Awakening the evil

img_3248-4“You’re crazy to think there’s love in between all of this. You’re completely out of your mind. It’s merely a sexual desire, don’t you see?”

Face still straight and emotionless, the Psychoweirdo uttered these words that has probably shattered Ben’s hope. She wasn’t lying, although she’s quite bothered with the way this guy treats her, she’s 100% sure it’s not love. How can someone know of something she hasn’t felt ever, neither received from anyone, nor is present even in her own self? Isn’t that ludicrous?

Ben stood up, opened the bottle of Scotch resting at the table and poured some in his glass. He walked slowly towards the window, in deep thought, but his eyes were lost in oblivion. He could feel the rage firing up inside him whilst he hears his alter-ego that poisons his head, telling him how much of a loser he is, presenting all his regrets at the core of his mind. Regret? Perhaps yes, he regrets that he left his family for this woman of magical charm–he was blind enough to see the scars concealed pretty well in her porcelain skin. And yes, crazy enough to think that this crazy woman will eventually fall for him. He drank all the scotch left in the glass he’s holding and firmly said,

“Ash, I am crazy about you and you’re mine!”

As he declared, Ash saw a flash of demonic fire burning in his eyes, which is not too foreign to her. She has seen this before, roughly around a decade ago, when his foster father raped her, multiple times before she was able to escape. All the unpleasant scenes she has buried in the micro deepest layer of her memory has emerged and evolved into a fresh huge monster that in that very second has made her ill, making her want to run away again forever.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re done. I’m leaving.” she hastily picked up her bag and almost made her way out when Ben grasped her by the wrist, shut the door and said, “I’m afraid that’s not gonna happen.”

With his strong built, he pushed his body towards hers, her right cheek pressed in the back of the door like what a policeman does when they catch a criminal. With both her hands in his possession, she could hardly move, it seems like the flashbacks from ten years ago weakened her knees, she’s nearly vulnerable and almost ready to yield.

“You’re hurting me! Let me go!” shouted Ash, as she tried to fight back the weight of Ben’s body that’s hindering her to run away.

Pain suddenly disrupted her brain. Not the physical one she currently feels (’cause that’s way more tolerable), but the pain from the darkest places she’s been in the past that she never wished to see again. After a few seconds, she smelled the stinky odour of the past that was too familiar to her senses, when the man behind her said them words that her father used to say…

“How about we play some games first?”

 

******

This is a continuation to The Psychoweirdo fiction series. For the previous parts, click on the links below.

A Psychoweirdo

The Psychoweirdo’s voice

The Psychoweirdo’s voice Part 2

Psychoweirdo is back!

The Psychoweirdo’s charm

Ash–as human, and a woman.

 

The Pyschoweirdo’s voice (Part 2)

Who said I’m gonna fall for that crap? Seriously??? Ha ha. You don’t even have the faintest idea about who I truly am. I’m a one hell good of a liar so I’m not one who capitulates to that kind of bullsh*t. There are two voices inside me, however, that keeps on battling with each other. The devilish one said I must believe him, the angelic one though is obviously contradicting it—this angel’s voice urges me to do what I think was right, and not what everybody else think IS right. She’s been overruling me and I loved it that way. Ash will always be Ash. And not even a single mistake of sleeping with a good guy could turn this around.

Whilst listening to the hilarious debates of the two voices in my head, I stood up and waved for a taxi and asked the driver to bring me to Revel Bar, a different bar this time, so I can fulfill the needs of my skin and the tingling feels in my bones, I need to find a bad victim tonight. Otherwise, it’ll be boring.

I picked up my compact powder and put a little of retouch to my face to unleash yet again the lost glow because of the devil that suddenly spoke and argued with the angel I’ve been listening to for more than two decades. That Robbie guy provoked the devil to make me believe that someone could possibly like me on a deeper level. But what if the devil is right? Ugh nooo. Scratch that sh*t. I am bound to stand out, to be who I want to be, just as what the angel inside me has been telling me. That angelic voice has moulded the Ash that I am perfectly well. She has always pushed me to be different, to be bold enough to follow what I want because no one else can tell me what to do, because she said no one cares for me, no one could ever love me, and she’s just right about it.

I made a grand entrance in the bar as usual and everybody seemed to shower me with their seducing eyes speaking of lust and hunger, for the body I’ve been taking care of. You see, I like the attention, to be the center of it, to be the life of the scene, to see them poor eyes longing to touch me and to witness them fight for a single night with me. Because only one man could taste me tonight, one bad guy I’ve been thirsty of since three hours ago.

I saw a group of three guys at the center of the room, by the playbar, heedless of my presence. The ones who initially ignore my strong aura somehow turns me on, like the thought of a hunter finding it so hard to seek for the bear who’s hiding in the woods, it truly excites me.

The guy in the middle with dark colored almost curly hair wearing a plain white shirt and brown trousers, is the bomb. He has thick eyebrows that has complemented his brown or perhaps black eyes and his weird but naturally curled up lashes that looks so hot. He looks kinda Asian with that beautifully tanned complexion. He had no choice but to notice me as I distract them by making my way to the play bar, breaking the group by half, cutting off their non-sense conversations like an arrogant bitch, but the act made them giggle like hungry beasts after all. My skin slightly touched his by the elbow as I order a Martini, as his eyes looking straight to me, and now I’m a few inches away from a fantastic night. I had to secretly find out if he wears a wedding ring so my peripheral vision tried to help me but i see nothing. He smelled of a bad guy anyway so maybe it’s worth a try.

(Note: None of this story is true, this is just a pure product of my imagination, trying to improve myself in my pursuit of writing a novel.)

The psychoweirdo’s voice

Do I really have to apologize for it? For being emotionally wrecked, for being entirely true to myself, for pursuing these sexual urges and for the poison in my head filled with strong trust issues? Do I have to abide by the rules of relationships and pretend to be the cool girl the society expects me to be? I ain’t doing that shit. I deserve to live by my own independent laws about how to have a full life. A life that won’t forbid me to do the things that satisfy my skin’s cravings for some touch. A kind of choice that eases the pain of being alone but I didn’t want that to last long, being with someone that is. It makes me feel ecstatic to be caressed by married men, by them bad guys who needed some punishment. But ironically speaking, I cringe to the idea of a long term bond, a serious relationship with only one man—it smells like a disastrous thought to begin with. I’ve always been true to myself but I’ve been lying to them for the most part. One of the most pretentious things I’ve ever done that I’m never guilty of is the lie that I had feelings for them. Ha ha! I’m a professional actress by nature. Most guys fall for my emotional acts, for the tears I faked before I would have to leave, for my big brown puppy eyes I was naturally blessed with that tickles their poor hearts. I ain’t sorry for them, I will never ever be. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate them, neither do I generalize men as playboys and idiots. Most of them are but I also would like to believe that there could be some who are decent enough to be loved. It’s just that, I don’t like the idea of it, of love that is. Of what the books have presented me, of what fairy tales have fooled me when I was little. Perhaps it’s not only that I don’t like it, I guess it’s merely because I haven’t really felt it. Sometimes I wonder if it’s really kind and if it’s really patient, I wonder if it’s truly powerful.

Last night, I met this guy by the name of Robbie that I slept with almost a couple of weeks ago when I was in New York. I moved in to San Francisco now and I was surprised to see him seemingly lurking around the dark flashy bar I was in. I had a feeling he was there to see me but I brushed off that thought in me. When I see no signs of him, I hastily made my way out of the place and waved for a taxi. Just by the time I opened the cab door, he abruptly appeared out of nowhere and strongly grabbed me by the arm and apologized to the driver then shoo him away. I get off of his hand that was somehow stuck into my arm then looked at him puzzlingly.

He gestured me to follow him and we sat to the bench near the colorful fountain by the park. His dominance honestly turns me on but his silence irritates me so I broke it in a very calm way.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing. Or maybe something.”

“Huh. What is it?”

“I lied to you.”

“About what?”

“I ain’t married.”

“So?”

“And you’re the first woman I ever slept with”

My mouth slightly opened with this surprising news but I still managed to maintain a poker face. I pretended I didn’t care and said,

“So?”

“I always see you there, in this bar in New York. I chatted with the bearded bartender once when you weren’t around and I asked about you. He told me this gossip that you only sleep with married men and bad boys, so I decided to pretend like one, I even wore a fake ring to make it look real. I had to do that so I could get closer to you, so I could ascertain what I feel for you.”

“Haha nice story. Go on.”

“The first time I saw you was one Tuesday evening, 11th of November. You were wearing that shiny silver plunging dress. I thought you were really gorgeous, like what everyone else thought in that place. But I didn’t want to sleep with you when I saw you that night. I just enjoyed watching you giggle with the guys you were flirting with, I even daydreamed of stealing you from them and talking to you alone by the beach. I went home with a huge smile on my face and it remained in there everytime you cross my mind. I don’t know what this is, but I’m certain that it’s not merely sex that I want from you.”

I suddenly felt a pinch in my soul, not because I believed him, but because for the first time ever, it sounded so real. I have somehow memorized how the bad guys behave, thus his actions are quite foreign to me. If he is not a bad guy, nor a married man, then what is he? A nice guy? Oh no. This ain’t possible. I’ve just broken the code of promise I made to myself.

I didn’t know what to say so I waited til he say something again.

“I’m not expecting you to believe me, but can I ask you something?”

“What is it?”

“Would you allow me to prove to you my pure intentions?”

“No. I’m sorry. But if you want, we can go to your place and have a really nice sex. But after that, you can’t see me again.”

I said it in a usual tone of voice of the Ash that I really am—the Ash that breaks men’s hearts. But for the first time in my life, I kind of regretted that I said those words to him.

“I’m sorry I can’t do that.”

“What is? The sex or the idea of not seeing me again?”

“Both. I’ll see you again soon and will ask you the same question over and over again until you say yes to it.”

He uttered calmly as he stood up from the bench and said goodbye. I contemplated about stopping him and following him but I stayed as composed as ever. I glued my eyes to him as he walk away from me, leaving me perplexed with the last words he just said. I never liked a good guy. And a good guy never liked my bold and liberating way of life. That’s ridiculous. What am I supposed to do with this?

#fiction

(This is in connection to my previous post A Psychoweirdo so I hope you read that one too. Thank you!)

A woman’s edge (Part 1)

It’s 7:06 in the morning and we started the day bickering. Good way to start the day, ain’t it? My stupid husband hated confrontations he usually walks out to evade emotional arguments like this. I was crying, I couldn’t help it. He witnessed my sobbing but he still managed to walk out like he always do, grabbed his car keys and left me with his deep sigh of anger. Does he really understand what I am going through? I know how much he suffered too–from our three consecutive loss. Yes, I got conceived because of his f–cking sperm but it was me who felt them in my womb, they were inside me, they were a part of who I am and I was supposed to be their protector. But damn it, I failed. Don’t you know how hard it is to know we have created an angel, three angels in fact, but we lost all of them in the process of letting them stay in me for 9 months?!

Yes you heard it, I had a miscarriage three times in a row and that made me second guess the idea of living. I hated myself, I hated Ryan, I hated my job—and everything else. I’ve been on and off from being completely happy. The latest miscarriage was the hardest part because he stayed in my womb for 107 days and I prayed everyday to the Lord and promised Him I’ll surrender everything to Him in exchange to this tiny gift—but He didn’t. It was absolutely terrifying, because due to this unlucky life of being an “almost mother”, my now catastrophic marriage might also make me an “almost wife” soon.

I’ve been so hard on him, I’m aware of that. But you can’t blame me. The pain that has built up inside me has almost eaten up my whole being. Ryan would try endlessly to turn me on, but I just can’t do it no more. It’s not because I ceased loving him, because I still love him despite what’s been happening. It’s merely hard to explain, I reckon it’s because the fear of losing has already overruled my brain.

My husband Ryan is an introvert so he doesn’t literally say everything that’s on his mind, but he knows well how to showcase it, unlike my innate personality of being so honest and straightforward. He always have something going on in his mind—especially these past few days. I started seeing this odd behaviour when I noticed him bringing his phone with him most of the time. Yesterday he took such a long time inside the shower and it sent some queer signals to my brain, something’s changed in him, I thought. He also seems so pre-occupied lately, like his attention has partly drifted away from a far away land. I felt like he’s hiding something. What if he’s cheating?

I could hardly sleep last night because I’ve been overthinking his sudden change of behaviour. Even the way he sleeps now has changed. His body’s lying against the mattress, sided on the left, facing away from me. All i can see is his back full of hard muscles ’cause he’s been going in the gym lately as well, he said it’s his way of holding up from the tragedy. He’s looking so macho though, I figured I forgot to look at my husband this way, it’s been a long time since. I brushed off the revived attraction I felt and focused on the messages of my instincts again. I got up from our bed, trying not to make a sound so he wouldn’t wake up. I need to feed answers to the long list of negative questions in my head.

What if I’m right? What if he met a hot girl from the gym and he’s having sex with her already? Ughhh scratch it.

I can’t have this unwanted thoughts linger whilst I’m trying to get hold of his Iphone—I need to put things together and stay focused on my plan. I searched for his phone on his table, and then in his drawers, (which is weird i know), and I even looked at his bag despite the tiny chance of finding it there. Where is he hiding it? It took me almost 15 minutes of seeking, and then viola! I found it! Why did he has to put it under his pillow though? Hmm. My heart doubled its beat when I held his phone and it tripled when my fingerprint isn’t a match anymore. Ugh. I wanted to punch this bastard now! But nooo, I need to stay composed and focused on this. I put 111185 for the passcode since it’s his birthday but it didn’t push through. I tried my birthday, 091990, but failed again. Entered a couple more combinations—our anniversary, the day we met, the first time I got pregnant—until the phone got blocked. Shit! I wanted to throw his phone for being too mad but I refrained myself from doing so and decided to scrutinise his things instead. I found his laptop and tried to open it. It’s requiring a freaking password again! Oh no, nevermind. I decided to stop this crazy agenda and returned the laptop back to its bag. Before I can manage to fully zip the laptop bag, I saw a small black rectangular shaped thing in the side pocket of it. I rapidly held it and to my astonishment — it was an old model of Nokia mobile phone back in the day. This is it. This will end all my worries. I’m sure of it.

As i try to unlock this evil extra phone of my husband that I didn’t know exists, it scandalously beeped twice indicating that the battery is now low. Darn it! My husband suddenly moved and then….

To be continued…

#fiction