SONG: Akon, Hamsika Iyer - Chammak Challo
Wanna be my chammak challo💃💃💃
I LOVE THIS SONG SO MUCH
Did you know Akon made it?
Like, I can't believe it either, but somehow that makes the song so much better. It's so nice. I think he learnt the language to do it, bless.
🌷
Derek Matthews
Thirty minutes, I drum my fingers on the sofa, impatiently waiting. The chefs concluded with pineapple, apricot and lime punch, cranberry sangria, virgin margarita, shirley temple and tens other alcohol-free drinks made by the chefs, so delicious and eye-rolling to enjoy. I sip the arnold palmer, delighting how the coolness burns my tongue.
Jackson's contact-gaze riveted. His jaw dramatically timbers to the marble floor, the glass splintering into shards. "I'm actually so lucky."
Tanner lifts from his phone, bemused, following the blond's fascination. The rocks glass of the orange-hued drink stalled, the rim pressed to my bottom lip.
Five, outrageously-attractive girls in the hottest attires of luxury and obedience descend the irradiating steps, the colours sophisticatedly modifying to red hues. My hypnotised gaze absorbs the vixen — the most enticing, the most beguiling, the most everything. She possesses this eminently lethal, eminently arousing, and eminently addictive gift to leave me breathless, to leave me in shock.
I set my glass on the desk before it slips and shatters.
Goddamn.
Shit, I can't breathe.
An off-shoulder, long-sleeved, scarlet, sparkly dress up to her thighs, legs bared and toned, a knotted bow at the front with a triangular cut-out to wink a flash of her almond skin. The dress is perfect to enshroud her scars she has yet to unveil when she is ready. Those luscious curls are straightened, lengthening to her hips. Such a wicked, prepossessing colour red is. Undoubtedly her shade as it compliments her skin tone.
I sit up higher to ease. Stupid move — the heat knots my abdomen, sinking. Fuck, not now. But fuck, she righteously stole my night.
Jackson manages to rise, his eyes raking his girl with solid desire and love. Orange, thin-strapped spaghetti dress, the left hem diagonally slashed into a stream of silver, chittering strings, and black high heels. He wraps an arm around Ines. "I hate you."
Ines giggles. She has a septum piercing, too. "Hello to you."
Jackson situates a hand on her leg, gliding it up.
"Hey, hey, hey." Tanner crosses his fingers, time-out. "Let's keep it PG-13."
In a flash, Theo bounces back to our booth, sliding an arm around his girlfriend. Naila looks like a princess: a white, off-shoulder, satin dress, the sleeves hefty and bouncing. Her vitiligo is unashamedly welcomed. I couldn't help the proud smile at my sister. As she should.
April deliberately sits next to me. The music dims, the colours and luminosity merging in a blur. "Hi."
Dammit, stop smiling, April. Don't get me wrong—I love it. But you make me too fucking nervous.
I couldn't help it. The beats deafening and pulsating, I lean close to her gold-budded ear. My breath fans downward to her neck, her pulse quickening. She would push me away if it discomfited her — I reminded her way too many times to know she won't hesitate to. "You look absolutely gorgeous."
So, so, so stunning.
She turns slightly. My heart thuds. If she does it a little more, our lips meet. I want that.
Ah, shit, I'm really fucked. I guess Cox and Simko will win that bet.
She blushes. "Thank you." Her eyelashes are inked in mascara — curled up, magnifying her tender, sexy, dark-brown eyes.
My Adam's apple bobs in a swift, long, hefty gulp of the mocktail. She's so fucking irresistable, physically and emotionally, it hurts.
I want her to touch me.
God, April, just take me to a dark corner and touch me.
I close my eyes. Christ.
April Ayomi Levesque truly has my soul wrapped around her finger.
She pushes a moss-lock of her straightened hair back, her almond-beige skin glowing as if washed and polished in glitter. "I couldn't bring my present."
In German, "Das ist in Ordnung. Dass du hier bist, ist das beste Geschenk."
That's all right. Your being here is the best gift.
"What?" she says loudly.
"It's fine."
She points at my necklace. "This looks good on you. What is it?"
The heirloom burns in recognition. "Yin and yang. Lin gave it to me."
Jasmine waves to capture our attention. She's in a bralette, silky and almost bare, matching silky bottoms and plumps, pink hair loose, a nose piercing and dark-red lips. "This is Sorsha Rojas."
Sorsha is Venezuelan and has a similar skin tone to April, although darker, perhaps the same as Dr Levesque. She is wearing a black, leather-tight, chest-wide-cut dress, combat heels, inky eyeliner and rings. She waves.
Tanner stands, swinging an arm around his boyfriend's shoulder, shaking her hand. "Miss Rojas, welcome, welcome, to our den, girl."
If she scoots closer and presses to my side, people would assume we're together. I want that.
Sorsha analyses the guests. "It's weird seeing so many famous people in one place."
"You'll get used to it." Jasmine chucks a savoured grape into her mouth. "Dance?"
The couples are yanked to the dance floor, leaving April and I alone in a comfortable silence. She stands to grab a crisp, dipping it in salsa. She sits in a diagonal position, her left leg folded and under her right, stroking my knee. Her gold heart pendant shines in a blood-red flare consuming the club, creating a four o'clock shadow on her face.
"What?"
I blink, realising I was staring. I shake my head, Nothing, nothing, finishing my drink. "You should dance."
"No," she says quickly. "Hell no."
"I've already seen your horrible moves, might as well do it again."
"Horrible? Yeah, I definitely won't dance."
I tilt my head forward slightly, attempting the puppy dog eyes. "Please?"
"You look stupid doing that."
I probably do. I bat my lashes anyway. "Please, baby?"
Another tender blush, lighter than her exotic dress and lips. "Nein, meine Liebe."
I suppress a smirk. "Have you figured out what 'meine Liebe' means?"
"No, annoyingly. What does it mean?"
"You'd probably slap me if I told you."
"Is it bad?"
"It's good."
I think it's a nice name to her.
"Then why would I slap you — I mean, I don't mind. You know what—" She withdraws her phone and says the phrase into the translator. She recently installed one, got frustrated at my constant slips of different words in different languages.
I cover a smirk. She said it wrong the first three times, so the app couldn't pick it up. "Am I pronouncing it right?"
"Yes."
She narrows her eyes. "You say it."
"No. Now dance."
"Nein."
I pout. "You promised me."
"I don't ever recall promising you anything."
"You have a horrible memory."
"My memory is superior."
"Fine." I stand, gently grabbing her small hands. "Then dance with me, Lieber."
I tug her to her red stilettos. "No, Derek. I can't—"
I hold up a finger. "No, no. My birthday, my rules. It's just a dance. It'll be like when we did it in the lake house. We should dance to that song. Ah ... Fuck, I can't remember, but it's that Bollywood song—"
"You listen to Bollywood songs?" She leans back, a hand on the red bow. "Who are you?"
"I told you I listen to any song, regardless if I can understand it or not. If it sounds nice, it's a winner."
"You never said Bollywood!"
"I did."
"I can't remember."
"My memory is superior," I mimicked. She rolls her eyes. "You were too busy checking out the Year 12s with Nai." I said that a bit too bitterly. "That's why you can't remember."
"They were good-looking, okay? I just wanted to admire God's creations."
"They look like disfigured shits."
"You are too rude."
The name clicks. "Chammak Challo," I recall.
"I love that song!" she exclaims. "Mike and Makayla — Derek!"
A hand holding hers, I pull her to the DJ, requesting the song. He was surprised at first, mentioning he knows it as it is famous. On the dance floor, the sequins of strings clanking, the song drums, and to my amazement, a majority of the guests recognise it.
Luke meets April's eyes. "Didn't Mike and Makayla dance to this at their wedding?"
April grinned. "It was so fun."
Luke sheepishly cupped his neck, chuckling. "I fell a lot while doing the dance, but yes. A lot of exceptional vibes that night." A female celebrity calls him and he wanders off.
The song thrums. "Your Grandma isn't here?"
The crowd cheers. "She's not feeling well."
She pouts. "I'd rather dance with her than you."
"You know what, I will take that as a compliment."
"She can dance better than you."
"Depends on what you define dancing."
"How do you define it?"
My mouth light-heartedly twists. "It's certainly not your definition of dancing."
She interweaves her fingers through mine, our arms oscillating, our feet waltzing. Her stilettos propelled her forehead to my chin, and my lips could easily stroke it ever so softly if I wanted to. Bursts of spontaneous giggles, kindling sparks. As identical to our last dance, her discomfit deteriorates, replaced by a growing comfort and welcome to her true colours.
Birds of the happiest flight, the song modifies into a sensual motif. Fire For You by Cannons. The luminosity mutes to wine-red undertones, consuming the club in a tsunami. I coarct our locks, graciously securing, and guide her closer to me. Bodies engulf us, veiling us in a curtain. Twirling her, she laughs, our chests colliding in heaving breaths, her palms flattened on my shoulders, my own plummeting to her hips.
I felt it was just us at that moment. Raging, raging fireworks in unison with our thundering, thundering hearts. I could feel hers. No doubt she could feel mine. Mildly lower my head, our noses brush, the tenderest paint stroke. An engaging crimson blemishes her winsome cheeks, her calming breath mingling with mine. Our lips caressing, I fought the urge to cup her face and kiss her.
The slow prances, ghosts to the Ten Families. They weren't bothered about Destiny. April, on the other hand ... She is relentless. If she finds out what I know — I'll make sure it never happens — what will they do to her? Keep her hostage, press a knife to her throat, scar it, severity absent, or kill her?
The apprehension forces me to sway a bit away. "Do you want a drink?"
"What?" she seems to say, the music strident.
I lean to her ear, my mouth touching her lobe. "Would you like a drink?"
"Okay. Punch." She disappears to our booth.
I approach the drinks, pour apricot punch for her and virgin margarita for myself in coupe glasses. I bump into a brown-haired girl in a silver dress.
Aashvi turns at the collision. "Oh, hi, Derek. Fancy seeing you."
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
Her smile drops. "I was invited."
"You weren't. Did you sneak in?" I avert to the other guests. "Destiny is here, isn't she?"
This harassment is getting too far.
"She wants to talk to you."
I scowl. This brat. I tap my intercom. "Anyone nearby?"
Aasvhi inhales a breath as the Assistant Head of Security scampers to us. "Derek, chill. It's not that big of a deal—"
He reaches us. "What's up?"
"Hamilton, remember my ex?"
"How could I forget? You constantly complain about her." He rakes the interloper. "She's here, isn't she?"
"This is her friend. Chuck her out. Destiny and Camila, too. You'll know who Camila is when you see her."
Then I see it.
Aasvhi's white butterfly earrings.
Suddenly, deja vu pummels me like a tidal wave. My mind, body, gut, soul and heart are screaming at the top of their lungs to remember. Remember what? Something ... Something to do with her. Fuck, what the hell?
Hamilton gently grabs Aasvhi's arm, wrenching her away. The further she is, the louder the desperate screams, the more waves of deja vu drowns my senses, escalating higher and higher into a tsunami. I gulp the virgin margarita. The non-alcoholic sweetness refuses to tranquil the light-headed intuition. What is it? Why are her earrings so familiar? I've seen it somewhere ... Fuck. Think, Derek, think.
My glass is empty, I fill it with cranberry sangria. Moving to the booth, the dances, the shrieks, the singing and chatter subdued into a familiar crowd, a crowd that existed not long ago. A crowd that jammed specific stairs — Ines's stairs. What? Why her house? I remember calling for my friends, and I think I was drunk at this time. When was this? May?
A crash. I look over my shoulder. No one has fallen. But there it is. The thud, thud, thud. Hammering louder and louder, in cavernous ripples. Someone did fall. Not here. Long, long ago. I remember the light of my phone screen blinding my eyes, calling for my friends a bit more. I remember following that thunderous crash, that thunderous thud, and opened a door.
'Jesus,' I muttered. 'Lock the fucking room.'
The words clink into a train of vision that has been pushed back into a mental lock, ensnared for months. Those words ... On that day, a certain chaos was proclaimed. A partial beginning to the protests, the resentment, the injustice. It was on Friday the First of a humid June day, and it was indeed at Ines's house, the sight of the crime.
Camila De La Cruz whipped up, dazed and disorientated, on her knees—
I abandoned the drinks on a random table and ushered to the Assistant Head, tapping my intercom. "Hello?" I call into it.
—beside Aasvhi Varma who adjusted her white butterfly earring—
"Sir," says Simko, "don't worry, we got those girls."
"Don't chuck them out," I ordered.
—before a boy on the bed—
People deserve to enjoy this celebration. But the survivor deserves justice. I tap again, trying to get my aunt's line.
"What?" asks Simko.
—Their shirts were slagged down, nearly of, and the boy moaned and mumbled.
"Don't chuck them out," I tell him after Hamilton taps his earpiece. "Keep them detained."
Hamilton freezes at my choice of words, spiralling to me. "What do you mean?"
My intercom buzzes. "Did they do something?" inquires Ersoy.
"Two of them raped Bodie Banks," I confessed. "I saw it. I'm a witness."
🌸
Who knew Derek is a witness?
*