Page 130 of Tarek

He sits back on the bed and begins to put on his socks. He loves to fuck me and nothing more. He loves his wife. His wife? He doesn’t love his wife. He betrayed my best friend, that is not love. I love my friend. I love Miranda, he doesn’t know what love is. Love is running through my veins. My world tilts, the room feels like it’s spinning. My eyes land on the silver nail file on the bedside table. My fingers curl around it and tightens. He doesn’t love his wife. But I love Miranda. I can prove my love to her. Maybe she will love me again, if I show her that I can remove anything that hurts her.

Something wet is on my face, seeping into the corners of my eyes. There is no sound, just a motion clean and purposeful. I hear a scream, but it’s just proof of my love. The nail file plunges into warmth again and again, my hands are steady as I prove my devotion. Jermaine doesn’t understand love, but Miranda will. I will take away anyone who causes her pain. The only pain she will know is from me because I am her sister, because I love her, and she deserves better than him.

* * *

TAREK

“Swallow it or it’s going in your fucking eye,” My back stiffens, as I stroke my cock.

The red head on her knees, just realized she bit off more that she can chew. Her make up is smeared. Her tape-ins hang off the ends of her hair.

“Tarek, I?—”

“It’s too late.” My cum shoots out onto her face and lands on her false eyelashes and her puffy lips. I stumble backward; my breathing is erratic.

With her eyes closed, she reaches her hands out searching for something. I turn away, grab a towel and toss at her before stuffing myself back into my pants.

Dropping myself on the chair, I reach for the table side, flip open my silver case and a pop a BX3 in my mouth. From my pocket I pull out my Treasure London cigarette box. It doesn’t take long for me to light it up and inhale. I think this is my second or third pack for the day. If I continue at this rate, I might be on the ads on tv with a pipe in my throat.

It’s been a fucking year and some months, I haven’t seen or heard from Penny. She just vanished. For a moment, I nearly went after her, but then I stopped. Why chase someone who doesn’t want to be found. It’s not like I miss her terribly, I just fuck only redheads, or thick women. If I squint hard enough when I fuck them I might see a glimpse of her. If you have locs in your hair, you definitely will be on the list of women I would most likely fuck.

I don’t miss her, I crave her presence. Now I hang out with her brother in hopes of her calling or listening for any tidbits about her wellbeing. The first six months I waited and waited. Hoping that she would come back, and we would work it out. But no, to make it worse, Archer says that she is currently dating again. Dating? I want to snap someone’s neck. Six months and she is dating.

Penelope Holt moved on and its time I did the same. She left an empty crater in my chest when she ripped my heart out. Now my nights are filled with food, alcohol, sex and an occasional drug.

The plump woman presses on the bed as she stands up.

“Is this the end of us?” she asks.

I blow smoke into her face. “There is no us.”

Her jaw drops. “Tarek you have fucked me on more than five different occasions.”

“All in doggy, never missionary.” I stretch my legs out. “Now what does that tell you?”

Confused she stands. “It tells me that you love doggy.”

I burst out laughing. “My dear you are a place holder, for someone I’m hoping will return. I imagine her while I fuck you.”

Somewhere along the line, I honestly stopped giving a fuck.

She pouts. “You have a silver tongue, and a rotting heart.”

I chuckle rubbing my thumb on my bottom lip. The smoke makes my eye water a little. “I don’t have a heart, Bella.”

In frustration she drags her dress over her body and zips it up to the side. “Do I get the famous necklace.”

“No, I stop giving them out over a year and some months ago.”

The woman’s jaw dropped, and she begins to talk. Thankfully, her voice is muted as the BX3 kicks in.

I watch the woman dance in the curls of my smoke. She is soft and elegant, dancing on the tip of my cigarette. She’s swirly, she looks like…Penny.

The woman’s annoying voice penetrates my drug induced trance. I blink, losing the image of the dancer on the amber of my cigarette.

“Sorry, Melanie?—”

“It’s Melody!”

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