Ink & Lust

Chapter 9

Only one slice of pineapple pepperoni pizza remained in the grease-stained cardboard box. Easy R&B streamed from Dominic's phone on the coffee table next to the box and nowhere near him. Amila intently watched him on the other side of the luxurious off-white couch with the tip of her thumb between her teeth trying hard not to bite them. But she was getting antsy. He was getting close and she wasn't ready to lose.

"Answer it already." She insisted, sitting utterly comfortably in the dwelling. Her shoes were off and her finger-combed hair hung over her shoulder in that 'just got off work and tired of a ponytail' kind of way.

Dominic's finger remained over her phone as he hissed, "Don't rush me, woman."

She laughed, sitting up. "If you get it wrong, you're going to lose more than points." She leaned towards him knowing the answer to the question the trivia game asked. "Let me help you so you won't lose your black card." She joked and let out another laugh as he glared at her.

"Here, then." He angled the phone towards her. "What's the answer?"

"Hmm." She tapped her mouth feigning the need to ponder over the answer choices given for the multiple-choice question then read it aloud. "On the sitcom Martin what was the occupation of Gina's father?"

"Can you stop faking?" He slumped back against the couch looking like a sad puppy in the cutest way possible that she had to put him out of his misery.

"Gina Waters' dad was a...." A satisfied grin quirked her lips up.

He rolled his eyes before dropping his head back, "Of course, you know her last name, too. Showoff."

"A chiropractor." She tapped the third choice under 'optometrist' and above 'psychologist'. The phone dinged a jovial tune as confetti rained across the screen congratulating her on her knowledge of Black sitcoms.

"Aww." She cooed at the defeated six-foot-two man across from her. "You can try again."

He folded his arms. "I don't want to." For a second she thought he was actually perturbed and then the corner of his mouth ticked up. "They changed the questions."

"You cheater." She yanked the pillow from behind her back and slapped his arm with it. "This is your game. The one you sold."

He held up his hands shielding himself from the strikes of the fluffy pillow with his laughter drowning out the music. It infected her, etching a big smile on her face. A smile she hadn't been able to form her lips to create for it was crafted from pure elation and exhilaration. It was a happiness that erased every moment and occurrence from your mind during its duration because of something else; something bigger than pain, something stronger than regret.

Triumphant is more powerful than failure and defeat is but a sting; never let it convince you to quit. Persevere.

Amila's arm paused mid-strike letting the curvature of her lips slack just a bit as her sister's words resurfaced in her mind. She froze on her haunches and although she peered at him, her mind was miles away; chasing down the memory of the day her sister told her those words. She called up the image like a siren and it appeared, scrolling through her consciousness like a highlight reel of her life. It was the day she first entertained the thought of quitting ballet. The defeat of putting in copious hours of practice only to lose part of Clara Stahlbaum and landing the role of a sugar plum fairy brought tears to her eyes as she packed up.

It was Akeela who convinced her to keep going, and keep working hard. Her sister was her biggest fan, the first to applaud in the audience, and the bestower of the grandest bouquet. All in all, it was she who Amila danced for. The thought of dancing without seeing Akeela's encouraging face and wink she always flashed just before the music began to play was a task too hefty for Amila to perform.