Tag Archives: love story

Rider, lover – careless whispers

by

(Watch this mv for best effects before reading)

“Phoenix.” She cooed. Sitting by lawn, Grandma sipped on her teacup, her frame was pensive, but eyes so soft and distant. I spotted a little tattoo on the nook near her elbow. A really… obscure place for such an ink, I would think. I took her arm gently, and eased the wrinkly creases. It was indeed a Phoenix. Or rather, a hap hazard looking black botch of ink with a triangle for a beak.

Mum told me Grandma spouts nonsense most of the time but I was pretty sure it was because in-laws will never get along with the mothers.

“This is a cool tattoo Grammy.” I sat on the weathered sun deck, head cozy-ed on her lap. My cellphone was confiscated by mum and there was nothing to do. Grandma was really nice and would tuck dollars “for icecream” into my sweater after I greet her.

“Everyone has cool tattoos, child. But this tattoo bore the greatest, yet saddest memory of my life.” She replied, voice quavering but with this tinge of nostalgia so firm, and so bitter.

“Tell me.” I sat upright, eyes peaking with inquisition.

Grandma sat her tea down and re arranged her shawl. What was meant to be a casual “Show some love to Grammy” became the next best 30 minutes of my life.

–

It was a cold autumn night, weekend’s rolled out and pubs were lit. Back in those days, money was short but lives were happy. There were gangs, yes – but you could say some of em chaps are way more honest than the president; I’d be damned, that was the kind of life we were living.

Me and the girls, Lizzy, Betty and Mindy were dressed to the nines. Talk of the town you would say. I was new to the place. Daddy’s got a new job and we dropped everything to pursue his dream. A couple of beers in and we’ve got things good. Mindy was flamboyantly coy around some men at the bar.

We were young you know – thinking enrapturing of a few men was top of the bucket list. But things started getting heavy, a young lad had his tongue down Betty’s throat and I was just sitting around, hand clutching my beer, a tad unsure what to do. Another man then walked up, beer in hand. From his gait, I knew that fellow was drunk to the heavens but who am I, just a young girl, feet rooted, heart thumping like a rabbit in the heat of spring, to start a fight and risk getting my face smashed in.

His damn hand snaked around me, breath coated with liquor. I tried shrugging, trying to maintain a smile but I knew he had me good. I looked around and my girls were all wasted, looking like puppies in love, men in their arms.

He started kissing my neck and I could feel the stubs of his gingerly done morning shave piercing my skin. I clutched that bottle so tight that my knuckles turned white. I tried to move my legs but he grabbed em. So hard.

And then came along another man, taller, stronger and boy was he looking fine. He had tattoos all over and I could tell from a glance, he belonged to somewhere bad. It was almost out of a British telly episode. He had his grip tightened like a vice around the drunk man, with his free hand, clutching his black jacket.

The drunk man fought him off, movements askew.

Everything went past in a blur. The next thing I knew, chairs were projectiles across the bar and glass was shattered. I froze, what’s a girl to do??? I then felt his warm and steady hand grabbing mine, guiding me out of the hell hole.

“Get on.” He waved, cautioning me to a bike. I obediently followed as we rode away. Lights and noise were soon left behind, until the only sound I heard was the beating of my heart and the grunts from his super bike.

He stopped by a drive through, and got me some tea – English breakfast to be exact. Mind you, I was never a tea person. Could never get past a day without a cup of good old long black.

“You feeling ok? Drink it. sobers you up and I guess. It’s great for this chilly night.” That was the first time I actually heard him talk, like a normal person. Before that he was all yelling and cursing. His voice was deep but calming.

I took a long glance at him, face illuminated by the street light.

He had taut, tanned skin and impeccable frame. Am pretty sure he got so shapely from the fights every night but speculations my dear, some are better left unasked. He had these romantic eyes that could make a girl go weak in her knees. I was sure he knew that.

“Thank you.” I replied, hands wrapped around the warm Styrofoam cup.

“For the tea?” He quipped, giving a cheeky grin which I tried not to fall for.

But I did, anyway.

I then studied his arms, eruditely. Not for the biceps – Ok, maybe. But more for the ink.

“What’s the story?” I pointed to his right.

“That’s a tribal code. It’s the mark of the family.” He replied. And I did not ask more.

I stretched my hand towards him, and traced the lines with my finger.

“It’s nice, actually.” I glanced up and caught him looking right back. The distance between our faces narrowed. I could feel blood gushing to my cheek and I held my breath.

“I have many more, if you are really keen on seeing them, maam.” He whispered.

I took a step back, embarrassed and unsure of what I got myself into.

“Come on up, I’ll send you home.” He chuckled and handed me his black jacket. The smirk on his face was cheeky, but genuine. The jacket was soft, and it bore a phoenix in embroidered threads. Oh my god what was I thinking. I shook my thoughts away as though in fear he could read em.

“Hang tight princess.” He pulled my arms around his waist, much to my shock. What audacity this man! But I did anyway. And his back comforted me more than I expected.

It felt like mere seconds, before I arrived. I wished it lasted longer- As soon as my feet touched the sidewalk right by my house, he sped off into the dead of the night.

I was still wearing his jacket. It had this faint smell of cologne and cigarettes. I hid the jacket in my closet, afraid my mother would chance upon it. It was taboo for us to mix with people like him. But well that’s how all scripts were written right?

A few days passed, and my longing to see him grew bolder and stronger each day. I did not even know his name nor knew if I could see him again.

Then there he was, one night, exactly a week later. I had stayed home that weekend, down with a slight cold. Outside my gate. You’d think he’ll toss a rock or something like in movies but he didn’t. That man just stood, leaning against his bike, smoke in his hand. Like he knew I was hoping he’ll come by. Or maybe because no one could NOT hear his bike screaming down the alleyway.

I went out, robe covering my nightgown.

“Hi, did you enjoy staring at my jacket when you were thinking of me?” He flirted openly, without a single hiccup, smirking again.

“What? No???? It’s in my closet.” I was quick to deny. “Let me bring it for you now!” I added, making my way back through the gate. He grabbed my arm.

“No, you can keep it lest you miss me.” He pulled me towards his chest and locked me in an embrace.

I couldn’t react. What is this??? We barely met. I didn’t even get his damn name and there I was, body entangled with his.

I struggled a wee bit, but my body went flaccid, completely capitulated as he stroked my hair dreamily. I looked up and before I could speak, his lips were pressed against mine.

“I want to know more about you.” I finally freed myself from that captivating entrapment and demanded answers.

“Are you a bad guy? Are you in trouble?” I couldn’t contain myself anymore.

“No, I am not in trouble. But I am trouble.” He replied, hands still wrapped around my silken robe. “Will you still ride with me then?”

And just like how any girl in my shoes would, I replied “Yes. Why not?”

That yes prompted the best chapter of my life. I was a blessed woman, drunk on the happy dew of love’s most innocuous glory.

He had a phoenix tattooed on his right leg which I found out eventually. And his name on the left. I remember my fingers going over each tattoo, wanting to remember how exactly they look and wanting to imagine how he felt when he got em on.

But everywhere he went, chaos followed. He never used the name tattooed on his leg. It was his birth right, but something he had to bury deep within himself because he had a band of brothers to live for and die for. His pseudo name was kind of trashy if you’d ask me. Asher.

I have never met anyone like him. I was living and breathing a live soap opera in my own wake, and walked past his “men” with their heads bowed in deep respect. They would call me “Sister in law”.

He then tattooed my name right below his, on his thigh. That, according to him “was his canvas for all secrets he holds dear, and secrets  that kept him going.”

“Was that calculated?” I asked him the day at the tattoo parlor when he got my name inked. I pointed to the small space so conveniently made right below his name.

“Yes, I knew you were coming along and thank god you aren’t Indian”

I laughed.

But ya know, that’s what God does. The best things in life never came for free and will never stay with thee. One day, my dad told me he went bust. Bankrupt with his neck up in debts. Of course Asher couldn’t just sit around while the loan sharks trashed my house and beat my old man up. He came to me one day, looking aghast, but his gaze was firm and steady.

It was a briefcase of notes. I knew right away it was blood money. I refused it.

He then went straight to the debtors and settled it. My dad walked a free man and wanted to move away, to get away from all these.

“I know your boy did this for us. And daddy’s grateful. But now we have to go. because now, they know his weakness. Its you, Abby.”

I begged and begged for him to just go away with us, we could run a diner and make things work. I begged, or not, for me to be by his side.

But before either of us could decide, fate got us first. The money that he took belonged to an Arms dealer from the west side, but tippers had him exposed. Men were sent out to look for him, and I, but he had speculated that and made sure I was kept safe, under the protection of his brothers. I know naught of the fight, but all that I could not forget, was me, holding the love of my life in my arms, ravaged like cotton in an open field, gun shot to his chest.

He rested, in the nook of my arm, still with the smirk on his face. “You must live on baby doll. Don’t forget to wear the jacket when you miss me.”

That very night, my heart died, along with him.

–

Grandma closed her eyes, and I could see a single tear going down her cheek. I could barely hold back myself.

“You are really strong Grammy.” that was all I could reply.

“I have something to live for. Something that was a part of him.”

“The jacket?” I asked naively.

“No..” She laughed softly.

“Your dad.” She took up her tea again. English breakfast, read the label.

And that was when I realized I knew what was written on the left leg of the Protagonist in the story.

Jonathan Bennett.

 

( Listen to this after the story for best effects ❤ )

 

Hope you guys liked it. Abit cliche but Lana Del Rey’s songs inspire bad boys like that. YALL FEEL ME?

 

 

Subjugated.

by

I think everyone has contemplated the intricate allure of death, if not many, at least once in their lives. We first enter this world, like a silken cloth, free from marring, from pollutants, from desecration. As we age, we start to grow. The growth of our physique may give our age away, but this aesthetic form; is just a mere facade, is it not?

At different phases of life, we birth many desires; some strange, some childish, some ridiculous. But in most phases of our life, we crave love.

That is one thing humans will never stop wanting. 

I reminisce sometimes, with a tinge of abhorrence, and pangs of disgust the one boy in my life that I spent 2 years of my life thinking he was what love really was about.

How wrong was I?

I am sure you have felt this before, your palms sweating, heart racing when the phone rings with a text from him. You schedule your every day around his ups and abouts, keeping time free and skipping your meals just to wait for his casual “Wanna meet for dinner?” You talk relentlessly to your friends about him, how cute he’d look in this 500$ shirt you just bought for him, and spend your days thinking of how to doll up better so he can finally say “you look nice.” (But obviously i never had the luxury to hear that from him.)

I have chased that guy, not only in a bid to get together with him, but also literally. Chased him down the streets publicly calling his name, tears strewn amok my cheeks, begging him to stop, but hell I wasn’t much of a runner but I sure was determined as fuck. What was I even chasing him for? What was I sorry about? Nothing. Evidently, I was sorry because that’s what he wanted to hear. I was chasing him because that was what he wanted to see.

My sister brought his name up again once during dinner days ago. She was laughing and joking about how amusing it is when I, the pathetic girl so madly in “love” with him, was mopping the floor with tears wetting the ground faster than the mop could do its work. I can, at that point, understood from her point of view, how comical it was. But the girl I once was, was so remotely shattered it felt like I died so many times over.

I remember that day, he had blocked me on all media. And back in those days there WEREN’T many platforms you could talk to someone on. He wanted a break up, for the millionth time, because he was in army and he has gotten bored of this plain jane with a flat chest who loved him so much, she gave him everything. With nothing left to offer.

The bed… felt like a coffin, with the ceiling closing in onto me. The computer was the devil’s advocate, whispering for me to do something crazy. And the window….. let’s not even go there.

So I tried to busy myself. I grabbed the mop and started cleaning like crazy. But this sadness it just wouldn’t leave me. And it felt like all purpose of living, all purpose of ME, myself, has forsaken me. If I could cry my heart out, that must have been that day I finally see how mine looks like.

But fast forward to 7 years till today, I finally realized that wasn’t love. I let him hang around even though he has “broken up” with me just because he wanted a quick outlet for sexual pleasures while I stupidly thought the physical contact could bring us closer on the emotional plane where he clearly didn’t want to co exist with me in.

If you are reading this and you find yourself in a similar situation, know your worth. It may be hard for you to leave, I tried a thousand times. But when he leaves, death is never the option.

Let me tell you what love is. Love is when you hold him close, for the 10000th time, but your heart doesn’t flutter. It calms. 

 

 

Keep fighting.

The red invite

by

So I woke up in the middle of the night with perspiration running down my temples. There were no shadows, for my room was pitch black. I reached out for the switch to my trusty nightlight. “Click”. Nothing happened. “Click” I tried again, and this time, light emanated the room with a warm glow.

Where there’s light, shadows follow. I saw him, in the flickering light, looking at me quietly from the corner. He was handsome, in an oddly displaced manner. There was just something about that perfectly sculpted body, that immaculate face that was just not quite right.

Oh yes, because his area of residence is about 30 feet under and that his skin glints in red.

I found myself unable to move, I guess it was his doing. As my hands and feet found themselves fastened to the bed by invisible chains, he leaped over from the door. Yeah, all in one stride. In one major kangaroo-ish jump. He sat on my bed, a overly good looking smile that turned into a grin, revealing a few jagged teeth. Not too sure what does his diet consists of, but I do not wish to know.

His hand stroked my cheek gently, and he whispered. with a voice that would star perfectly in any horror film ; You are beautiful, marry me.

I am not too sure that’s how marriage proposals should be done. With a final peck on my forehead, he disappeared, leaving just another red invite behind.

The floorboard creaked as I got up, the red envelope in hand. I wasn’t even bothered to open the letter, before dumping it into my closet that was already piling up with the rest.

Its funny, I feel strangely lonely in the morning when I wake up to prepare for work. But I brush all thoughts of him aside. Really? Fantasizing about someone of his sort, I must be going insane after the devastating relationship with Victor that I had 1 year back.

Work is such a boring, meaningless part of my life. I am employed as an Admin clerk for a Medium sized enterprise, and where making instant coffee is concerned, I daresay I’ve clinched the title as best coffee maker.

Few days after his ghastly appearance, an incident happened at work. My bitch of a manager, a rather slutty looking woman who has more cotton padding in her bra than the entire of a cotton field, decided it was all for good fun to ask me for a document that never existed.

After a few minutes of heated debate, I decided to relent because I was a god damn clerk. She then launched a lengthy and extremely bitchy berate loud enough for every other employee to peer from their cubicles. Then it happened.

He appeared out of nowhere, in a suit. A bespoke one with flashy cuff-links, shining in a glint of red. But he, for the first time, have I seen him in the color of flesh. He looked so alive.

The manager closed her mouth and stared as he continued walking over, incessantly. She muttered “Good morning, CEO”

I fought hard to maintain a stoic expression when those words left her lips. WHAT?

He then spoke, voice still the same raspy, eerie manner. “You are fired.” He then turned to the HR in charge, handed yet another red envelop and said “My personal recommendation”. Before exiting the door, (Which I assume he promptly vanished after that)

The in-charge unfolded its contents from the red paper with shaking hands, right after the bitch of a manager stormed out in a huff. In beautiful cursive, it was written “Lythen”

What? Me? That red dude is taking it too far. Well yes, did I forget to mention, he’s a master of deceit and an extremely adept shape-shifter. No one knows what’s up his sleeves next.

He appeared again in my room later that night, in his hands, yet another red letter, and now, with a bottle of champagne.

“Congratulations, my love. On your new promotion.” He rasped as he popped the bubbly with expertise. Two champagne glasses materialized by my bed stand.

“I knew it was you.” I whispered as I obediently took a sip. It tasted like nectar.

“Of course you knew, you were the only one who could see me as me, when I shape shift.” He replied with a zesty smile.

“But why so?”

“Because you are to be my wife, and its only right you are entitled to see beyond my disguise.” A cheeky smile glinted on his face.

I frowned. “No one said anything about being married here.”

“How about this? Let’s play a game. You can decide whatever game you want. If I were to get it wrong, I will never bother you again. However.. If I win, you have to be my wife.”

I raised my eyebrow in deep thought. Hmm… he is a really cunning devil, but I am not one who shies away from challenges. “Ok deal.”

I plumped up my pillow and sat upright on my bed. “Are you ready to play?”

He nodded, clapping his hands excitedly like a little child.

“I will pose 5 questions, you are to answer all of them correctly. Failing which, you lose!”

He nodded again, leaning in closer to me attentively.

First question: What vanishes in the day, but simulates the day at night?

He replied almost immediately and with confidence: “Easy, the moon.”

I gulped. “Okay that was just a teaser. Next question, what is my favorite color?”

He tilted his head as though in careful thought. “Hmm… your favorite color is beige. But you like your walls to be white, your clothes to be black, and your nails to be red.”

Blushing, I refused to admit he was already winning the game. “Well you played cheat. You probably know all the answers to the world if you had to.”

“No I didn’t. I am only observant.”

“Okay, third question, which is my favorite season?”

“Winter.” came the prompt reply.

Before I could react, he continued “Because you love christmas, and the snow. I saw you shopping online for a pair of winter boots even before the first leaf started to fall.”

I gave an indignant face. He pulled himself closer to me, with his slender fingers grazing my chin, “But my love, its always summer where I come from. I will have to make it snow just for you.”

I shrugged his coquettish advancement away. “4th question, why me, out of so many people?” Honestly, I just wanted to know. I am nothing special, just the average girl next door.

“Because you are fearless. No one could have reacted that calmly to how I always made my entrance.”

“It does actually help that you are handsome.” I replied honestly.

He smirked, trailing his fingers down my decolletage, gently pushing down the straps of my nightie. I found myself once again, unable to move, watching helplessly while he feasted on my breasts with his tongue, which was surprising warm and passionate. He clutched them tenderly, fingering and rubbing at the buds. I could feel heat working up from below the sheets, between my legs.

“Last question.” I reminded him, finding myself regaining control of my limbs. I adjusted my clothes back in place. He lied on my lap like a kitten, looking up with a satisfied face.

“Is it going to hurt?”

He sprang to his feet, digging me out of my bed and scooped me up in one strong, furious swipe.

“Trust me, you wouldn’t feel a thing.”

And then we kissed. He left after I told him I still want to go to work tomorrow. He evaporated after waving goodbye, leaving the same red invite on my bedroom floor.

For the first time, I opened it.

“Look into your wardrobe”.

I flipped my doors open. A beautiful wedding dress hung majestically, in a lovely shade of Crimson. Lace adorned the entire length of the back, and crystals littered the hems.

I went to the huge pile of red envelopes and began to read one by one.

“See you at work soon” Was the one he gave before he fired my manager whilst impersonating our CEO.

“Nice boots” For when the winter boots I ordered appeared on my doorstep.

“Are you sure about the hair” When I tried the long Bob haircut which didn’t really end well.

And the very first one…. it was abit dusty now, since it has been months.

“I saw Victor at the gates the other day. I am sorry for your loss. But I gave him my word that I will take care of you.”

I wept.

______________________________________________________