Saving Hope | ONC2020

Chapter 4

"I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys. As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters." —Song of Solomon c.2 v.1-2

William Skye

She walked into the fast food joint casually enough. The world however has its ways to please—to tempt—without even meaning to do so. The woman was short, maybe five-foot-three, but offered hints to Spanish heritage like many of the Mexican's in the area. However, I could tell by her demeanor and how she walked that she was confident in her pale skin. Most of the 'white-Mexicans', as the rakes and donjuans around here like to call them crudely outside mixed company, were shy and looked like they slammed their faces in a tackle box with all the piercings they get. This woman didn't need that, she had the hourglass figure of a goddess. No, that's too strong, a faery? Then there was the brace on her wrist that just hits that odd protective core within a man. However, her eyes and the aforementioned confidence says that the brace isn't bothering her. She's a fighter, an overcomer.

Dear.
Lord.
God.
Jesus.
This girl is pretty.

After cutting off in the middle of my greeting, the girl smirked. She was reading me like a book now, she knew that I was eyeballing her and didn't let that bother her either. I cleared my throat saying, "Hello ma'am, how may I help you today?"

"Hey William!" Mason emerged around the corner, saying, "Put her on my tab."

Ah, Mason. There were two karate teachers in town that I knew of. One was Zen, which taught a point sparring style of karate. Then there was Mason renting out an old abandoned building for a good ole' Rocky-style gym who taught self-defense. Though girls were allowed to join, the largest group of chicks I ever heard of him instructing was some yoga or aerobics gig.

"Oh," I returned, "are you doing the aerobics class still?"

The woman gave Mason a curious look.

"No, I haven't done that in two weeks or so. Your brother coming to class tonight? Could use another teacher tonight."

"I'll make sure to ask," the door clapped behind them and I hurriedly explained to the woman, "my brother is a black belt, like the first or second in our style in twenty years. Mason usually foots the bill for the guys."

"Something like that," Mason confirmed, adding, "well we'll let you finish up with the customers behind us but when you get a chance we need to talk."

"Alright."

I took their order and then the next customer came up. My teeth grit as I tried to contain a groan. The 'customer' was no other than Mercedes. Tall, slim, black, ghetto and infatuated with me. No, not me, she just likes my face and heard from others that I'm a virgin. I'm a conquest, an item in a petty game of love.

Well love is war to me, and wars take serious planning.

"Heyy hottie~" her weaved and purple fro earned a weary glance from the woman with Mason before she went on to the soda fountain, Mercedes' voice dripped provocatively, "what cha doin' tonight?"

I almost said 'not. you.' but this woman is what I feel like Guinevere thinks I am: some promiscuous brute lead about by my pants rather than by my head. The truth is, I'm purer than Guinevere's last ex if gossip holds true. Regardless, if Mercedes were me, and I Guinevere, what would Jesus do? How would I act, to treat as I want to be treated? I forced a smile before saying,