Into the Abyss.

Sitting out of the front of his house in my car, my anxiety is through the roof. I don’t want to be doing this. Since I returned from the hospital a week ago however, the messages from that of the universe have been loud and clear. If I wish for him to be real with me, confronting him is the only way in which I can initiate it. “How the fuck am I going to knock on his door, when every time in which I have attempted to make contact with him, I have been lied to?” The fear of once again, having my voice stripped from me before I so much as have a chance to utilise that of my authentic expression, pervades my system and amplifies that of my anxious state of being. Despite this though, my anxiety is no match for that of the determination in which I hold, to take back that of the reigns to my life and receive the answers to the questions that which elude me the most.

Sure enough, as I am about to get out of my car, he exits his house. I intently watch him as he walks down that of his driveway. He does not look in my direction at all. Then, just as he did the night that he appeared in the nightclub, he pretends to wave at somebody standing on his balcony. However, there is nobody standing on the balcony at all! “Why does he do this? The fear that which enshrouds that of Zabian’s ability to be real about this situation, pours from that of his essence like a poisonous radiation escapes from that of a nuclear explosion. I instantly empathise with his fear and as always, soften in my witnessing of it. “I wish that I could be there for him, in all the ways in which he does not let anybody else in.” He gets in his car and drives away. With my own fear still very much present, I lay my seat back in the hopes that he does not see me.

Over the next twenty-four hours, the universe continues to get louder, urging me to go back to his house and confront him. “What is the point,” I question, “He’s proven time and time again that he is not going to talk to me honestly?” However, the message does not subside. I drive passed his house a couple of times, but submit to the fear of knocking on his door. He knows of what I am trying to accomplish, because I have openly expressed it. I decide that maybe it is best to simply leave him a note on his vehicle, in which I do, requesting if we may please talk. Of course, there is no response or contact made so to open that of a container for such an imperative conversation to take place. Then, just when I am about to give up, a very direct message from him appears on that of my Facebook feed. A meme, with my fucking name in it, stares at me as plain as day in the face. “You are officially a chicken, Shaniquah!” The quote relays in bold writing, with a picture of a chicken in that of the background.

I race out to the front of my house to where my eldest daughter is sitting beneath that of the bare pear tree with a couple of her friends. “Look at this!” I show her the meme, absolutely appalled by his nerve to call me a chicken after everything he has put me through. My precious angel simply offers me an empathetic gesture, knowing that I would not want to discuss the situation in front of her friends. Not wanting to disturb her any further, I walk back inside of the house and contemplate what my next move shall be? “I am not going to go there again and get rejected, or have him leave before I build the confidence to even be able to approach the house. If I am going to achieve this, then I need the element of surprise on my side.” I internally rampage my creative imagination for some inspiration. “C’mon Shaniquah, think!” Looking at the meme I get angrier by the second. “I’m the chicken! Really? You’re the one whom refuses to own up to this bullshit, Zabian! You can fucking come and knock on my front door! How does that sound?” I verbally express. Then, it hits me. My phone! He hears me through that of my phone. He knows where I am in any given moment, because of my phone. His ability to access my intentions and my where-abouts has up until this point, been directly connected to that of his ability to hack into my device. Knowing that I need to deceive him, the plan of execution that which needs to be instigated presents within that of my third-eye, like the sun lights up the bright of day. I crank up the stereo to its maximum volume, in which I always do when I dance. I leave my phone on the kitchen table and as quietly as I can, slyly leave my house. I figure by the time he realises that I am not at home, I will already be on his doorstep.

On the drive over to Mermaid Beach, I am becoming angrier by the minute. By the time in which I arrive however, I am nothing but emotionally exhausted. My heart is thumping to what feels like a million beats per minute as I approach his front door. I knock. Zabian answers. He looks tired, or as though he has been crying? Upon further inspection of his appearance I realise that he is shorter than the man whom I addressed the other week at his car down the road from campus. This man has a smaller build. His shoulders are not as broad and, he even looks slightly different in the face. If I was unsure about him being a twin before, then this man standing before me, is the evidence in which I need to solidify that of my suspicions. Suddenly unnerved by the magnitude of that which this could potentially mean, all of my confidence evaporates from that of my being as quickly as a flash of lightening, and I crumble into a state of reservation. Zabian steps toward me, crosses that of his arms and puffs out his chest as he angrily addresses me by my name, “Shaniquah!” His stance sequentially frightens me and I am left baffled as to what to say. I quickly decide that it is best to reference that which I experienced during the tutorials, opposed to everything in which I have experienced outside of our relationship to university. Trembling with fear in response to his already apparent anger, I attempt to ask, “I was just hoping to talk with you about something that happened during the tutorials with…” but he cuts me off before I can so much as get another word in. “I don’t know what you are talking about!” He exclaims, defensively and in the harshest of mannerisms. I can feel the tears about to pour from my eyes as I search that of my internal navigation system, to guide me into a verbal response. “Look Zabian, I am sorry to have come to your house uninvited, but I have already been admitted into hospital over all of this and…” His hands automatically fall to that of his sides as he once again, cuts off my attempt to offer him any further explanation. Now with his stance completely softened, he steps toward me and compassionately asks, “Are you ok?” I instinctively step backwards and throw both of my hands up in defence to him coming any closer to me. “No, I am not.” Intuiting that we are not going to get anywhere, I begin to retreat. My desperation to get the fuck away from him courses through that of my veins as I make my way off of his property. I apologise again for having come there at all and rapidly head back to that of my vehicle. I drive off and I do not look back, not even for a split second.

Collapsing on my bed upon my return home, i wonder if maybe I am, completely fucked in the head? For as much as I know that he is lying about having no idea of that which I am referring to in regards to the tutorials, he actually seemed pretty genuine in not knowing about my being admitted to the mental ward? Which makes no fucking sense considering all that transpired during my hospital stay? However, if there truly are more than one of him, meaning that if he is actually a twin or so help me dear universe, even a fucking triplet, maybe the man whom answered the door just now, really doesn’t have a clue of that which I am talking about? My mind cannot begin to comprehend the complexity of exactly what, this would ultimately mean. Little do I understand in this moment however, this detail shall be the beginning of the unravelling of my very soul.

The following day I begin to frantically search through that of the university’s social media page, seeking validation of this revelation. Perhaps this is why the universe wanted me to go to his house? Not because I was going to receive answers to the questions in which I wanted to ask, but because I was going to receive answers to the questions in which my rational mind, did not yet attain the ability to so much as acknowledge? If he is a twin, could this mean that the man whom I have fallen so irreversibly in love with, not be married at all? In perfect correlation to that of my inquisition, I stumble across a recently posted video of Zabian and my heart almost skips a beat. He is not wearing a wedding band!

Melting into the essence of the confirmation, the entirety of my bewilderment fades away and the faith in that of my reality, returns. “Oh Zabian,” I cry, “Thank-you so much for offering me the affirmative that my sanity is indeed, completely intact.” I watch the video over, and over again. “Fuck! How fucking sexy is he!” Allowing all of my trepidation to dissipate, I settle myself beneath that of my blankets. Listening to him talk, is the biggest fucking turn on! I delicately slide my hand between my legs, only to discover that I am already, intoxicatingly wet. Closing my eyes, I invite the sound of his voice into the gentle motion of my fingers as they massage the delicate petals of my flower. Whilst I listen to him speak, the content of which diminishes into the background of my audient senses, until all I can hear is the smooth tone of his voice as it penetrates my being in its entirety. Quickly opening that of my eyes to take one last look at his bare hands and more so, to the finger where no ring resides, I insert one, then two fingers into the heaven that which belongs, only, to him. Arching my back as my face looks toward the ceiling, I thrust my pelvis into the palm of my hand and rhythmically grind as my vessel deepens into the bliss of an erupt, convulsive orgasm. “Mmmm.” As I lay there emotionally drained and physically exhausted, I can think of nothing more in which I will ever, desire to climax to. “I love you, Zabian," I whisper into my phone, allowing myself to settle into the beginning of a pleasant slumber, "I am so sorry that I ever doubted you. Please, forgive me? You are my everything, baby.”

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.

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