TOUCH II

Thirty Fifth Chapter.

Cursed women, and their splendid beauty. With eyes that orchestrate a catastrophe to their victims insides, yet rejuvenate them all at once to bring about a resplendent spark. With lips so tender they ignite a passionate flame to the one that chooses to touch them. With lengthy arms, not meant for labor, and soft hands, to touch and hold delicately with love and propensity. With breasts, big or small, that deviate a clean imagination to a dirty illusion and manifest emotions into sensations, and sensations into nerve impulses that urge a reaction, to touch, and render your self control weak.

We do not praise men simply for having legs because they couldn't use them the way women can. They cannot flaunt their thighs to create a surge of emotion.

The creator never made body parts for seduction. A woman's stomach could not have been meant to turn one on. Her behind shouldn't have weakened anyone's knees. Her frame, regardless of her size, was not to drive anyone into an insane state.

Damn women and their indestructible minds, that manipulate your advocacy to be in her favor, with a simple look, a subtle touch, a cursed sway of her hips. With that atrocious wink, that evil finger wave.

Fuck women, for the paradise between their legs, with sweet nectar and warm, massaging cushions.

Screw women for their comforting nature, and their soothing presence. For the sanctuary that is their heart, for the ears that listen far too well, and those lips that only say the right things.

All the reasons that a woman is so great, are all the reasons that the last thing you would want is losing her, that you are deemed an imbecile in her absence, incapable of performing to your best potential.

The imbecile was Jordan, who lost a woman, and hence, lost a part of herself.

No, she was not depressed, although she was something that came close. Ian was right about something, the books didn't distract her for long.

She spent less time on those, and more time scrolling through pictures for memories that felt like yesterday ago. She spent less time at home, and more driving through the city, and sometimes passed Bridgett's neighborhood, and passed her house, in hopes that she would see her. She didn't. Not once. She saw Andrew one time, a raven headed fellow, standing by the green grass on a phone call.

She despised him, maybe that wasn't fair. It was Bridgett who hurt her, not Andrew. Even still, he was partially at fault.

In hating him, she wished never to see or meet him. But the universe was never on her side, and it made that quite obvious when what she didn't want happened.

She was headed to the liquor store on a glorious Saturday afternoon to refill her cupboard. Or so that was the plan. She stopped herself right by the entrance.

Next to the door, by the entrance of a liquor store stood a familiar five year old little girl, looking around like a lost puppy.

"Lily."

The little girl turned at the sound of her name, only then did Jordan notice she had tears in her eye. She went over, kneeling down in front of her.

"Hey, what's wrong?" frowned Jordan. "Where's your mom?"

Jordan hasn't known Bridgett for long, but she knew she was anything but negligent, especially when it came to her daughter.

In fact, her entire reason for their breakup was for Lily's benefit.

The little girl doesn't answer, but she moves closer to Jordan, leaning her body against her as if she was hiding from someone.

Jordan places her hands on both her arms, pushing her back to look at her. "Lily-"