Page 1 of Lost In London

Besides your outer appearance, who are you, London?”

Lately, that seems to be the main question on everyone’s mind.

Who is London Nicole Carter?

Is she the young, famous socialite of New York that’s notoriously known for her killer wardrobe?

Is she the athlete magnet for sport's sexiest men?

Is she truly the owner of Posh N Juice or is that her brother’s business?

If she wasn’t Landon Carter’s sister, who would she be?

Everyone had an opinion as to who I am. Their own speculations and theories. Mostly false but some true. What they forgot to ask is who am I right now?

Right now, I feel confused and stupid. Passed the innocence of being naïve. Right now, I was a victim of a heinous crime, but the fullness of such trauma had yet to sink in because if it did, I wouldn’t be sitting in my car in the back of Dubri Funeral Home waiting for my attacker to come out and talk to me.

It’s been weeks since he violated me in ways I never imagined.

Caused more bruises on my skin than the beatings I’d gotten as a child. Produced more blood than my heaviest period. Made me shed more tears than all the water in the Atlantic Ocean. Yet and still, here I am wondering what I did wrong.

Am I this broken inside, so hollow of feelings and emotions that I can’t even begin to label my own? Am I so broken that I can’t mentally cipher that I was abused, that I was raped?

The longer I sit here waiting, unmoving and mind running on ten, I’m wondering if I have desensitized every assault in my life as my fault, as being nothing but a repercussion for my actions, that I can no longer associate trauma other than a normal part of life.

He lied to me.

Elgin Dubri portrayed himself to be the good guy who was given a second chance at life and found God.

That right there spoke so loud to me because I too was on the same journey. My need for being New York’s bad girl came to a screeching halt almost three years ago, but no one cared to realize I stopped partying so much. That I actually took my business seriously. I was on a journey of self-discovery. On top of that, I was on a mission to grow closer to God.

“Sorry for the wait, my dear.” Cinnamon brown arms folded, resting on the window frame of my car. Leaning his head in, he kissed my cheek earning half of a smile.

A smile that reflected the ease of knowing he wasn’t mad at me. That whatever I had done hadn’t changed his like for me. Half a smile because at the same time, I battled with the voices in my head screaming he was dangerous.

That he hurt us.

That me being here isn’t right.

“It’s no problem.” I should be disgusted with myself, but I wasn’t.

Opening my car door he held his hand out. “Hug me. I’ve missed you.”

My broken, shattered pieces perked up stepping out and into his embrace.

I wore his favorite color – orange. Everything on me was placed with intention. From the way I styled my hair flowing around my shoulders to the glittery gloss on my lips. It was all to make him happy. To make him not be mad at me anymore. To make him still like me.

I wasn’t a stranger to being hugged by men. They’ve been given to me since I was a little girl. Over the years, I learned to understand the unspoken verbiage in hugs. The words spoken in hugs told me a lot about how a person received me. Either they wanted to keep it respectful, didn’t want to touch me at all, wanted to cherish me, or had ulterior motives. Elgin’s hug was that of cherishing.

His arms wrapped around me tight, the tips of his fingers touching my ribcage. He lifted me with ease, groaning and moaning in delight. It was a pleasure hug, one that made me giggle and feel okay. Feel like maybe that night was a complete misunderstanding.

“Why haven’t I seen you, London? I thought we were getting serious?” Placing me back on my stiletto-covered feet, he stepped back tapping my nose.

Besides the ugliness I knew housed itself inside of his muscular body, Elgin was a very handsome man. Tall like I liked. Beautiful creamy cinnamon skin. Brush cut always looked like he just stepped out of his barber's chair. Dressed in business attire that complemented his image so well. Besides the good looks he had kids, a few of them.

It was no secret that I didn’t want them. My reasons had a lot to do with the reasons I stood here before him now – being naïve.

When he first told me he had kids I brushed it off as God answering another prayer. I wouldn’t be pressured to give him any. He had more than enough. Then on top of the kids, he had a record. Been to prison for assault. According to him, it was for defending one of his kid’s mothers from her boyfriend at the time. My naïve mind added that to the list of good instead of the list of bad. In my mind that translated to him being protective. That he’d defend me from my worst enemy when in reality he was and still is my worst enemy.

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