Love Betrayed

By Robert Roughton

Love Betrayed is a rite of passage, maturation story, one full of pain and heartache, aimed at a YA/Adult readership. It follows the changes in a popular, high achieving, high school student, following the death of his closest friend, and a developing love for a classmate.

It exposes a full range of emotions and experiences including insensitive parents who don’t listen, sex, school work, jobs, male friendship and what friendship can be between a girl and a boy, relationships; truth and lies, love and lust, suicide and death.

The story explores the paradox of the narrator being successful in school in so many ways - academically, at sport, with male friendships as well as with the girls - while suffering great trauma through the loss of two very important friendships/relationships.

The narrator’s confusion between love and lust is explored in the story. His lack of understanding of the girls around him – what they are looking for, what they need.

While experienced with sex, he is completely unsure about what he is experiencing with the girl he loves: something far deeper. Yet he still wants sex and jeopardises this closest relationship in order to have it

The narrator’s self examination is full of uncertainty and confusion, trying to understand what is happening with the girl he loves. Selfish and self-oriented he struggles for a more mature outlook without knowing what maturity is or how to get it. It is so hard for him to make sense of, he has no perspective with which to comprehend or draw the right conclusions.

In the end he must struggle with the loss of his love, and the belief he drove her to suicide.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Roughton
• Release date: Oct 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005901080

Robert Roughton

Robert Roughton’s background is in corporate management with Australian and multinational corporations in the electronics industry. In addition to managing his own software company providing specialized support to corporations including one of the world’s largest emergency medical support corporations and several multinational banks he is currently a customer technical support manager with a major multinational consumer electronics corporation.His academic achievements include a Master of Management, MBA and Master of Arts (Writing)Robert has a deep interest in flying, and accumulated several million air miles in the course of his career. Being a very frequent customer on several airlines, he has been invited into the cockpit on several occasions, including a memorable sideslip landing at Singapore Changi in severe weather. Yes! The Captain really does say “I have the aircraft” when he takes control from the First Officer at the last moment.His flight experience at the controls includes light planes and a helicopter, and he has used his observations and knowledge of cockpit and airport procedures, plus the technical aspects and flight characteristics of the various aircraft in Natanz to ensure the in-flight action is true to life.He has been on aircraft that have suffered an engine out during takeoff, an in-flight engine fire and a wind sheer incident at Dallas Fort Worth, plus dozens of inevitably bumpy sideslip landings and go-arounds at Wellington, New Zealand.His first book, Natanz combines his interests in aircraft and politics and is particularly relevant to current Middle East politics.His second book, Love Betrayed explores teenage love, betrayal and suicide.Robert’s latest book Scrivener V3 for Windows is a visual tutorial on the program he uses in all his writings. This book explains how to get the most from Scrivener from first jottings to self publishing in multiple formats on all the popular author platforms. This book will be released alongside the Scrivener V3 Windows release, now anticipated for late 2020.

Book preview

LOVE BETRAYED

Robert Roughton

Copyright © 2020 Robert Roughton

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction.

Any similarity to actual events or to persons living or deceased is entirely coincidental and unintended.

1

Diane lay with her eyes closed, just the slightest smile. She seemed so peaceful, without a care. I wanted to lean forward and kiss her; to wake her. Just hold hands, as we often did. To tell her how much I loved her.

We would never have those moments again. I’d failed her.

Stepping back from the coffin, I closed my eyes. I wanted to scream, to cry. It was wrong; unfair.

Be a man, my father complained when I cried after her death.

How do you ‘be a man’ when the girl you love is dead, and you are forced to share these last moments with people who drove her to this? I couldn’t look at them as I walked past to take a seat. I hated them. I hated myself.

Sitting, waiting for the service to begin, I cried, remembering our first conversation, less than six months earlier.

I had been standing outside this church. Rooted to the spot, unable to enter. Inside, the funeral for my best mate, Richard, was about to begin. He’d crashed into a truck parked without lights.

He was your best friend.

I turned towards the voice. At first I didn’t recognize her. The girl looked little like the Diane I knew from college; normally camouflaged by a knee length pleated skirt and baggy blouse. First in form for three years, and one of only five, now four in Advanced Math, she always seemed indescribably sad and alone, with no real friends. I’d never spoken to, or even acknowledged her outside of class.

I just nodded, worried if I spoke I’d cry. My best friend was gone.

I remembered my father’s warning. ‘men don’t cry.’

Diane saved me. Could we go in together?

I nodded and walked slowly. Diane walked alongside.

Once inside, we sat together. I couldn’t talk.

As the service began, I found myself blinking rapidly. Men don’t cry I reminded myself. I felt a soft hand hold mine, giving a gentle squeeze. I glanced at Diane, looking at me, tears welling in her eyes. I gently squeezed back.

Leaving the service, I was surprised when she walked close, holding my hand with one hand, and grasping my arm tightly with the other, as if afraid to let go. Standing outside, Diane hesitated for a moment. Thanks for letting me sit with you. She smiled just a little.

For the first time, I saw her. In three years, I’d never bothered to look.

Thank you.

Her smile disappeared, and she stepped quickly away from me. I have to go.

Confused, I stood watching her hurry to a couple standing beside a car.

She seemed to cower away from the man as he opened the door, and she slid inside.

As they drove away, she looked at me and gave a slight, quick wave, as if not wanting to be caught.

I was snapped back to the present by the priest. We are here today to mourn the passing of Diane, and offer what support we can to her loving family.

I wanted to stand and scream. What loving family? The father and mother who helped drive her to this end?

I remained seated. I had failed her yet again. I could only bury my head in my hands and weep, trying not to attract attention. I could hear the priest drone on about faith being a source of strength in such times. I just wanted the service to be over.

Again, I was dragged from my thoughts by the priest’s words.

Suicide is a mortal sin. One which should prevent Diane from entering Heaven, however, God alone can decide if a soul is worthy to enter his Kingdom. We must pray for the soul of Diane; that God will see the aberration of her mind that caused her to take this action and allow her to enter.

Aberration of her mind! What of the aberrations of everyone else’s minds that drove her to this? Her parents, this priest who told her to pray for her own sins, and me. Especially me. The bastard boyfriend. Had I been the final straw?

Before I realised, I was on my feet; pointing, shouting. "Pray that God might allow her into Heaven! She deserves Heaven more than any of us. More deserving than her father, her mother. You, her priest, or me. We all drove her to this! Tears were streaming down my face. When I stopped shouting the church was silent. Everyone was looking at me in shock. The looks said it. They thought I was mad.

I felt a grip on my shoulder. Someone I didn’t know. You need to leave.

I stood, glaring at Diane’s parents, shaking my head. They glared back at me. Her sister, Carol, looked at me, nodding her head so slightly. She closed her eyes for a moment, before opening them and looking directly at me. Again, she nodded.

The grip became tighter, pulling me back. Leave now!

I turned, stumbling. He dragged me down the aisle and pushed me roughly outside. I stood staring at the door for a moment, then walked slowly to my parents’ car.

They had allowed me to borrow it and attend Diane's funeral, on the promise I would be back in time to help milk the cows. When I promised, I knew I would not be and didn't care. My parents and the cows could wait. I needed to say goodbye to Diane.

I drove to the cemetery and parked at the back of the carpark. Walking through the Catholic section, I couldn’t find an open plot. Walking further, I found the only open plot; in the Independent section. Surely the Church wouldn’t be so mean? Walking away, behind the backhoe that must have dug Diane’s grave I leaned against the fence and waited. I could not stop crying, Silent tears, and pain in my chest so sharp, I thought my heart would stop.

Twenty or so minutes later, the hearse pulled up, and I saw a coffin placed in the device covering the open grave. Several minutes later, Diane’s family and other mourners approached the grave. The Church had been so mean.

I watched the graveside service from a distance and waited until everyone had left. Walking slowly to the grave, I knelt, looking down at her coffin. It struck me so hard. The only girl I loved was gone. We had all killed her.

I wanted to die. I was crying so hard; I couldn’t breathe; the pain in my chest even worse than before. Why couldn’t I just die?

I’m sorry. It had been one of the last things I had said to her when she was alive and was all I could say now she was gone.

Looking up, I saw the caretaker, now standing beside the backhoe; waiting for me to leave so that he could complete his job. I slowly stood and walked back to the car. For several moments, I sat, not able to move. I saw the clock on the dash. I was late. I would be in serious trouble.

I slowly drove out of town, then once on the open road, pushed the accelerator to the floor. Three times on the short straight stretches, the speedo needle wavered around one hundred and forty. I was driving like a mad man. I didn’t care if I crashed.

2

Forty minutes late, I arrived home. As I rushed into the house, my mother screamed at me.

You’re late! Your sister has had to help with the milking.

I ignored my mother and ran to my room. There was no point in making excuses. She wouldn’t allow them. Changing into my overalls, I ran to the shed, the top of my gumboots slapping against the back of my calves.

As I ran down the steps, into the pit, my father turned, glaring at me.

Sorry, the service was longer than I expected. I stepped behind the next cow in line and washed her udder. Picking up the cups, I fumbled, and let air into one of the cups as I slid it onto the teat. I could sense my father’s disapproval. Letting air suck in made it uncomfortable for the cow. To him, it was almost a crime.

After milking was over, I hosed the yard, then began to walk down the track to the paddock the cows were in for the night. I struck me again. Diane was gone. I’d helped kill her. I could not stop the tears. No matter how may times I wiped my eyes, they were instantly filled.

Shutting the gate, I leaned against the post. The stabbing pain was back; my chest felt as though it was being crushed. It was ten minutes before I was able to begin the slow walk back to the house.

By the time I arrived at the house, all I wanted to do was curl up and hope the world would end. I walked into the kitchen, where my mother was serving up dinner. I don’t want anything. I’m going to have a shower, and go to bed.

You have to eat. I’ve prepared a lovely roast, with Yorkshire Pudding. My mother’s Yorkshire Pud was great, but I could not bear the thought of eating.

I can’t. Not tonight. I headed towards the bathroom.

I was intercepted by my father. I know you’re upset, but crying and moping won’t bring anyone back. You need to man up and get on with your life.

The tears were back, in an instant. Diane’s been dead less than a week. I wanted to say more, my mind, and my mouth refused to work.

If she truly loved you. She wouldn’t have put you through this. My mother chimed in, from the kitchen. Only a selfish person kills herself. They have no thought for the people they leave behind.

I’d heard it all before. I couldn’t listen to it all again. I pushed past my father, into the bathroom. Stripping off, I stood under the shower running the water as hot as I could bear. I missed Diane so much. She hadn’t been selfish. She was driven to it. Not just by her parents and her priest, but me too. Had my betrayal been the worst, the one that pushed her over the edge? I’d said I loved her, yet I had sex with Susanne. My parents didn’t know my role in her death. They couldn’t understand.

I stood, under the scalding water, my eyes closed, pictures of Diane, and our moments together playing through my mind.

I was shocked from my thoughts by a thumping on the door. Don’t use all the hot water!

Turning off the taps, I towelled myself dry, then wrapping the towel around my waist, headed for my bedroom.

Climbing into bed, I turned off the light and tried to sleep. Instead, I lay there, thinking about the past months. Apart from not screwing Susanne again, what else could I have done? If I’d bothered to talk to her four years ago when we both first went to college, would things have been different?

Time to get up!

I was confused for a moment.

There was thump on the door. Get up lazy!

Okay! I yelled, trying to shake my head awake. I looked at the clock. 5:30 am. Time to fetch the cows.

I slowly dressed, fumbling, still half asleep.

It was Sunday. That meant three hours of milking, then breakfast. My father had weekends between milking off, so I would do all the day’s farm chores before catching the bus back to town.

I was already looking forward to the bus ride back to town, for another week’s school and freedom from the farm. Then it struck me. There would be no Diane this week; or ever again.

My legs buckled, and I grabbed the drawers to hold myself up. Diane was dead; I’d have to go back to face everyone. There would be stories about how I’d gone crazy in the church. There would be wild tales about why she committed suicide. I already knew of one I’d overheard the day after she died. I’d got her pregnant, and wanted nothing more to do with her. They didn’t know; we’d never had sex. No one knew the real reasons.

Are you up! another thump on the door.

I’m coming.

I shuffled to the kitchen. I needed a strong coffee. As I fumbled with the kettle, my father walked in. No time for that. You can make one at the shed.

Stumbling outside, into the cold, I began to run. The cows were almost a kilometre down the farm. I ran along the track in the dark, the light from the torch piercing the gloom. I used to enjoy running in gumboots. It was good training for athletics.

When I reached the paddock, the cows were already milling near the gate. I opened the gate and stood aside for the initial rush, then stepped into the paddock, shining the torch around to check for stragglers.

Satisfied the paddock was empty, I followed the cows in their slow walk to the shed. Diane was gone. I was crying again.

As soon as the cows were all in the yard, I headed for the chiller room. My father had started milking the first cows as they arrived, and there was already milk cascading over the chiller tubes. I made myself a coffee and drank it as quickly as possible.

As I stepped down into the pit, my father looked at me. You need to get a grip. He stood looking at me for a moment. Do you want to take the week off school. Working on the farm, without having to listen to everyone talking about her might help you.

I guessed he was trying the best he could. Nothing would help get over Diane. I just had to face it. I shook my head and moved to the first cow in the row, washing her udder, trying to block everything out.

No matter what I tried, visions of Diane kept filling my mind. I spent most of the milking in tears. My father gave up trying to say anything, just shaking his head from time to time.

After we finished and cleaned up, We went home for breakfast. I pushed a little food around my plate, before giving up and heading out to complete the day's work.

I always looked forward to going back to town for the week. During the week, I boarded with Mrs Oliver. When my parents moved farms at the end of the season, they had arranged for me to board with her. She was a lovely old widow who fussed over me. I wondered what sort of fuss she would have made if she knew I sometimes brought girls home for sex when she was at golf and bowls. That all stopped when I met Diane.

Just after 3:00pm, I caught the bus back to town. For two hours I sat in a daze. I remembered the day after Richard’s funeral.

3

As I headed for the first class that morning, I saw Diane already standing near the room looking around. When she saw me, she smiled and stepped towards me. Hi Rob, How are you today?

Okay, I guess. How about you?

Okay. Diane turned and began walking beside me, towards the classroom door. It’s still hard to believe.

It was hard to believe. It is.

Ahead, I saw my girlfriend Meagan standing outside the next classroom. I knew what was to come and stepped slightly away from Diane. From ten metres away I could see the frown on Meagan’s face. I was going to cop agro over this. Meagan and I had been going out for five months. Five months of constant accusations. Just glancing in the general direction of another girl was enough to cause a fight. I wondered for a moment why I bothered.

I knew why I bothered. She was beautiful, and the sex was wild.

Other than that, we had no real relationship. We shared no interests or goals. I was in the Academic stream, Maths, Science and Language. She was in General. Home Economics, and Phys Ed. Her aim in life was to marry and have children. I’d asked her if she were going to Richard’s funeral, but she said she didn’t do funerals.

I smiled at Meagan and tried moving a little further away from Diane. There was no change to the frown. The bell was about to go, so I figured I’d just have to wait until later and listen to the accusations then.

Meagan glared at me, before turning and storming into her classroom. Thank goodness we didn’t share any classes. Again, I wondered why I was still going out with her. A girlfriend, I probably didn’t like that much, apart from the sex, Was I that shallow? I was.

I’m sorry.

I stopped and looked at Diane. What for?

I saw the look Meagan gave you. I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I was just hoping I could talk to you sometimes.

I thought the look on Diane’s face was almost pleading. Don’t worry about it. Meagan get’s a little possessive. I paused for a moment. Was I about to make matters worse? You can talk to me anytime. I suddenly felt very guilty. Not about Meagan; about spending over three years in classes with Diane, and never bothering to talk to her.

The relief on her face was immediate. Thank you. Should I talk to Meagan and tell her I’m not trying to steal you?

Hell no! The thought was enough to make me panic. There was no way she would believe Diane. It could only make things worse. I doubt she would believe you. I wanted to say, ‘whatever you do, stay clear of Meagan.’

Okay. I’m not trying to start anything. Diane seemed to look deep into my eyes.

I couldn’t read her meaning. Was she trying to see if I understood she wasn’t interested in me or was there something else?

The class bell rang, and Diane turned, rushing into the room and taking her seat. I followed taking my usual desk next to the empty one that had been Richard’s.

After class had finished, I headed out of the classroom block to the spot where Meagan and I sometimes met between classes. I felt like avoiding her, though knew the longer I put the confrontation off, the worse her temper would be.

She was already waiting for me, hands on her hips, not looking at all happy. I was still three metres away when she began. What were you doing with that weirdo, Diane? If you’re thinking of starting up with her, you should know she’s a virgin who thinks sex is for animals.

I hadn’t even considered ‘starting up’ with Diane, so wasn’t certain what to say. I did know; I was suddenly exhausted by the whole Meagan thing. Yes, the sex was great, but the two or three times a week outbursts, accusing me of screwing someone else, were becoming more pain than any amount of sex was worth. Or was it?

I’m not interested in Diane. We share classes. Sometimes people who share classes talk. It doesn’t mean they want to screw.

I don’t want you talking to her. Meagan was almost shouting.

While we were out of sight behind the classroom block, the area was out of bounds to students, and I was worried a passing teacher might hear. I promise, I’m not interested in anyone other than you, but I’ll talk to whoever I want. The amount of sex we have, I don’t have the energy to think of anyone else. That wasn’t entirely true. While we had sex three or four times a week, I sometimes thought of other girls, though wasn’t about to admit anything.

Meagan dropped her books on the ground and stepped closer, grabbing my shorts and beginning to undo the zip. If that’s true, screw me now.

I stepped back, pulling my zip up. No. I’m tired of the arguments. We need to talk after school.

Meagan stepped forward, grabbing at my shorts. I don’t want to talk.

I’ll see you after school. I turned and headed for my next class.

I heard Meagan shout. Don’t bother looking for me after school!

The bell rang as I ran into the French classroom, taking my usual seat at the back. Again, there was an empty desk next to mine. Richard and I had been the troublemakers in French.

As Mr Walter, an exchange teacher from America began the lesson, I remembered the day Richard and I had been responsible for all the boys in class getting the cane. We were mucking around at the back, celebrating my achieving the record canings in a year. "Thompson and Hill. Off to the Staffroom. Anyone else who needs the cane before they behave can join them. The whole class had stood, including girls. After telling the girls to sit, Mr Walter followed the boys to the Staffroom. He caned us all and announced with some satisfaction that he would not fail to do it again if we didn’t tow the line. What he didn’t seem to have noticed was he had