The smoke from her shisha pot wafted in the air, in a room lit with a multiple colored bulb like a club house, and her sound system releasing sensuous lyrics of Pretty Hurts by Beyonce – a song she listens to whenever she’s down. She cried, and reflected on her life and how far it has spread to the cardinal points in pieces before he walked in and helped her pick up the pieces together. She worried she may never heal from this pain in her heart.
Her life has been a mess since childhood. She never knew what it meant to be loved by a father because her mum is a lesbian who gave birth to her through artificial insemination, purchasing semen from a sperm bank. She was born into a world where she felt the love of a mother from her nanny because her lesbian parents were so in love with themselves that she became a second thought.
The death of her nanny and mummy’s lover was the beginning of a much painful adventure for her, as her step mum – her mum’s new lover – tried raping her when she was sixteen. Her mum never believed her, in fact, she beat her up and threw her out of the house for accusing her perfect saint lover. She went into the streets of Baltimore, inside the strippers club, got enrolled and made her living from sucking steamy men.
Her first day was hell. The Hispanic who had a good resemblance with a balloon tied to a thread, loved his BDSM more than his physique that obviously would be a thing of worry to his spouse. He treated her like a sex toy and left her an inch close to death when he climaxed.
Days ran into weeks, and she matured in the act, and as weeks went into months, she became a boss and a sort after stage performer and bed warmer. Just as years ran into a decade, she forgot about love and focused her attention on hedonism to the core; then her ray of sunshine shone so bright, bringing her strange colors of love, this time, an African American.
He didn’t fuck her like others did, and she didn’t ride him like an expert she was, they simply made love. Their hands curled around each other’s body in that dark room lit with his cologne, his slow and steady thrusts while looking into her eyes and her sweet moans that filled the noiseless room. She never knew she can make such sounds because it was all new, romantic and passionate. The feeling was all new to her. After they slept and woke up. She only saw a stack of a thousand dollars on the table but couldn’t see him.
She never saw his face. Immediately, she found out that something really important to her was missing. He left with it, he left with her heart. She was in love. She wondered how she could have traded her heart for money instead of her body, and she couldn’t bring herself to regret it, because the more she tried to blame herself for being so loose and stupid, the more a handful of sincere smiles and laughter rolled out of her mouth like a dice.
She became reserved from that day and cried whenever she had to go on top of a man. She didn’t just enjoy it again, she has lost her vibes, her defences, her strength and every courage she had to get to where she has been – she lost herself. She just had to cope, with the slightest hope of seeing him again as her backbone.
For the first time in her life, she knelt down in her closet and prayed to the ceiling, because she thought God stays there. She asked for a night stand with him again and here she was, crying over him for a heart he shattered after it took them years to repair it together.
He sat down, in the VIP section of the strippers club where he first met her , with a bottle of Martini facing him. He never loved alcohol but he just needed to fill his head with it, to see if it would suffocate his memories. He texted her several times and got no replies. He was afraid. He thought she might have committed suicide or harm herself in a fatal way. He knew how hard it was to get her whole again. The efforts he put in, and now he was the same person that tore that same heart in bits.
She had caught them stark naked, moving in accord, hearing those same sounds she made the first night she met him. This time, it was not with her, but her best friend. This happened few days after their engagement party. She couldn’t withstand the sight, so she left. She went to a place where she could heal, she went to New Haven because it was rumoured to have a healing aura; but she was disappointed, then she went to Paris. There she started work as a cleaner in a coffee shop. A new life she planned, but it still had the dirt of her past – her memories with him – scrubbed all over her.
He searched for her and couldn’t find her anywhere around Baltimore, not even in Princeton or even close to Connecticut . He emptied his wallet and bank account and placed all the money as a reward for whosoever would find her. He moved around with her photo and asked everyone he saw, everyone that cares to listen, in the grocery, in the mall, in the walkway, in the beach, just anywhere he could find people, but she was gone. He did these for two years and never gave up.
Here they are, in a train in Manchester city, England. He came for a tour and she left Paris to settle here because she got a better job offer. They stumbled upon each other. He pleaded but she walked away. He followed her, but she doesn’t want him even though she can’t deny needing him, because it was written all over her eyes and sent across to him in tears, which dropped as she ran. He slept outside her door for days, calling out to her and she never answered because she was again, broken!
He secretly followed her to her work place and knelt down to apologise while sales were ongoing. The Manager had him thrown out for distractions and invading privacy. He bought the place because he was richer now – he had been rich though. She resigned and wanted leaving the country but he got the information from her roommate and co – worker. He went after her, dragged her close to him in the airport and pressed his lips against hers and made a public show because everyone was watching.
She had missed this, so she couldn’t help kissing back because all her strength was gone and she couldn’t resist him. When he made free from her, she slapped him and proceeded to the terminal while he watched and waited. What gave him such guts, he didn’t know but he was determined to follow her anywhere, even if it meant going to the moon and back.
She cried all through as she entered the plane but the aircraft had an ambiance she knows, that which she saw in that room the very first day she met him – the strange colours of love. She left her luggage and ran out of the plane, past the terminal and right into his arms as he was still waiting. They kissed again, this time more passionate and in tears, both apologising to each other.
He was sixty and she was fifty – four as they walked down the aisle, for the solemnization of holy matrimony. After they were pronounced man and wife by the priest, they kissed while people watched and were amazed. Their son with his family (including his new born twin babies – their grand children) joined them as they posed for a photo shoot. This was their first and only marriage. They called it an anniversary of the Strange colours of Love…
©Achi Gp Nuel.