devon, but since there was not enough evidence the police wrote it off. Plus, they had better things to do then worry about her property.

    Instead of allowing anger and hurt and tears to overcome her, she turned to poetry. Her inspiration flowed inside of her like a crystal stream. She filled her poetry book with her words of pain, agony, and heartache, lack of trust, and most importantly, of recovery. It was her catharsis, allowed her to purge her emotions on paper.

    However, while poetry was therapy for her, music still lay in the distance, without a chord or beat. She used to be a songwriter, but after meeting Jamone, it was hard to sing. She could write poems, but not sing anymore, as if it was severed of its life supply. Music helped her breathe for Jamone had been her life supply, and it went right back to Jamone, and she almost died, literally, from her experience.

    When Regina got home she sat cross-legged on her shag carpet, books and papers spread out before her, words weaving in and out of her like distance memories, which flowed as subtlety as wind through her mind.

    Tears flooded her eyes. Her sorrow was like a fist clutching her heart so tightly she could barely breathe. Pity transformed into her reality, and she said while she sulked:

    "Why me? How could he do this to me?"

    She stared at the picture of her and Jamone that she had dug up from her shoe box. It was one of Jamone holding a Blue Hawaiian similar to the one he had the night they met. She was standing behind him, in the distance, as if a shadow of her bad boy love interest. Although beautiful, with her light honey-caramel complexion, as flawless as a painting, and a smile that radiated, her eyes had little sparkle because all they could see was her dismal days with Jamone.

    Mascara ran down her teary face, which she patted away with tissues.

    Then a chilling thought ran through her, leaving her paralyzed with fear.

    "I wish he had just killed me that night." She covered her mouth, as if something had possessed her, and spoke those words for her.

    She dropped the memory to the floor, her eyes gliding over to the framed picture of Jesus Christ holding the lamb, which represented her; it had always been her favorite picture. A spiritual person by nature, she knew she had done wrong. Her choices were regrets. She went against her knowledge of righteousness because she thought she was in love.

    And she assumed he was too, because he told her he was.

    She closed her eyes, a peaceful hush running through her, drying up all her tears, loosening that bind on her heart. She felt Jesus' love run through her, pump blood to her veins that had been severed for so long.

    She grasped the picture again, and ripped it into pieces, then collected all the remnants and flushed them down the toilet.

    "You are not worth my time," she said, as if speaking to him through the prison bars. "For another year I allowed you to have power over me. But now I'm the one taking back my life, and living it for me."

    She picked up her pen and paper and began to write, a flood of inspiration flowing through her once again. It filled her soul with melodies and coordinating harmonies, flooding her mind with the most beautiful colors and music she had ever seen.

 

THE END

Author's Note

This story is very emotional, because for the most part I was Regina. Sometimes life experiences will change us forever, we will never be the same. And many are like a movie, a story, which we have to write down and share.

Reviews

[Angel Bird]

What a fabulous story this was!!! You have great writing skills for sure, and the message is good and very clear too, and I hope many young and not so young people will read it and take it as a good advise in their life.

Yes there's no-one who will ever have the right to control our mind and soul and being! We are all individuals with our strengths and weaknesses, and the one who really loves us will accept who we are!

Excellent work! I couldn't stop reading till the end! Thumb up!

[Hayame]

Although I was concerned about Regina, when I read about the gun going off my first thought was, "I hope it doesn't go through the door and hit the neighbor! They were only doing the neighborly thing!!" I held my breath for a little until I read that the neighbor was okay. As for Regina, although I was concerned about her safety... well she's the protagonist! I immediately assumed that she'd survive the ordeal.

Your writing was superb, have you considered submitting it to a publisher?

[emmajoy]

Wh at a finish! C ongratulations, you had me in your palmwith this story! The writing's very fine, the atm o sphere you ve created seems s o real;, the acti on an c o nversation reads really smoothly but in p arts very ex citingly. If this was in a b ook st ore I'd queue to buy it and, recommend it. Thanks f or shar ing.

[Omar]

I thought Regina would never write music again. But I was thrilled that she did!
What a beautiful ending. An emotionally charged catharsis and a groundbreaking epiphany at the end. God saves us all. We have to come to this glimpse of awareness to realize it, and to let Him in, otherwise, we'd always dwell on the past, like she did, which eventually drove her mad, making her wish she had been shot!
I am so happy for Regina, and glad she learned her lesson. "Love is blind," indeed. But it's OK, at least she knows what to do and what NOT to do in the name of love. She's a more conscious, determined, aware woman. She is stronger and more discerning. Wiser.
Beautiful story Kena, I really enjoyed it, read it part by part, night by night, so it really captivated my attention. Good job! :)

[Kelley Pascoe]

That was a really good story Kena!!!! Lots of action and very sad in places. I like that the girl in story strightened herself out and left that looser behind(smile)
Great write!!!! Thanks for sharing.
Kelley Frost

[poddar kushal]

i reviewed only the ch1 and this last. though i have read all. the poetic prose nicely described and carried the world of darkness and light.

[justink :):)]

i think that it is very good and i agree with you on the fact that only you and jesus know whats best for you in your life.

[justjenn_2u]

The was a wonderful closure for so many reasons. First, the reader is given a journey through the damage that drugs have on a person and people they love. The pain that one must go through to heal from pain an addict inflicts is phenomenal. Regina reaches to Jesus for her strength. This story is so full of emotion and wisdom. Your words captured me.

[Brian]

Very well written, and some way eerily similar to its author. But hey what we write is reflection on who we are. Great job Kena!