Into the Abyss.

Sitting on my kitchen floor, typing into the Google engine of my phone, I recall the first time in which it was affirmed that he could hear me. Not just under the pretence that my phone is tapped, but that he can actually hear me, as though he has somehow turned my phone into a listening device. I was mortified at the time. I yelled at him, “I take my phone to the toilet sometimes, Zabian! For fucks sake! How deep does this go? You must know everything about me. My entire life is at the reach of your fingertips and I know next to nothing about you, aside from that which I learned of you at university!” The radio was on at the time, as it generally was during those days, and the song that which was playing suddenly stops midway, to where the radio presenter says, “Nobody knows your entire life, but you!” The song then commences again. Yup! That was the first real confirmation in which I received that he can most definitely, hear me! Of course, I had my suspicions for a while, but until that moment I was not one hundred percent certain.

Since then, I have become aware of other ways in which he can access me, and I am about to gain clarity over another. My friends and I are going out this weekend and we are thinking about getting a hotel room. In my little bubble of love, I am feeling quite adventurous as I sit here on the floor, nervously typing into my Google engine. I want to tease him, entice him and excite him. “My pussy smells so good,” I write, “I wish you were here because you Sir, are missing out.” No, that’s not what I want to say. “Hmmm.” I quickly backspace what I have written. I wish to be spontaneous. “You should come to my hotel room on the weekend. Let yourself in during the middle of the night and claim me, in the most rapacious of fashions.” No, no, no, Shaniquah. That is asking a fucking lot of someone whom is obviously not ready to make love to you!” I scold myself. Delete, delete, delete! Accessing the spectrum of my amorous imagination I excitedly squeal. “I know!” The smile broadens on my face as the cheeky little minx in me surfaces. “I am going cum, for you, whilst in my hotel room this weekend, baby. Then, I am going to take off my slightly moistened g-string and leave it under my pillow. It is yours, my love. If you wish to claim it whilst I am out dancing? Wink Wink!” Yes! This is perfect! I hit that of the search button on my Google engine, intuitively knowing that he can see all that which I use my device for. To my surprise however, he somehow manages to, one up me! My jaws drops wide open as there, in the Google responses on my phone, it says, “Oh Shaniquah, oh Shaniquah! I want to smell you on my fingers!”

“Oh. My, Universe! How did he do that?” So, not only can he see anything in which I post or write, but he can see what I am writing, as I am writing it!” In this moment I do not care, though. I am so fucking unbelievably turned on by not only the fact that he has the skill to be able to achieve such a thing, or by the notion of the comment within that of itself, but also by the fact that he has just flipped that of my intention to seduce him, straight back onto me in the most enticing of ways! “Fuck I love this man!” Nobody, has made me drip with insatiable anticipation in the entirety of my sexual expression, as he can!

By the time the weekend presents, the girls and I, whom are all a little broke, decide to come back home after our night out instead of getting a hotel room, anyway. It has been an amazing evening. Although, I did not get very much dancing done! We acquired a small dose of MDMA and I, whom is unable to dance when submitted into the effects of the drug, ended up enjoying my experience with it in the serenity of my inner world, as the thundering bass that which shattered the walls of the nightclub through the gigantic speakers, catapulted me into a peak like state. By the time the drug wore off, I frustratingly only got about an hour of dancing accomplished. I didn’t mind too much, though.

When we get back to my friends place, we jump out of the taxi cab and the strangest phenomenon occurs. I am being called, to Mermaid Beach? Not just within the realm of a pulling sensation within me that which is calling me to the location, but through the likes of my intuitive, internal clairaudient guidance, also. The girls and I end up in a small debate about my wanting to leave. After about half an hour of going back and forth about my having to drive to be able to adhere to the calling, I turn to my best-friend and reassure her, “I am fine. I am completely straight, now. I promise! Honestly babe, I cannot ignore this. I need to go. Please, understand?” She looks at me with trepidation. However, knowing me better than anyone else in this world, she replies, “You do what you got to, Shaniquah. Just drive slow and be really safe. Ok?” I know that even though the effects of the drug have physically worn off, that I should not be driving. I know this. But if I do not follow this calling I will always wonder what may have been on the other end of it. “I will beautiful. I promise.” I have never driven when drinking or after taking drugs before. This is a first, and only, time for me and I feel guilty for even considering it! However, the calling is too strong. I need to get to Mermaid Beach and with it not being too far from that of my friends place or that of my own home, my mind was made up before I even realised it was.

Jumping into my vehicle, I attempt to start the engine. It will not start. It turns over, but it will not start. Fuck it! I call roadside assistance. After waiting almost an hour, they finally arrive. The man then takes another half an hour to fumble around beneath the hood of my car before asking me to turn the key. The engine starts immediately. Inquisitively, and through already intuiting that which has happened, I query him as to what the problem was. “The starter fuse had been disconnected.” He mumbles, almost under his breath. I roll my eyes, knowing that it does not take half an hour to reconnect a fuse. I say thank-you, to which he looks at me and sternly says, “Drive safely, ok!” As I pull away I think to myself, “Ok, Zabian. I will.” It is almost daylight when I pull into that of the carpark at Mermaid Beach. Whatever it was that which had been the guiding essence of my pull toward this particular beach has sufficed, as I am consumed with nothing but a guilty conscience for having driven at all. I decide to sit here and spend the next few hours simply being with myself. My inner critic ensures that I have just received a lesson well learned! Disappointed with myself, I vow that I will never, be so stupid again.

A few days later, my second born daughter and I, wish to make the setting of the sun. With Mermaid Beach being so close, we decide to head there. My daughter and I both jump out of the car and bee-line it toward the sand. The ocean is glazed with the mist of winter, giving it the appearance of an infinite, frozen pond. Suddenly, I am startled by that of somebody yelling out to me. “Hello!” I turn around, utterly dumbfounded. There, waving to me, is Zabian. He is once again not wearing his headphones. With him is a woman and two small children, in which I can only assume to be that of his wife and kids. A young girl, of whom is about the age of my daughter whom is currently with me and an even younger boy, whom is approximately the age of my third born daughter. I cannot so much as muster a response as I am so overwhelmed, frozen within a state of pure shock. “I thought it was you,” he says, “I recognised your sunnies!” You recognised, my fucking sunglasses! Are you fucking serious? My daughter, sequentially looks at me and with the advancement of her own innate spiritual gifts intact, asks me if the man is Zabian. I nod my head and usher her to quickly follow me across that of the beach and away, from their general vicinity. This lasts all of about five minutes however, as my social little butterfly wishes to play with, his daughter. This is next level, beyond fucked up! But how can I tell her, no? So, she happily skips over to his kids to initiate play, whilst I head back to that of my vehicle, so to grab a cigarette.

I am shaking. My heart is racing. I am lost within the confinements of bewilderment as I take a seat on the bench that which is positioned along the esplanade. With his wife now in the water with a surf-board, Zabian walks over to where the children are playing and introduces himself to my daughter. He looks, different? I cannot put my finger on how, though? Peering over at me, he makes a comment about my daughter being gorgeous. I can barely muster a fake smile. I just look at him, perplexed as to what the fuck is happening right now. He then approaches me and says, “I am just teaching her how to surf,” pointing at his wife in the water. My vessel instantaneously inhales. I do not think that I have taken a conscious breath since I saw them! I wonder if I have breathed at all in the last five minutes? I take this comment as reassurance, that I should not be making any hasty presumptions about that of the situation. Building up the confidence to respond, I reply, “I am way to scared of sharks. I already know that he knows this off me, but decide that it is best if I play along. He says in return, “Me too!” Once again, I already know that we have this in common due to something in which he had made reference to, during one of our tutorials last year.

After a short period of uncomfortable silence, I endeavour to further that of the conversation by inquiring as to if he lives in the area. I am already tripping, considering only days before, I felt myself being called to this, particular beach! He then brings my awareness to that of his hand and points to a two story building, located on the street across the road. “We, live on that street, right there.” He says. Sure enough, his car in on the road in front of the house, to which I can only see the second story from our position. “We? Who the fuck is, we?” I think to myself, “Is he talking about himself, and his wife? What the fuck does, we, mean?” Not sure how to respond, I begin to question whether to straight up, openly and honestly ask him with the full disclosure of complete transparency, what he means by the emphasis on, we! Then, he asks me the same question to which I had just asked him. Now, I am getting pissed off! “You know exactly where I live, Zabian Ryder!” I want to scream at him! But instead I simply mumble, “The Gully.” He pardons me and I roll that of my eyes before I re-state, “Diamond. Gully!” Emphasising the impression of my discord with a pause in-between my articulation of the suburb. With my complete opposition to that which he is instigating now taking that of the reigns to my being, I choose to get up and walk away from the fabrication of this conversation, joining the children at the rocky wall that which separates the esplanade from that of the sand, instead. The kids are playing so nicely together. As infuriated in which I am, I cannot help but to warm at the sight. Zabian proceeds to follow, making his way over to the other-side of the wall and onto that of the beach, to where he begins to assist his son build some steps within the sand, leading up to the ledge of the rocky wall. I cannot help, but to warm at the envisage of this, either. Fuck!

Before too long and with the debilitating sound of silence that which pierces the length of the space between us, Zabian heads down to that of the shore, whilst I stay with the cherubs. I intently watch him. His wife appears to be extremely unimpressed. At one point, he throws both of his hands into that of the air and I swear, that I psychically hear him yell, “How was I supposed to know that she would be here!” Instantly, the magnitude of the situation slams me into a state of complete, emotional turmoil. Unable to control that of my tears, I say goodbye to his children and tell my daughter to meet me at the car. She doesn’t want to leave. She is having the time of her life. However, my little angel can see that which is transpiring and so does not choose to argue with me. I race over to my vehicle and start the engine, balling my eyes out as I gesture to my daughter to hurry up. By the time she makes her way over, Zabian and his wife are back on that of the esplanade. As my daughter hops into the car, Zabian waves and yells out, “Goodbye,” almost sounding angry that I did not say goodbye to him myself. My face, now drenched with tears and with my barely being able to catch a breath in-between the gasps of my sobbing, I fall sufficiently short in that of my attempt to, wave back. I cannot believe that he has done this. To me. To her. To our families. To, himself! My heart is shattered into one million, tiny little pieces as I realise that which has actually been unfolding this entire time. Here I was, thinking that I am the absolute epitome of that which makes up the pinnacle, of this man’s universe, only to find out in this painstakingly revealing of moments, that all I am to him is the unbeknown perpetrator of his dirty little fucking secret. I am devastatingly crushed. As I pull out of the carpark and onto that of the road, Zabian literally runs, toward his house, ahead of his wife and children, leaving them to cross the road without him. “He needs to get back there so to put his headphones back on, I suppose? He cannot hear me without them, after-all.”

After spending the next couple of hours consumed with an emotional agony unlike anything that which I have previously known, I decide that I need to get the fuck out of here. And so, I drop my precious munchkins at my mums place and commence my journey to that of my father’s property, out at Yacht Peninsular. He has no idea where I am heading, as I deliberately ensure not to verbally mention it. On my way through town however, the messages coming through from that of the radio presenters are once again, of a desperate nature, pleading with me not to do whatever it is in which he may think, that I am going to. Upon realising that their efforts are futile, they proceed to play a remix of Ph D’s, I Won’t Let You Down Again, by Paolo Scebba. My heart is spent. "I cannot do this anymore!" I cry. With not much left to salvage from amongst the dying ash-like embers of the fire that which burned so brightly for him only hours before, I ignore that of his reference with every ounce of strength that which i can accumulate. I just need to get away. Away from all of this bullshit. Away from, him.

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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