#29 of 100
I'll Tell You Everything, But First …
Alex haunted her dreams all weekend, and then he got very real.
"Okay," he said with tenderness and resignation, nodding, "Yes, Senzada, I'll tell you everything."
He pointed to a stone bench with ornate carvings; I had seen it before. A weird feeling of déjà vu descended upon my spirit.
Nevertheless, I went over to it.
No sooner had my butt touched the seat than everything faded to white — again.
Timba was the sound of my iPhone alarm. I blinked my eyes open.
Well, shoot. How many times did I black out this weekend?
I feel so rested, though.
Grimacing when I saw the reflection of my nappy strands — I had neglected to tie my head with a silk scarf before sleeping. My hair appeared as matted and unruly curls.
I sighed heavily and thought, Okay, wash and go style today.
"Hi, Francisco!" I said as I entered our office building. I was so happy to see my favorite work friend. At that moment, his presence brought a feeling of normalcy that comforted me. He returned my smile with a hesitant one of his own.
"Hi, love. You didn't check your email, did you," he said carefully.
Worried, I said, "No. I had a slow start, and it took everything to get here on time today."
Out of habit, I looked at my watch. It said 9:32 AM. Dejected, I said, "And I still got here late."
“Chica, sem problemas,” He comforted. "But the new boss and his assistant are waiting for you."
"New boss!?" I said, alarmed, my voice and eyebrows raised, my eyes darting to the office in the middle of the floor.
"Oh, meu Deus," I whispered in Portuguese, finding breathing hard.
Francisco nodded, assuming he knew what I was thinking. But he — did — not.
He — could — not know that the man sitting in the glass-walled office in my company was Alex Thakur. And, for the past 48 hours, he continuously occupied my waking thoughts and sleepless dreams.
He now appeared as an executive in — my — place — of — work. I can feel his commanding presence. His dark, wise eyes sparkled with curiosity, framed by thick, lustrous hair brushed back into a discreet ponytail today. Impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal gray suit, he exuded sophistication and professionalism with a seated posture that conveyed strength and grace.
Francisco also did not know that the tall woman, now professionally dressed in an elegant monochrome pantsuit looking at a tablet, was Royceé, Alex's self-described ambassador, who had tried to drug me the night before.
As though sensing my presence, Alex stood, turned to me, and smiled.
Damn him! So sexy. So scary.
His confident demeanor radiated authority. He and Royceé also looked toward me now.
"That's your cue, chica. They've been waiting for you," Francisco said, tilting his head toward them.
I stayed still, my eyes wide and my heart racing, as my head slowly turned back and forth.
You will not faint. You will not faint. You will —
"She's severely malnourished," the doctor said, speaking to someone in the room.
I had not opened my eyes yet.
Get your bearings, girl. Get your bearings.
"I understand. She has not been eating regularly this weekend,” the male speaker reflected. “What treatment plan do you recommend?"
Alex! Alex was in this hospital room — he was everywhere.
The doctor inquired, "What is your relationship with her?" Her tone was direct rather than doubtful. Despite this, I couldn't help but anticipate Alex's response.
"She is my noiva."
My eyes flared open at his use of the Portuguese word for a fiancée. The noises of the machines I was hooked up to blared, indicating the sharp spike in my heart rate.
Their attention shifted towards me; my sudden reaction caught them off guard. Within moments, the room seemed to fill with medical professionals looking after me.
Alex floated backward to a corner of the room, his eyes locked with mine, his expression indecipherable.
As a cold sensation traveled through my body, I glanced from Alex to my arm and then up at the nurse in scrubs, skillfully administering a drug through a sterile syringe connected to the access port of the IV tubing attached to my arm.
A surge of shock overwhelmed me as I realized that Royceé, Alex’s henchwoman, was meticulously feeding something into the intravenous contraption, her actions filled with unwavering precision and focus.
As the drug coursed through my veins, I could feel myself succumbing to its effects, my thoughts fading rapidly.
“You can’t change your destiny, Senzada,” I thought I heard him say. “Your story will unfold as it must. Stop fighting. Please — meu amor.”
His words triggered a saying that ricocheted in the walls of my mind, The lesson will keep repeating until you get it. Where did I hear that before?
As my eyelids closed, I whispered, “No… no — Meu Deus!”
© 2023 K. Joseph, All Rights Reserved
The original tale was born out of a challenge by K.V. Fey. It is also my next story in The Seedling Challenge, issued by Bradan Writes Stories and passed to me by Sieran Lane. I remain moved from Postcard to Sudden Fiction length with this story. And I continue through my thick forest of 100 stories called by Zane Dickens the Instigator. This story is in the second quarter of stories. Based on rules and guidelines, the series weaves in and out of various publications (thanks all: The Random Nerdiness Collective, The Scribers Nook, Fantastic Fiction and Illumination’s Mirror). There’s one more story left, in development, coming this weekend.
This story is part of a series:
Are you fans of the series? Whoop, here it is, C. Elyse and Melissa Sanchez. There will be more — let me know if you want to be tagged. Do you want this? I’ll only tag you if you comment saying I — want — this.
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