The Psychoweirdo’s charm

Ben was bewildered by the silent scene he just witnessed right before his very eyes. It almost felt like he’s in a movie wherein two girls are about to fight over him, which made him feel a bit proud of himself, that added some dose of pride and confidence in his Alpha soul. He scratched the daydreaming after realising that this ain’t a movie at all, it was real life. His wife Abby is standing right next to his mistress who happened to be a sin he would never regret of committing. Ash has exceeded the definition of perfection—who is gifted with such undeniably seducing soul, with those brown eyes that speaks of lust, a body that shouts of warmth and home, hair that smells of lilies in full bloom and a sweet voice that mimics of Jazz on a sad solitary night. He must be crazy, he thought. Whatever it is, he knows for a fact that a woman like this is almost impossible to even exist, like a gem that can only be found in the dark abyss of ocean and seas.

“What is going on in here? Abby, let’s go home now, I’ll explain everything…” said Ben, who suddenly dropped the paperbag of Japanese food he bought at Yabu Restaurant as he rapidly reached out for his wife’s hands so he can escort her out of the house. But he reckoned it’s not possible, with Abby’s face that threatens of a quick death, by the way her features instantly transformed in mere seconds. A pair of fire emojis replaced her once angelic eyes, at least to his imagination, that made him sweat like he just lifted a 300 lbs of weights, non-stop.

Abby slightly moved back from her standing position as she peered at Ben with sheer rage, then she shoo him away in the most brutal way possible, as he attempts to hold her and lead her out of the house.

“No, i need explanation NOW!!! You fuckin’ tell me what’s going on and why the fuck are you cheating with me and how long has this been going on?!??! Fuckin’ tell me ’cause I fuckin’ deserve to know!!!!!” she stated hysterically, losing all the poise a legal wife should have. She just lost it, she couldn’t help it.

Ash nonchalantly held and opened up her tiny jar by the coffee table that contains sweets and gums and grabbed a strawberry flavored gum she calmly put into her mouth, as she watches this familiar boring movie that’s making her nearly sleepy. She crossed her arms in front of her and leaned her back against the wall as she chews and pops the gum in her mouth, in a sexy manner every man would absolutely get turned on, even just on the chewing act alone. The Psychoweirdo didn’t say a word—her presence is enough to overrule the heated ambiance these overly dramatic Asian people created in her place. Fuck off, she thought.

Ben tried to carry his petite wife like a child, regardless of her violent protest with the act, scandalous cussing and crazy shouting. Notwithstanding Abby’s size, she was able to get off of him as she scratched him hard with her witch-like long nails and as she bit his arm that left a mark that is almost about to bleed. She didn’t wanna lose, no matter how ridiculous the scene she’s creating, she didn’t mind. She needs an answer, Ben needs to choose between her and this whore.

“OK! I will leave this filthy house, but you have to choose between me or your mistress. Tell me, who would you pick? Your wife who have loved you for years or this bitch you barely know?! Tell me! Fuckin’ decide NOW!” she threatened Ben, whilst pointing to Ash, confident enough that he’s going to choose her, ’cause she’s the legal wife, the right owner of Ben.

Ash wasn’t bothered by the wife’s threat, she cared less about losing Ben, but she knows she was the best in bed, by far. She’s thinking hard as she looks at Ben, trying to send a captivating message through her eyes—to stay and choose her. She’s not sure yet, but she wants to be chosen, perhaps it was her ego or maybe it was also because she was truly hooked by this guy’s inexplicable hotness.

Ben didn’t know how to reply, he’s both shocked and frightened. What is he supposed to do now?

To be continued…

Prisoner of a faulty love

I enjoy staring at you when you’re oblivious of my presence. It’s but a chance for me to study your face, to memorize each move, to hear the voices within you—they keep on telling me to leave you, but I used to ignore all of them.

And then you’d catch me staring—hence you’d give me that wonted nonchalant smile, the kind that is inexplicably bizarre to me. A kind of smile I couldn’t correctly decode, a kind of smile I succumbed into, when it first showed up, in that park where I met you.

I enjoy looking at you despite the fact that you wouldn’t do it to me the way i do. I stare at you as if I won’t see you again—’cause I know mornings with you is vague and uncertain.

Then last night you said, I can’t leave her. I shouted at you, cussed you, hurt you. But you put an end to the war I created, using the same line you just said in the beginning of it—I can’t leave her.

Why can’t you?

I asked this to you, but no words came out of me. This query seemed so heavy, my strength is not enough to say them clearly. It’s outright lucid to me, that I am that girl you would go to, just when you’re feeling blue.

But today something’s telling me how wrong this is.

I know…

I am that girl who patiently waits for you but it’s getting tedious.

I am that girl who listens to you when no one else could, but now it’s suffocating.

I am that girl who loves you despite your blemishes, but now it’s making me sick.

I whined for the things you should have done, I craved for the words you should have said. I kept on believing there could be a change. But there’s none, guess I was insane.

I was insane—for I hoped one day you look at me the way I look at you. But now that I’m staring at you, your body seemed to be telling me that there’s no way you would ever do.

I wished that maybe one day you’ll make me first. But your heart seemed to be telling me—I only fit to number two.

Been looking at you for almost an hour now and you’re sleeping like a baby–you’re fully incognizant of what’s going on my mind, of my plan to escape.

Been couple of years since you jailed me in this house, it’s shaky already, it’s no longer enough for me.

I thought to myself, it’s time to leave, ’cause I have to live.

To live normally, to love conventionally, to find someone else who could make me his top priority.

I silently opened the drawer, picked up that old sepia colored piece of paper, wrote a five word message that said, “I deserve better than this.”

I put the note in our bed, at the side I usually slept in whenever he’s here.

I hurriedly packed my things, with no more thinking, no more hesitating.

I went to the door carrying a heart that’s crushing, trying to stop the tears from bursting, persuading my whole being to never look back again.

Before I could manage to close the door, before I reward myself of such freedom, I looked at him one last time.

In my head, I thanked him. I wouldn’t be able to know my worth if I didn’t let it melt with his hands, if I didn’t give my all to him.

I lost myself in the bed of this wrong love. I lost everything and that’s when I figured it’s time to flee.

Just like realizing one’s importance, not by its presence, but by the mere absence of it.