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Into the Abyss.

Welcome to the Nadir, Pt 3

By Lauren DaveyPublished 2 years ago 16 min read
1
Purgatory

I awake no longer in my lounge-room, but in my bed. My dog is next to me, licking the outside of my left thigh. “How did he get inside?” Sitting up, I realise that there is blood everywhere. It is all through my bed and all over me. Searching my vessel I notice a deep gash on the outside of my left thigh, right where my dog has been licking. “Yuck!” I grab a flannel from the bathroom and apply pressure to the wound. “What the fuck happened? How did I get into my bed and how did I get this gash?” The blood does not stop pouring from the wound and I know that I am going to have to call an ambulance. “Fuck.” Walking out to the lounge-room area, I observe the scene. It appears as if there has been a struggle. The back door is wide open. There is a broken fruit bowl behind the couch. The area to where I tried to take my life was still as I remember it, though. Popping the dog outside and shutting the door, I call the ambulance and quickly tidy up the area in the lounge-room, hiding all evidence of any attempt on my life. I feel a little groggy, but otherwise I am completely conscious. The tears begin to flow as I realise that my life has been spared. However, they are not tears of joy or gratitude. They are tears of sorrow and pain, knowing that I am expected to continue with this journey as it is.

When the ambulance officers arrive, they ask what happened. “I’m not sure.” I reply, “But I think that someone has been in my house.” They ask if I have been drinking and I need to think quickly to respond. I don’t know how much they may already know. “Yes, I drank last-night. I passed out fairly quicky though because I drank after taking my anxiety medication.” The ambulance officers take a look around my house. I continue, “My back door was wide open when I awoke and my dog was inside. It was locked when I had gone to sleep. I think somebody was in my house!” One of the ambulance officers then asks, completely ignoring my inquisition, “How many anxiety meds did you take?” Quick to respond I reply, “Just two. Which is my recommended dose when my anxiety is high. But I do not usually drink when I take them.” Looking at the gash on my leg, they advise that it is quite deep and that I am going to need stiches.

On the way to the hospital, the drive is making me a little queasy and so, I shut my eyes. I overhear the two officers having a conversation about the cut in my leg. “It looks like a, surgical incision!” The female officer says to the other. I mumble again, “Someone was in my house!” However, they ignore me. Whilst I am at the hospital, the events that which take place are no more than general emergency room procedure. Thank fuck! After the last time in which I was there, this is a massive blessing. I am there for quite a few hours and so, I sleep for most of the duration. When the doctor arrives to stitch up my leg, he asks the same questions as the ambulance officers. Once he has finished, I am allowed to call my mother to pick me up and take me home. I cannot get the words of the ambulance officer out of my mind. “It looks like a surgical incision.” I wonder if Zabian sent somebody over to my house? Is that why the back door was open? Is that why there appeared to be a struggle? Is that how I ended up in my bedroom? Did he have somebody slice me, too. It would make sense! It is deep enough that I would need to go to the hospital. The incision is in the meatiest part of my thigh, where there are no vital arteries. And how the fuck did they get passed my rottweiler? Did they distract him with food and then leave the door open on their way back out? Did he jump on one of them, which is why it appears as though there was a struggle of some description? These questions elude me over the course of the following week. However, they also open that of my heart.

Over the duration of the next few months, my heart softens to the effect in which my attempted suicide may have had on Zabian and I once again, revert back to welcoming the way in which he chooses to communicate with me. I convince myself that whatever it is that which keeps him from me, must be fairly big. Who knows what he has been through in his life to have to hide himself in the way in which he does. I mean, more than one person hiding behind that of one identity is pretty full on. Whatever his family has been through, is quite obviously extensive? His connection to that of the government, is unbelievably high ranking, too. Or else he would have the leverage to be able to pull off the ways in which he reaches me? Not to mention the radio station saying, "how high" whenever Zabian says, "jump!" They must know of his status? My mind cannot even begin to comprehend the position in which he must be in, fortunate or unfortunate, to have to live the way in which he does? I genuinely feel empathy for him.

My engagement in the ways in which Zabian communicates with me does not last long however, until I am once again questioning that of my sanity. Then one night, I am at home on my own dancing up a storm in the middle of my lounge-room to my hard-core playlist. I have been going hard for over two hours, when Zabian’s voice over-rides that of the music. “Seduce me, Shaniquah.” He says. My mind is blown! I am torn between wanting to honour his request and the fact that if he has been able to use my phone in this way, to actually speak to me in person, then why has it taken him three years to do so? I motion to the couch and then pretend to straddle it before saying, “But you’re not here, Zabian. If I am going to seduce you, I would rather do it in person. I continue dancing as I was for some time before Zabian speaks again. “Why don’t you take a break.” He obviously cares about me? He can see that I am over doing it and as such, he has asked me to rest. I am feeling quite exhausted and so, I submit to his request and lay down upon my couch. In this moment, I am beyond grateful that he has allowed me to hear his voice. Just when I think that I have completely lost my marbles again, he assures me that I most definitely have not. He affirms that he is real and that this is actually happening, between us. Despite that of my earlier trepidation, I want to fulfill his yearning for me. I want to make love to him, even though he is not present. I want to fulfil his every wanton, salacious need. Pleasing him turns me on, in a way that makes me feel like I am exploring that of my own erotic desires, for the very first time.

My mind is ecstatic with the thought of what it would be like to submit to his every desire. To become a puddle of melting, gooey warmth at his insatiable command. To have him tell me to touch myself, and where. How fast, or slow. The sentiment within that of itself causes me to become extremely aroused. I close my eyes and allow my fingers to trail over my sweaty, half naked body. Encircling and pinching my erect nipples. Gliding my fingers over my ribcage and gently, tracing them down my stomach. Peeling my g-string away from my body, I embrace into the experience as I always do. Pictures of him dance upon my imagination as I envision him sitting on the couch with me. In my mind's eye, my fingers, transform to his. I spread my legs a little wider, wrapping one of them over the back of the couch as I plunge two fingers as deep inside me as I possibly can. "Ohhh Zabian." Whilst my moans begin to escalate, I imagine his voice, his beautiful, strong and self-assured voice saying, “Cum for me, Shaniquah.” Without fail, I explode, gushing all over my fingers as my body goes into complete orgasmic convulsions of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. If this is the effect that which my imagination has on me, I can only intuit the effect in which his physical presence will have on me. He fucking owns me! And, what is even more profound than this, is that I fucking love it!

Following this experience, my heart is hoping that he will speak to me again. But unfortunately, he chooses not to embrace me in this way again. I ask him, “Please Zabian, respond to me when I talk to you? Talk to me like you did the other night? Please? Let me hear your voice, again?" However, my request does not compel him to meet me in this place, where-by he communicates with me using that of his own voice. Eventually, I fall back into a state of despair and choose to cease all communication with him, until he is ready to speak to me in person. This is too painful and my needs in that of this relationship, do not seem to matter to him at all.

Zabian of course, continues to try to reach me in all of the same ways in which he has over the last three years. But now, I choose to ignore him. This vicious, unhealthy cycle ends up becoming the very nature of our relationship. I ignore him for a period of time, then I give in and respond to him one random day. I ignore him for a period of time, until I can no longer withstand holding myself back from him and again, open to him in the ways in which he wishes for me to. My head, tells me not to respond. My soul, tells me that this is not honouring the sacredness of our connection and yet my heart, just wants to be as close to him as he will allow me to. Of course, my fucking heart prevails. Every. Single. Time. And every single time, I am left unfulfilled, bewildered and angry. Every single time that he allows me to believe that he is going to come for me, that I just need to wait a little bit longer, I believe him. And every single time, he lets me down. A gift full of open ended promises that never amount to anything promising, at all.

I send myself crazy trying to figure out which man out of the photos in which I have stored on a USB drive, is the man whom I fell in love with. They look almost identical, aside from a slight difference within that of their smiles. Their mouths are slightly different. Their skin tone varies. However, as the photos are only of their faces, the significant difference in that of their body appearance is undetectable. I rack my conscious memory in an attempt to try to recall the appearance of the man with whom I spent time with at university all those years ago. The man, whom after one day when I had expressed to a close friend of mine, that I needed some kind of definitive evidence that Zabian feels the same way as I do. Some sort of confirmation that what I am experiencing with him is real, so that I am more equipped with the resources to be able to trust in him completely. This same man, whom after this confession to my friend, came into the tutorial room the following morning when it was only myself, the tutor for that weekend and another student present. The same man whom stood there and as my classmate was speaking to him about a holiday she had just been on, he looked at me with more love in his eyes than anyone has ever looked at me. His face was soft, nurturing and his eyes spoke of a thousand untold truths. His gaze was soft, as though he was admiring me, not my appearance, but whom I was. Although, he did make me feel as though I was the most beautiful specimen in which he has ever encountered, too! The expression on my face would not speak of it at the time, for my being was in a state of shock. However, in that moment, my heart sank into my vagina! He is truly the most loving, intuitive, wise and by far, the most sexy of men in which I, have ever encountered, either.

However, my ability to access this memory and acquaint it to one of the men in the photographs was non-existent. Even on that very same day, I was awaiting outside the classroom with the tutor and another student, when Zabian walked out of the office. He was singing and using his hands as though they were drums or something. It was absolutely adorable to be honest! As soon as he saw me, the music that which was obviously playing inside of his head immediately ceased behind that of his eyes as he stared through, and into my very soul. He went from bouncy and bubbly within that of his mannerisms, to sleek and sultry within seconds. The look he gave me this time was seductive, as his eyes became penetrable and erotic. I held his gaze, emanating the exact same frequency back to him. It was kind of hot, to say the very least!

Looking back now though, my only thoughts around that of these two incidences, are congruent with the doubt if they were indeed, even the same man that day? The persecuting nature of my not knowing whom I experienced what with, has become a major factor in that of my undoing. This is why, I do not trust him. It is not about that which he has put me through, for whilst these avenues of communication do not resonate with that of my soul, the truth of the matter is, that I do not actually know what his intentions are? It is because he has progressively lied to me. Over, and over again. Every time in which he has allowed me to believe that my encounter with another man, was with him. Every time I was left to agonise in my own torment about who he is, trying to determine what experiences I have had with him, or somebody else? Without knowing his reasons or his intentions, there is a compassionate part of me that can at least attempt to try to understand why Zabian chooses to hide from that of the world. But when he has chosen time and time again, to hide himself from me after all that we have been through, and especially when he has quite obviously revealed himself to those whom he has acquired to communicate with me on that of his behalf along the way, the disappointment in my heart prevails, along-side the lack of trust in which I now, inevitably feel toward him. My faith in him, is no longer present.

My faith in that of the divine and my guides has diminished extensively, too. I feel as though all of the synchronicities in my life no longer lead to anywhere. All of the ways in which the universe was once such a prevalent guide to my soul, have failed me too. Not just through the channelling’s of the universe through the guide of others, but in every way in which I have grown accustomed to hearing that of its voice over the years of my life. Through animals. Through nature. Through all of the ways in which Zabian cannot possibly interfere, I no longer trust, either. For every time I attempt to walk away from this situation with Zabian, the universe becomes exponentially loud, within that of its delivery to advise me not to. Fuck, the divine itself saved my fucking life so that I could stay and experience this! But for what? To what measure and to what end? I know that the divine does not wish for me to live in anguish, confusion and pain. So, what is the purpose to all of this? The most fucked part, is that the universe appears to agree with me in that of my belief, that this situation is not pure. I am constantly reassured that there is, and always has been, a better way. However, the voice of the universe and that of the divine, constantly guide me to stay present within this journey. To endure it no matter what the cost to myself or my children. I am forever caught between the notion that Zabian is a good, honourable and well-intended person, and the pulling on my soul that screams that his actions within this situation, are in actual fact less than divine. I often acquaint his choices to simply being human, excusing the line of destiny in which he has created to be that of his souls need to learn, grow and evolve. But then, I also realise that I would never put somebody through that which he has put me through, no matter what my life circumstance, intention or reasoning was. Especially, with someone in whom I have made claim to love! How can I continue to justify that of his behaviour? And why the fuck does the universe and the divine expect me to?

Now, I not only feel trapped by Zabian within this never-ending cycle, but since my attempted suicide, I feel trapped by that of the divine, too. The only thing in which keeps me going, that which encourages me to find the strength in any given moment to persist with my endeavour to continue striving forward each day, with courage and reverence to that of my purpose in being here, is my children. I live for them, now. In my mind, they are the sole reason in which I still exist in this incarnation. They are the only reality in which I know to be true. They, are the only light in which I can see at the end of this fucking dark tunnel of purgatory and if for nothing else, I promise myself that I will make it through to the other-side of this, for them.

ThankYOU for taking the time to read that of my story, BeYOUtiful Soul. If It captivated You and You would like to explore more of Shaniquah's Journey, let me Know by tapping on the Heart-shaped button and showing me some Love, then head over to my Personal profile to delve Deeper InTo that of Shaniquah's World. If You Feel Called to offer Your Support to my Journey as a Writer, please feel free to tap on the tip button, also. All proceeds Are very much Valued and Appreciated, and Will go toward the Creation of my first novel. Infinite Love and Gratitude, Lollie.

Create a BeYOUtiful Incarnation!

Fantasy
1

About the Creator

Lauren Davey

The short Creative stories In which You Will Read Here, All pertain to the Journey of BeLoved, TwinFlames. They Are Inclusive of various concepts of Spirtuality, Tantra and Sacred Sexuality, Amalgamated with a cheeky, mild dose of Erotica.

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