A Student
Copyright ©
Chapter 86
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Vomment xoxoxoxo
Alec's POV
"It was great to talk to you, your sovereign grace, and an honor to hear of your wife," I say to Michael Hawthorne, Nysa's dictator grandfather. It was indeed an honor to have this man open up about his wife, who is dead and he talks about her like she was by his side. A woman who sounded just like Nysa, physically and personality wise. I asked him if he ever married again, after all he lost his wife at the age of twenty five. He openly told me the truth, he's had many whores but never ever even thought of the ridiculousness to marry another woman. None of them were as appealing as his wife though, none of them were as wild and loving as his wife. He spoke wonderful of her, with this honor and pride, and with a smile on his face. He told me why he never chose a son or a grandson for his title, and I'll never forget those words.
"Men are that, men. You never know if the woman you're fucking will kill you, but you don't care because we have brutal needs. I didn't want a male for my throne, weak for women and thirst for war. I wanted a woman on my throne, women have no weaknesses, in my opinion. They're smart, with dragon voices, and they have power over men like mothers over their newborn pups."
He also explained the mysterious reasons why of all females in his family, he picked the youngest and the most petite. He picked Nysa out of hard working women who could carry fifty pounds of cocoa over their heads and have seen war right in front of their eyes. Of all of them, he picked the little baby with the cubby pink cheeks.
"I wanted my Catalina reincarnated in a throne, because it was never me on the first place, she spoke to my ear and I did as I was told. When my rebel daughter told me she was pregnant of a Ferreira I was about to kill her, but I cooled down, took a deep breath, and acted like I never heard. And then, I saw my Catalina's hands on my shoulders and I swore I could see her again, standing behind me, and she told me to see our granddaughter. So I did, I went and when I saw Nysa I knew that I had my Catalina back. When that little, chubby, smiling baby grabbed my finger and started playing with it, her eyes were deep brown like melted gems. The next day I visited her again and I carried her sleepy chubby pink body on my arms. When she woke up her eyes were green, as green as a forest. That's when I knew this is the girl I've been waiting for, this is blood of my long lost wife."
I've seen it happen on the most random moments. When we took a bath together she would enter the bathtub with brown eyes. From one second to the other, her eyes were green. When she was saying her first Russian words with my mom she was laughing with brown eyes. And then, when she turned around my mom gasped and I knew she saw it, green eyes. Whenever she'd cry her eyes weren't brown or green, they were hazel, a mind blowing combination of green and brown layers. And it's such a prominent color, it's not a green that looks like brown, it's a green so bright and vivid it's like an opaque neon green. The first time Vickie saw it change colors she asked if that was a genetic mutation, Nysa had no idea what she was talking about. It happens often, in the blink of an eye, her eyes change color. I've seen it from close when we make love, the pecks of her dilated eyes would become green, eat out the brown, and fully green when she'd come.
I take a deep breath tapping the steering wheel of my red Ferrari. I shouldn't be thinking about her coming, that would really undo my wires. This is the longest we've been apart, four weeks. Just the mere thought of her causes an uncomfortable boner. I swallow hard at the rushing memories and thoughts, I miss her in every way, and I can only think of her as the solution to my problem. I swerve to the right and park my car by the woods. I hit the emergency brake and walk out closing the door behind me. Looking down I groan in annoyance, go back inside the car and take a sweater to wrap it around my waist. I make my way out to the sunny day and cross the lonely street into some random shop.
It was lonely here, except for the group of men and... I walk back out just to see where the fuck am I. Great, a goddamn club, what it didn't said was the fact it's a sex club. I scoff and walk back in making my way to the club and sit on a stool waiting for the receptionist to make an appearance. I sucked my teeth on annoyance, damn those women are loud. I look at the roof as I wait and wait, it's brown and it's moist, I'd like to be out of here before it falls. So are the walls and the floor, dark wood and moist, making creaking sounds.
"Hello," a lady says and I stand up to greet her properly.
"Hello, I'd like to know if I can get-"
"As you've seen and heard the ladies are on that side, as long as you pay they will serve you," she says with an edge of irritation and welcome.
I frown, what? I look at that other side, and cringe. I can't believe I used to be one of those guys, and more unbelievable is how I have my Princess now. The thought of paying a chick for a blowjob seems disgusting and bizarre, not because I'd be cheating on my baby girl, but because I'd be a man of no word and honor if I did. Plus I must admit, the idea also seems ridiculous and foolish when I have Nysa, just her lips are priceless. I smile, it's not the sex, is the laughter and joy, the brimming euphoria and the duty of pleasing my baby girl like she pleases me.
"I didn't came for the ladies," I say and the blond woman is clearly taken back.
Then she blinks hard and pulls out glasses from the counter. She squints her eyes looking at me from head to toe and her jaw drops. "Mother of the unholy," she gasps looking up to my face and going red. She quickly pokes my chest and gasps again, poking my arm and then my face. I tilt my head to aside trying to figure out what the heck is she doing. "And he's real!" She shrieks.
"Ma'am I-"
She cuts me off by asking, "are you single?"
"No-"
"Of course you wouldn't," she face palms herself. "Wait, did you just called me ma'am?"
I chuckle, "why wouldn't I? Have I offended you?"
"First american I've seen with perfect set of white teeth," she slides her glasses upwards admiring my face. She's... Very straight forward.
"Actually I'm Russian," I explain very carefully.
God this is the weirdest talk I've had in months. "That explains why my ovaries are exploding," she explains and I cringe at the thought. "Are you really taken? Like, really taken?" She sounds American, I had a girl asking if I was really Russian, which I'm still trying to understand what she meant by "really". Of course I met her in Starbucks.
"I- I don't understand what you mean by really," I say trying to figure out what the heck is going on.
"Like, are you committed to the relationship or like are you open for other options, 'cause like I mean I'm single too, but like, you know, like you're really, really, really good looking so I thought maybe your girl isn't like, you know, like so pretty like you, 'cause like I'm not as pretty as you but like if you're open for like, new girls, then I volunteer," she quickly pulls out a lipstick and rubs it on her thin lips.
"Ma'am I love my girlfriend, she's beautiful and smart, I am only and forever always hers. I'm happy with her and unavailable for you, but I hope you find the man you seek very soon," I tuck a piece of hair behind her ears and she starts drooling with her head sideways. I put my hand away. She giggles and sighs dreamily. "I came here for a bottle of water actually."
"Right, water," and she quickly turns around to get me water.
"Ma'am?" Someone mimics behind me and laughs weakly. "Ah, now that explains why every girl would volunteer to fuck you," he continues and I take a deep breath, holy shit it smells like death in here. "Never heard of a guy calling a prostitute ma'am or lady."
"They're not just prostitutes, they're women, and a real man won't refer to women without respect," I say sitting on the stool and ignoring the sounds of fucking on the background.
I look up to the small plasma TV broadcasting the soon trial of Ana AKA Ayanna and Princess AKA Nysa I Marie Hawthorne, The First Of Her Name. People gather outside court and protest Nysa's release, no one really cares to what happens with Ayanna. Sadly people have no respect for Ayanna because of the job she used to have and her HIV disease.
"What about a man?" The old man behind me asks. "Would you call a man that has sex with prostitutes a man? Sir?"
The lady comes back and she pours water on a glass with ice. I thank her and she walks back to wherever she came from jumping and giggling. I take a long sip of the cold water and pour more on the glass. "That depends," I tell the old man. "Did he treat the woman with respect? Yes, I'd call him Sir. Did he treat her like a common worthless whore? No, I'd call him a bastard."
"Ah, Words of wisdom," he coughs wheezing and gasping for breath. "I guess I should refer to you as Sir then, Alec."
I furrow my eyebrows and try to recall sleeping with a... Ayanna. I turn around and my eyes widen. It's not an old man I'm talking to, not at all, I'm talking to a young man, not even on his mid-twenties. His dirty blond hair is now gone, and some gray hair sticking out like wires. I can see every bone in his body, I can even count his ribs with ease. He has no mass at all, his skeleton sticks out like a figure made of woods ticks and wires. I can see the shape of his eye sockets, his eyeballs sticking out as if they were near falling off. I jerk back hitting my back with the counter and gasp in disgust and the shivers that keep traveling through me. He keeps shivering and he's got goosebumps all over, recurring chills that he can't seem to shake off. Skin peels off from his forehead, with puss and blood, he's decaying, rotting alive. Shingles take over all of his arms and his collarbone up to his neck like maggots under his skin. Rashes on his face and his hands, his long fingers like bone claws. Blotches cover every inch of his skin like the curse of a mad woman and the product of playing with acid.
"Frightened?" Carter asks.
"You piece of worthless bastard!" I scream and grab his neck blowing a punch to his face. He falls back groaning and I know I've broken bones. Men come to hold me back but I push them all off, "don't touch me," I warn them and shrug my sleeveless jacket down. I step away from Carter and snicker in disgust, I care nothing for his sickness. Call me cruel, but nothing is crueler than this man getting the benefit of death when he's killed and raped three girls. "I'm calling the police on you, don't even think you're dying on a bed, you're dying on a prison," I tell Carter drinking the rest of my water.
"Wait," he says holding a hand up. "I- I can help you."
I remove my hand from my pocket and actually consider listening to this disgusting human being. I've got no pity for this decaying, rotting, living creature. I actually need his help, to get my baby girl out of prison he's the missing puzzle to everything. If he tells the truth Nysa will be out faster than the judge can say his verdict. "Can you write?" I ask him kicking his leg lightly.
He nods.
"Well you'll write the biggest essay of your life explaining how you met Nysa to how you harassed her and planned to murder and rape her. Timeline and everything."
"With one condition," he says.
I laugh, "you don't have an option Carter."
"I just, I just want to be cremated and thrown in the sea."
I tilt my head and scowl. Why should I even be listening? He deserves nothing, absolutely nothing but cruelty and punishment. His crimes can't never be forgotten or forgiven. Alexandra's mother suffers every day and so does Paola's. Those women deserve to know Carter never lived in comfort.
But then, he's human. I'm human. I have no say in his punishment. I am nothing but a man just like him. I can't deny him something that we all should have by natural rights.
"Go ahead," I say kicking his leg. "Someone video tape him."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* *kissy emoji*
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