lonely heart, a story by bibijay

Chapter One
When the wind blows south will you remember
me still? Do you still remember how you made
me feel? Will your heart find its way back to me?
Mj’s voice rolled into her ears through her
headset. She would never get tired of listening
to him sing, he had brought every of her songs
to life. Mj had given her songs voice but he had
lived too short. Bianca Avery knew she was
being followed. She combed her hand through
her honey blonde hair, took off her headset and
looked around, surveyed the environment. Amos
lane was a quiet neighborhood and the roads
were often deserted. Maybe it was because of
the tranquility of the street or the thoughts that
danger could be lurking around that appealed to
her. Bianca wanted to die but she was too much
of a coward to take her own life. She had
wanted to die ever since the day MJ was
lowered to the ground. She had said in her head
that he was too young to die, that he was selfish
and that he had died without her. Every day she
walked through Amos lane, wishing a thug would
suddenly come out of nowhere and strangle her
to death. She had fantasized about dying so
many times that she was certain death was
coming for her soon. Her mother had often told
her that if she wished for something often she
would get it. So why hadn’t Mj come back to
life? Why has his killer not been brought to book
and why was she still alive? Her mother had no
answer for that. All she had left was the shred of
hope that if she keep wishing for death, it would
either find her or she would find it. So why was
she scared that she was being followed?
She went through each day just like everyone
else but she knew that she wasn’t like everyone
else. Something had died in her. She taught the
Dallas rich kids music, making their parents
believe that they would one day be as famous as
Kenny Rogers or Elvis Presley. She laughed in
her head whenever, she said that to the parents
of the kids she taught. She was a college
dropout, she hadn’t even made it as far as LA.
She had not made much of her talent, or made
much of her life. She had dropped out to work
and support Mj. Mj was the gifted one. Mj could
bring even the most boring lyrics to life, Mj had
believed in her dream and now Mj was gone. She
had killed the only man who believed in her, the
only man who loved her. He had helped her and
healed her. He had showed her that not all men
were heartless. She had shared her deepest
secrets with him. He had held her in his arms
and comforted her. She had never told anyone
else that she was molested by her uncle when
she was ten and that he had actually penetrated
her. Mj never thought of her as soiled goods.
She felt guilty for being alive while Mj was gone.
She had not only destroyed one life but two. She
glanced over her shoulders and quickened her
steps. Her gaze dropped to the simple wedding
band on her finger; married in the morning;
widowed by night.
Mj’s music was all she had left. She had driven
him to the town he performed his first gig. On
their way back, he had parked his car by the
road side and begged her to make love to him.
But she had refused. She had never let him sleep
with her and she would regret that for the rest of
her life. Mj’s music was a gift, a treasure and
she was glad to have that now. Even though she
had written all of his songs, they were bland and
lifeless until Mj gave it voice. She glanced over
her shoulders again and her eyes misted with
tears. Twenty-seven-years- old, driving a rickety
car, living in a stuffy one bedroom apartment and
as skittish as a puppy. Ever since Mj died, she
had had the feeling that she was being followed.
She had gone to the police and they had
watched her house for three weeks. In the end,
they advised that she visit a shrink. She knew
she was being followed, sometimes it scares her
but sometimes she feels comforted, knowing that
she wasn’t alone. Her girlfriends stayed away
because they were scared of saying something
that might upset her. Her sister, Alicia, who was
a lawyer and was happily married thought she
was just being paranoid. Of course, Alicia would
say that because she never approved of her
relationship with Mj. Bianca had shut herself
away in her room for three months, sneaking out
of the house only when she needed food
supplies. Mj’s boss and manager, CEO of
Brooklyn and Ralph records, had been the only
person she allowed to visit her. The record label
had given Mj a chance and she would be forever
grateful to them. They still wanted her to write
music for them but she couldn’t bear to hear
anyone sing her song. Three months after Mj
was signed to the record label, he had taken her
to his tree house and proposed to her. Mj’s tree
house was a little small so they had crawl in. It
was built for him by his father and it was wonder
that the tree house hadn’t fallen apart. She
hadn’t known that he was going to propose to
her that night, no wonder his mother had made
his favorite food. She had said yes with tears in
her eyes and three days later they were married.
Mj would never feel the wind on his skin again;
something he loved. He would not throw his
arms around her again when she had one of her
nightmares. And he would never sing her songs
again. Mj was dead and gone.