Zina.
Fuck.
My dress was short. I knew. I clambered into the club with my friends around me. My hair was slicked with gel, reducing my bushy hair to beautiful, brunette, wavy hair. I tried to smile, but I couldn’t. My heart was empty, my soul was withered. Maybe withered was an extreme word for it, but the bottom line was: I was unhappy.
Wallowing myself into music brought out a small shade of happiness in me. The music beamed from the speakers, echoing into my heart, and sending water to my soul. The colored, disco light wasn’t helping matters. I couldn’t even see where I was.
I took a seat far away from the dancing floor–at a cold booth, where I waited to cool off. The air here was static and stank from sweaty bodies. I would have laid in my bed and cried. That would have been better.
“Come on, Zina, let’s go dance.” My friends tried to pull me from my chair to the dance floor. I didn’t want to dance. There was nothing to dance about. My boyfriend cheated on me with another woman and called off a relationship of five years. Was that something to rejoice in?
“I’m not ready to dance.” I take my stand, fixing my butt on the chair. “You three should go, I’ll stay back.”
They shot me with angry looks and scoffed away in annoyance. I didn’t want to get them angry, but I didn’t want to dance, either. I looked away from the dance floor and kept my face on my phone’s screen, waiting for my boyfriend to send a text, maybe to reconsider calling off the breakup. I’d forgive him. I always did.
After so much swiping, I gave my phone a break and wiped the tears on my face with the back of my already wet hands. I sat still, thinking and crying about what went wrong in my life.
A burning desire for a drink reached my throat. I needed a drink–a cold, tipsy, clear liquid. Alcohol would send heat down my cold body; something that would take me out of my sad state. Something that would stand as my therapy.
I stood up from the floppy booth and made my way to the bartender’s hub. A whole lot of people carried around in their drinks buying, smooching–which I always looked away from when I saw a couple doing that. A striper stood stark naked on a pole and danced her heart out, men turning toward the rhythm of her body.
I sat hard on the bar stool and waited for the bartender to serve the drink he was preparing for a red-haired man who tried to woo me by grinning. It didn’t work.
“What can I get for you, miss?” his voice is soft and soothing, too appealing for a man. I would have liked to talk with him, to cry out my heart and eyes before him, but I restrained myself.
“I’d like a cup of your strongest drink,” I said.
He gave me a look and seemed like he wanted to ask me to reconsider, but he shoved it away and said instead. “Rum or Tequila or Vodka?”
I didn’t know what to go for, so I picked the fanciful one. “Tequila. Add some lime to it.”
He nodded in appraisal and walked off with a shot glass. I might want another shot after this, depending on how well he mixed his drinks. I sat on my chair and held my hands to my chin, waiting. When he arrived, I smiled at him and went for the shot.
It was strong and furious, burning my mouth, then my gut, then my stomach. Somehow, it reached my brain and I felt the effect two seconds later: I was beginning to forget the name of my ex.
He wasn’t serving another one, so I asked. “Another?”
“Are you sure? That could do you dirty. Real dirty.”
I snorted so hard. “Dirty? I’m already dirty. It doesn’t matter what the drink would do to me.”
He didn’t say anything but went back to prepare the shot. When he passed them to me, I hurriedly gulped them all at once. The alcohol worked like the former, but it was stronger than before. It kicked in and my memory became fuzzy.
I burned for more. I laid the glass in front of the man, mouthing more. The bartender hesitated but took the shot glass.
“I wouldn’t go for another glass if I were you.” In between the loud music, I hear a husky voice speaking to me. My cheeks burned with embarrassment.
“I have every right to take any amount of alcohol. It isn’t your business.” I spat at him. Gradually, I was losing my mind. I couldn’t even make out the face I was seeing.
“Hmm.” He brought his clear liquid to his mouth and sipped. I waited for the bartender and took shots and shots. Maybe I should have listened to him.
As I stood up, I slipped and headed for the floor. Luckily. He was there and held me tight. Like the strength of Superman. I felt at peace being in his hands, but I slapped him anyway.
“Leave me alone.” I took in a whiff of his cologne, blended with the smell of alcohol on his lips. I wanted to kiss the alcohol away.
“You don’t look too good.” He grabbed me with his right hand and turned to the bartender. “How much for all our drinks?”
“About a hundred and ten bucks.”
He dug out several dollar bills from his pocket and gave them to the man. I couldn’t tell the exact amount, but I knew that there was a lot of tipping in there.
He turned to me. “Do you want to go home?”
I wanted to melt in his voice and his body. Probably I’d be a butter if I could see his face. I nodded. At that point, I forgot I came to the bar with my friends.
“Where’s your house?”
I slurred at every word. When he saw that my words weren't helping him, he took my purse for me and scanned my ID. “Okay.”
We walked out of the bar and toward his Tesla. Or so I thought.
We drove in silence. It had to be. I was a drunk girl with a man I didn’t know. I just watched him while he drove, making out his handsome features. His dark hair was invincible to the night. His own body was, but I knew this man was the real definition of what a handsome man would bear.
He carried me like a child to the house. He fit his hands under the doormat and brought out a set of keys, turned the lock of my house, and carried me in. The lights were turned off, but I didn’t let him bother about that. In his arms, I was dreaming of forever.
He plopped me gently off my ragged bed. I was ashamed of my untidy room, but he said nothing about it. “Never forget to get back up whenever you go to a bar. I might not be there to be your knight in shining armor.”
“I won’t,” I say. He turned to leave and I was tempted to draw him back. His whole body affected me at that point.
Something about his voice turns me on. Maybe it was the way he spoke or the pitch of his voice, I wanted to be inside of him. The alcohol gave me the boldness to hold his hands. I traced it with my fingers up to his lips and outlined it, calling in for a kiss. I jumped on him and intertwined my legs around his torso, smiling at him.
“Don’t you want me?” That was the only question I asked, the rest was history.
I kissed him hard like I was hungry for him. My hands were in his hair, trying to taste every bit of his mouth. I was drawn to him.
He kissed me back. His big hands were everywhere around my body: my thigh, my hips, and my breast, and slowly, he was making his way to my panties. He tore my gown like a wolf and my breasts fell limp and cold against his touch. He held it and caressed it, driving me further into him.
My loose bed was shaking now, his hands were doing magic all over my body, sending sparks of passion all over. I didn’t want this to end. I was glad I drank a lot of alcohol to give me the courage to fuck this guy. He was good in bed. Better than my boyfriend.
“Are you sure about this or are you still under the influence of alcohol?” his voice was something else. I knew it wasn’t the alcohol. I shook my head once and went back to do my job, kissing his ragged, rough lips. He was a good kisser, that I was sure of.
He slipped his hands into his pocket and dug out a condom. He was fully prepared. When he slipped it in, he thrust into me, giving me both pain and pleasure all at once. I bit my headboard hard as he got in further.
He was better than my boyfriend. I was sure.
After lapse and lapse of sex, I got tired and pulled out of it. He pulled me into a big embrace with his big biceps and I fell into his hard chest. We both slept in my small bed and I was worried he wasn’t comfortable in it. His leg probably would have been sticking out of the bed.
Maybe I should count this as a one-night stand, but it was beginning to be the best night of my life.
Neil.I silently woke up from this bed that I was pretty sure wasn't mine. After looking around, I concluded that this wasn’t my room. The memories from yesterday’s night flashed in the girl from the club, her drinks, me taking her house, sex. That was cool.I took one more look at her face. Seeing her in the light, she was really beautiful. She had brunette hair that was all ragged from yesterday, her nose was well-sculptured. Her lips were pursed in cupid. As she slept, I could hear her sweet, satisfying breathing. She slept like an angel and her hands were intertwined with mine. Slowly, I loosened myself from her and jumped out of her springy bed.I picked my trousers that lay on the floor and wore them in haste. It was better if she didn’t wake up seeing me. That was a beautiful mistake, and as sad as it was, I didn’t want it to happen to us. For her own sake.As I put on my shoes and my jacket, I took one last look at her sleepy face. I want to feel her tongue on mine, even if it
Zina.I wish I could go back to yesterday night. I wish I could turn back the hands of the clock, then I wouldn’t have drank that strong drink, and I wouldn’t have had the courage to fuck my soon-to-be boss, because everything presently looked awkward.As the receptionist of Neil Incorporated shoved me inside the office, I didn’t think for a second that the man I pulled to my bed was the owner of a big, established company. I probably would have noticed him if I weren’t drunk, I mean, his faces were in magazines like Timeless and Vogue> America's hottest billionaires. I might just melt.The CV I held with my handbag nearly fell off from the shock. It took a whole deal of willpower to stop myself from falling, too.I closed the door of the office and stood, waiting for his message or directions. From people, I heard he was strict and formal with whatever he did. I wondered how I was courageous to talk to him like that. My knees were weak at this moment.What a small world.His deadly s
I dabbed my eyelashes one last time. It was naturally long so I just wore a mascara that'd put it in place. I was about to apply my lipstick when my phone rang. This jolted me and sent the lipstick the wrong way. I picked up my phone. A message from Bella. Great. "The girls are wondering when you'll be going to work. Fill us in on the first day at work with your hot boss." I smiled and typed back: "Sure I will." It was still like a shock to me when Margaret, Mr. Honduras' secretary got back to me saying I got the job. Maybe Mr. Honduras liked those who dared him. I was ready for that. Earlier today, I had set my alarm and tousled in my bed all through the night. I woke up every minute, expecting the crack of dawn. I'd feel it in my head that it was morning already and I was late. I'd run to the window to check if it was dawn already, but every time I checked, the night was as dark as coal. Up until now. My shoes were piled up in a corner, waiting to be worn. I despised my sh
"Claudie?" I yelled her name from the balcony while my eyes were fixed on the stars. "Almost done." Her words came out forced, maybe she was trying on a dress. Claudie had been inside for the past hour, having nothing to wear when she had over three closets of clothes. "Are you sure?" I raised the cuffs of my tuxedo to check the time on my Rolex watch. Rich men wore Rolex watches to prove their affluence. I also do, but I checked the time with it, too. "Yes, I am. Just trying to fit in this dress." "Should I come to help you?" "No. I got this." Claudie didn't like when I was in the room with her while she tried on cloth. She liked when she surprised me, throwing me off in her wonderful attire. That was Claudie. I looked back at the stars and watched how they perfected the stars. Zina was perfect for the job I gave her. She was detailed and worked with all her might. To please me or for the money, I did not know. But I liked what she did. "Neil," Claudie touched me from beh
Monday mornings were the worst. I woke up with bird nest hair and rushing to work would break me. Today, like for the past two weeks, I didn't worry about what shoes I'd put on. My shoe rack was filled with lots of shoes and I couldn't even get a space to hang some. All thanks to Mr. Honduras. I got to the office in twenty minutes and Mr. Honduras, as usual, was seated in his chair, waiting for my arrival. I gave Margaret a wide grin and dashed into Mr. Honduras' office. His face was paler than usual and he didn't reply to my greeting. "Coffee, Mr. Honduras?" "Yes. Black as always." I hurried down to the coffee machine and filled up the cup with a thick, black latte. Mr. Honduras slipped once that he loved my coffee and how I made them. Till now, I didn't know how good my coffee was because I made them as good as I could. A black liquid and a spoonful of sugar. I carried the mug and the saucer down to his table. "Your coffee." I placed it on the table and turned away to print
"What the fuck is going on here, Neil?" I repeated. It was still a shock to me that my boyfriend, soon to be my fiance, was having sex with someone else. I walked down to the sofa of the unholy act and I saw the secretary, trying to get herself together. From the first day I knew that he had gotten a secretary, I knew something was going on between them. I remembered the shoes. "Claudie, we agreed that you wouldn't interrupt my workspace." Neil had the effrontery to say. "Fuck you, Neil. You didn't want me here so that you can fuck your beautiful secretary, isn't it?" I was hurt deep down, but I didn't let his escapades with his secretary get to me. My face is set hard, all my being wishing the woman under his hand was dead. "What do you have to say for yourself?" she turned to Neil. He raked his hair with his hands. "It was a mistake, Claudie. Don't you understand? I'm sorry." There was a knock. Neil answered. "Not now, Margaret." And the knock died down. "Is this how you
Ever since that day Megan caught Neil and I making out, I avoided Neil like a plague, and I'm glad he respected my decision. Our conversations were monotone and I reduced the way I saw him. Sometimes I wondered what happened between him and his mother to warrant him asking what if I'd lie to my mother. I contemplated asking Jim, but concluded it might be personal to him. Of course, I had to tell my friends what happened to work that day. They all laughed and tried to cheer me up, saying Megan was a big bitch. I left out the part where she lashed me with words and made me cry on my pillow for weeks. I was stronger now. Dropping Mr. Honduras—I switched back to calling his last name because, according to Megan, I shouldn't be formal with him. And I couldn't agree more. After dropping his coffee, I hurriedly turned back to the door to face the screen of my laptop till he needed me to do one thing or the other. He stopped me. The last time he stopped me, it didn't end well. I turned
I saw the picture. I saw the fucking red dress. I saw the limousine. I saw the dinner date. I saw it all. Fuck Neil. And his secretary. I thought after those painful words I lashed at Zina she'd avoid Neil at all means or quit her job, but she didn't, instead, she clung tightly to him. I watched from a reasonable distance when they both walked into the restaurant. I could swear he had his hands at her back. I saw how they were both giggly and touchy. Zina wanted the worst in me, and I was sure to hand it to her. I took pictures of both of them, of course. If I had approached Neil about it, he would have cautioned me and told me I was being nosey and worried for no reason, then he might have gone ahead to say it was a business dinner with a client and he needed to take his secretary with him. I needed to be worried because my husband-to-be was slipping from my hands. I called Mom instantly after taking the pictures. "Mum, I saw Neil and Zina together, at a fancy restaurant."