MSOTRB 4.
2740 Words
GABRIELLA’s POV.
I have seen this in a few books, watched it in movies, had a few experiences, and yet! I am here like this would help me look over the loopholes in my marriage or erase the memories of Mari’s expression of devastation when I told her I requested a divorce. Even though she had told me to put myself first for the first time since she has known me, and even went on further to even tell me to do what will make me happy even though it might break their hearts.
Even though it costs breaking my precious children’s hearts… even though she said it herself, deep down I know she hopes I do not break her heart or that of my Son, her brother.
“Ditched?” Of course it is the voice of a man.
I am seated at a bar three and half hours past midnight. I will be mistaken for a desperate w***e or some lady they can talk to swoon her heart, and have a night-stand with.
“I am in front of you and not behind.” The voice has me looking at the man who has been cleaning the tables after the late nights customers.
“You may keep your tactics to yourself.” I respond and drown the rest of the content in my glass.
Feeling ditched? Yes. Both ways. Maritally and now by the head of the divorced women club.
“Whoopsie. She is not drunk. High tolerance, I see.” This man with an apron on is not going to leave me easily.
Can he not figure out I am in no mood to converse with anyone?
He talks a lot too.
If Carmen is not going to show up, she should have left me a memo or better still called me.
“Go away.” I say calmly.
More like shooing him away.
“Single?” He asks, and I turn my phone face down hiding away the screen that shows my desperation of waiting for a text from Carmen.
“By this time tomorrow, you would have lost your job.” Not to sound like my husband, but…
“Only if I do not own the place.” The pompousness in his voice.
Oh!
“I want a drink that would knock me out.” I tell him.
Knowing fully well that this is a stranger trying to move on me, and passing out might have me waking up in his bed, having done what I am accusing my husband of. But I have this gut to trust this irritating talkative whose bar has just eight booths, with a setting of two and four. Four booths for couples and the remaining four for friends probably.
“You need to be conscious while I make my moves on you.” He says as it seems like he is crossing his boundary by placing his hand on my knee, but feels like his hand belongs there.
Why can I not look at him properly?
“Look at me. If I succeed in making you smile, I will eat you out right here while we have the possibility of being seen by late night strollers.” His voice…
I hate to compare right now, and it might even be the liquor finally kicking in, but his voice just did what my husband’s voice does to me.
“No. Don’t clench those se.xy thighs yet. I am yet to make you smile.” He comments as I whimper from the loss of his touch.
Gabriella get a frea.king grip!
“I will take that as a yes to shooting my shots.” He whispers and again my eyes fails to focus on his even knowing he has the audacity to make me feel this way.
I know his build screams a lot of gym sessions, and even with my blurry vision I can tell his jawline is to die for, and I am not sure if he has cornrows on or he just brushed his hairs to the back, but I can at least tell his smile is beautiful.
“Right from the moment you sat here, you had me wondering if you are an artist. I was intensely waiting for you to take out some paper and probably a pencil to draw, because you have drawn my attention right from the moment you stepped in.” His velvety voice suits my ears, and I am tempted to smile at his failure at a pick up line but I am still sane enough to not be eaten out in a bar with an old man sitting in the corner thinking about a lot.
“I am not one who flirts. But, hell! I could do better.” I am close to slurring, but one of the many things I am proud of is my self control.
The self-control, I learned since I was just a little girl. One who was still learning to not wear her left shoe as her right, and her right left. My mother was one strict woman…
“Teach me one?” I hate that his voice has almost the same effect as my husband’s.
“One, you do not get to fool me into wooing you? That is another lesson you might have to learn. Two, what I am going to have to teach personally wether or not you are going to learn, is to stay away from an older woman.” I like the way I sound like my Mother, God bless her soul.
“You make yourself sound old. I see you, beautiful woman. I see your eyes. I notice the way your breathe has become shallow, and shallower now that my hand is clenching your thigh. You might be forty or forty-one, but you look thirty and hot. You are older, but have you heard the rumour I will call a truth. The rumour about being fuc.ked by a guy from my country. Beautiful woman, you will be wanting more.” His accent and the way he pronounced ‘beautiful woman’ twice…
Damnnn…
“From the moment you walked in, I finally understood why my Mother named me Waylon, despite the fact that my SA Dad wanted some native name for me.” We are back to him talking too much.
“Why?” For some stupid reasons, I don’t know why my question came out as a goddamn whisper.
“They call me Way. And honestly I have been in search for the one for me. This is already sounding like a proposal but I seriously hope this would at least make your heart flutter even though it might not flutter as much as mine did as you made your ‘Way’ towards this bar.” His tone is clear and stern.
No.
Okay, No.
He did not just?
Okay, he did.
“You just used your name to flirt?” My question is dumb, but it brings out laughter from my sad soul as he nods enthusiastically.
“Wondering why this club is open by this time?” His tone is now a whisper and I notice the old man is no longer seated.
“I do not care. I came here for someone. She did not show up.” I say and stand.
“I thought I made you feel the lines? Damn, Beautiful Woman. You just broke my heart.” His smile is a killer as he places his hand on his chest to sooth the supposed heart break.
“Good night, Man.” I do not know if my accent just changed because of my silly ability to mirror people’s accent.
I do not know, but whenever I watch a movie, I just happen to find myself speaking their accent for days without realising until, Leo points it out and we both laugh about it.
Leo…
“We struck a deal. One you will most definitely be benefiting from.” Waylon’s voice calls out behind me and I continue walking.
No.
“I made you to not only smile, but laugh. So, I get to eat you out.” No sensors, just raw.
My legs halt.
They stop moving when I feel his presence.
His fingers trail up my arm and stop on my shoulders as I feel his lips on my right ear.
“Do you know the excitement of doing something you should not be doing?” He whispers and nibble on my earlobe before letting go of me.
“Good night, Waylon.” My voice is a contrast of what I want it to be but it at least sends the message across.
The message of not wanting to do what I am divorcing my husband for. But my voice made me sound like; I would have if not because I just cannot ‘Yet’.
“One of the hard ones I see.” An extreme feminine voice say, making me turn my head.
“Stop it, Amara.” Carmen caution the loose mouth standing next to her before giving me an apologetic look.
“Sorry for the delay, Gabriella. I would love to apologise better but every member has to go through either Way or some other males that work with Way. For you, Way was decided cause he owns and runs this place.” Carmen tells me as she moved closer to me, and Way winks at me over her shoulder.
Let me set things straight for me. For any lady to become a member of the divorce women club Carmen heads, a hot male is meant to test her?
“What happens when the lady fails the test?” I ask, knowing fully well that I do not care about failing or passing their test.
I am already feeling like sh.it being here. I just talked about the divorce with Leo few hours ago and I am already welcoming some stupid divorced women community?
I want him to fight against our divorce and proof that he still loves me. I want for everything to be okay and back to normal… you know, less arguments, less fights, more love making, more reassurances, more of feeling at peace with each other…
I am doing it again, aren’t I? Always justifying his craps in my head, and making myself believe he had no choice…
“Nothing. It is just a tradition. Meet Amara, the rest of the woman are upstairs. We are hosting a welcome party for you.” Carmen responds and move to hug me.
Stepping back, I make a body signal for her to lead the way. Accepting my rebuff, she smiles and start making her way up the stairs. Unable to resist the urge to glance at Way, I glance at him and he does not disappoint as he winks causing me to focus on the stairs like I did not just look over my shoulder to catch a glimpse of him.
Considering the loft music playing lowly downstairs, this corridor is a contrast. The red lightings are sending nothing other than a reminder of my husband’s red room to me, until it transitions to a blue light, changing the colour of the walls as different sounds sips through each door as we make our way through.
I hope I am not making a mistake by accepting this invite…
Carmen stops right in front of the only door that has no sound whatsoever coming through it.
“Oh! There is one more thing.” Amara, the loose mouth speaks in a mock tone, making me seek clarification from Carmen with my eyes.
“This is a safe place, in fact I assume you have your phone tracked so if anything goes wrong we get in trouble. With that possible knowledge, I bid that you trust me.” She sounds so calm, yet I do not like the words.
“Suppose I trust you, what’s about to happen?” I inquire matching her gaze.
“Nothing big… just a little stunt. Please shut your eyes.” Carmen says, and I nod.
Shutting my eyes as requested is not enough, I feel a satin material being placed over my eyes and I feel a male’s hand on the small of my back as a whiff of air hits my face and other exposed part of my body as the door we stopped at is being swung open.
The hand on my back gives me a small push, and with his guide I walk in without my sense of sight.
“You are about to sit, Ma’am.” The one leading me has a voice.
Taking his over-manly hands off my back, he holds my waist instead and guide me to sit.
“Your phone.” He whispers in my ear, and I let go of the tight clutch I have on my phone.
My phone is soon replaced my a glass of wine, that I can sense and smell.
“Do not let go of the glass.” Another male voice says and I sense a presence at my back.
Clutching the stem of my glass as the satin material is being taken off my eyes, I leave them close only opening them when I am left with a deafening silence. Opening my eyes is almost as if I still have them shut.
It is pitch black, causing my breath to hitch in my throat as my grasp moves from the stem of the glass to the bowl until I feel his hand on my neck the way I like it.
His scent, the woodsy and manly one engulfs my senses increasing my hitched breath but calming me at the same time.
“I will call you Mama. So, Mama do I get to eat you out now. It is a soundproof room with no cameras. Whatever happens in this room remains within the six corners of this and between the both of us, Mama.” He lets go off my neck, and the room lits up dimly as some song comes on.
A song I know Leonardo and I have fuc.ked to… shut up and listen - Nicholas Bonnin…
“Coming here was a mistake.” I finally find my voice even though I stuttered.
Like the words I just said fell to the floor without going through his ears, the song switches up to another and he just begins the dance… the male strip club dance.
Fu.ck!
Dropping my wine glass on the floor gently, I swallow hard and stand. Glancing at my watch like my eyes are not dying to return to his waist and body moving to ride for me - Daniel Di Angelo.
Without uttering another word, I stand and turn in the direction I think must be the door. Quickening my steps but still having them steady as I seem to be heading the right way till I exit the room, he neither stopped me nor stopped the music.
Not giving me the moment I would have loved to have resting on the wall to take a deep breath and to promise myself to not step a foot into this club again, Carmen hands me my phone. And I know she is saying some words or have said a word or two, but I just walk past her.
Descending the stairs and exiting the building is no hassle for me as I want nothing more than to be in my bed right now.
“Gabriella please.” I keep muttering as I fumble with the remote of my car.
Settling in, I turn on the stereo to at least have something else go on in my head and mind other than Waylon’s movements and his voice calling me Mama, but the stereo playing Ruelle’s The Other Side and starting off from; Did we ever see it coming? We will ever let it go? Is not helping.
Turning off the stereo, I begin to drive as tears stream down my face.
“Why are you crying?” I ask myself as I let go of the steering wheel to wipe my face, but the tears keep flowing like I have got a pool in my eyes.
Stopping the car, I hit the steering repeatedly until it honks. Placing my hand over mouth to muffle my groanings of frustration, I fasten my seatbelt and step on the gas.
- Writer
