Eme Strife's Blog
December 8, 2014
I hope you all had an amazing Thanksgiving (for those who celebrate it)!
We're finally in the last month of the year, and I can barely believe it! I really feels like 2014 just kind of came and went. Lol.
In any case, I wanted to let you guys know that Doctor-Patient Confidentiality, Volume Three is finally out on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Kobo Books.
I anticipate that volume four will be out next week, and volume five the week right after that. Volume five will be the last release for the year, but not to fret, there will be so much more coming in 2015 :).
I'll talk with you all soon!
Until next time...
December 1, 2014
I feel my mouth lift slightly in a half-smile. I think I'm kind of awake, and kind of still asleep, but I'm pretty sure that I can feel something tickling my arm and shoulder.
I'm slowly drifting into consciousness, becoming more and more aware of my surroundings as I come awake.
I feel feathers insistently brush against my bare shoulder, tickling my skin and making me giggle like an idiot.
It must be Paulie, my cockatoo. He's the sweetest little thing. He sometimes flies into my bed and sleeps on my pillow, right next to my head.
He'll occasionally sleep in my hair if he's feeling particularly anxious that night for whatever reason, or if he feels threatened and needs reassurance of his safety, especially if my hair's being extra big and frizzy.
My vet says my hair calms him down and it was the very thing that bonded us when I first got him a little over five years ago.
I just have to keep him away from our family cat, Mitsy, whenever I visit my parents. No matter how many times I bring Paulie over, Mitsy always gets so hostile toward him, and she even extends that hostility to me more often than not.
She used to love me a lot, but that's clearly changed. Ever since Paulie came into the picture, she's been acting different towards me. Really different.
Like most cats, Mitsy's extremely territorial, and perhaps she felt betrayed that I got another pet or something.
I guess I can cross her name of my loved-ones list, right after that insufferable bastard, Lenny's.
Ugh. I'm thinking about him again. I don't want to think about him. He's the very fucking reason my head feels like there's an automatic drill inside it right now.
I absently move my legs, shifting them haphazardly around my bed until my feet find the floor, and I realize I still have my heels on from last night.
Jesus, just how bad was last night that I passed out with my damn shoes on?
The strappy stilettos are without a doubt one of my most uncomfortable pairs, too, and somehow, I didn't feel their usual blood-constricting effects at all.
Well, at least up until now.
On the bright side—if you can even call it that—at least the numbness in them is finally gone and I can feel my legs now.
My God, I was beyond wasted. Not at all a good look for someone who works at an advertising agency. I really hope none of the company’s clients—past or prospective—was anywhere near that club last night. The very last thing I need in my life right now is to get blacklisted for “unprofessional conduct and display”.
It may not have been during working hours, but as long as I work for Gruman Advertising, I’m still a representation of the firm, and trust me, they do not, under any circumstances, represent super drunk women stumbling around in uncomfortable faux leather heels.
I feel around my bed absently as my eyes remain closed, and my hand comes into contact with more feathers, but something's off about them.
Paulie is a fairly small bird. These feel too large to be his, and they're too many as well. They can't possibly be his feathers.
I frown as I continue to keep my eyes shut, not wanting to fully subject them to the harsh rays of daylight coming through my window just yet, but my hand continues to feel its way around my bed.
I realize there can only be one explanation for this; my pillows somehow got ripped open and now their feathers are scattered everywhere.
I breathe out a tired sigh. I'm so not looking forward to cleaning up the mess with this stupid hangover I have.
But just then, my hand comes into contact with something else; something far more alarming than feathers—skin.
November 24, 2014
And by him, I mean my douchebag ex-boyfriend, Lenny.
He was the last person I expected to run into last night. I wasn't at all prepared to see him again after he'd casually dumped me over a fucking text message.
its over, Kia. im c'ing sum1 else.
That was it. After almost two years together, that was all the asshat said to me when he suddenly decided to end things between us.
Yeah. Real fucking classy.
And to make matters worse, my ex was there having an extra good time with some random barbie-lookalike-bitch. I mean, really? For fuck's sake, we've only been broken up for three weeks and two days!
Not that I'm counting or anything.
Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, he'd actually had the nerve to come up to me and pretend that everything was all super peachy and dandy. He even bought my brother shots, and Stan, in his extra-tipsy birthday state, just happily accepted them as if they were still cool.
Okay, I think they might actually still be somewhat amicable behind my back, but dammit, I can't have my brother fraternizing with my enemies, especially the one that hurt me the most, I don't care what the occasion is.
That right there was the beginning of my demise. That's when I started mindlessly chugging back the Kamikazes and Jager Bombs like they were spring water, and I think I went a little bit ham on the Tequila, too. I just kept dumping several ounces of hard liquor down my throat, back to back to back.
It was a stupid thing to do. I know. In hindsight, I really should have just kept my cool, but I was so infuriated I couldn't help myself.
With the way he and his new whore had been acting all lovey-dovey and kissy-kissy in front of me, I knew without a doubt that I was going to cause a scene if I'd stayed completely sober.
Honestly, I'd only meant to get a little tipsy, but I quickly ended up going overboard before I even realized it.
Ugh. Why the fuck did he have to be there?
I can't even believe I'd let myself fall in love with someone who obviously cared so little for me.
Looking back on things, I probably should have seen all the signs and red flags a mile away, but I was too caught up in my feelings of being wanted and desired that I didn't—or maybe even refused to—see Lenny for the gigantic asshole that he so clearly is.
Just then, I realize that I'm being carried, hauled over someone's shoulder like a bag of cement. I know it can't be Stan, 'cause I the last time I saw him, he was on the dancefloor doing a headstand—that somehow ended up being more of a face-on-the-floor-stand. So yeah, it's definitely not him.
Jeez, I really hope he got home safe.
I catch the scent of warm pumpkin spice, and I immediately know I'm in my apartment.
Someone brought me home. But who?
In any case, at least I know I'm safe. That also means I know whoever is carrying me.
I try to speak, but everything I say leaves my mouth in incoherent groans of gibberish.
I feel my body hit the soft cushioning of my bed, and I look up at the silhouette of the face above me, trying to figure out who it is that so graciously brought me back to my apartment, but I can only manage to keep my eyes open for a few seconds before they shut down on me completely and I'm out like busted light bulb.
November 17, 2014
I can't feel my legs.
It sounds so damn cliché but I really can't.
My feet are suspended in mid air, hanging next to each other like two wooden planks. My body is immobile and it also feels unusually heavy.
Nothing is in focus, and I'm desperately struggling to stay awake. I'm insanely light headed, and right now, my brain feels like a huge chunk of boiled Play-Doh.
I feel like shit.
I'm not really sure what's going on, but I think I'm moving. I mean, I don't really feel like I'm moving, but at the same time, I'm pretty sure that I am.
My hair that I had beaten into submission with a flat iron just hours ago has transformed back into its usual frizzy haystack, and the poofy mess is covering pretty much my entire face.
My arms are too weak and limp to even move it out of the way, so I just let it be. But even if the crazy hair wasn't blocking my view, I'd still barely be able to see a thing in the drunken haze I'm in; and boy, is it one hell of a drunken haze.
I guess I would be much more honest in saying that it's more of a drunken stupor. Heck, maybe it's both, I dunno. I'm not exactly the most coherent person in the world right now.
I've never been this drunk in my life, and I'm still not even sure how it happened.
It's my younger brother's birthday today—or I guess I should say last night, 'cause it's definitely morning now, even if the sky is still dark as hell outside.
He finally turned twenty-one, and like the nice and supportive big sister that I am, I went out to celebrate this great marker in his life with him and all of our friends in the way most people traditionally celebrate this particular milestone; by spending a bunch of money on a shit ton of alcohol, rapidly consuming said shit ton of alcohol, and then eventually puking every ounce of it out along with your guts into and around the bowl of a nasty public toilet.
I just hadn't planned on getting even more wasted than the birthday boy himself.
As a matter of fact, I was supposed to be the DD. I had actually volunteered for the not-so-coveted role of being the only sober person responsible for driving around a truckload of super wasted college kids and a few young working professionals like myself, and safely getting each and every one of them home.
Honestly, it's something I'd wanted to do, something I'd intended to do ever since my own twenty-first birthday. Whatever memories I still have of that night still give me occasional chills. I'd never expected—or even imagined—that shit could get so out of control and go all the way left in just a few hours.
If that night had taught me anything at all, it's that everyone—and I mean, everyone—needs a good, reliable, and most importantly, sober DD on their birthday, especially their twenty-first.
Being the oldest and well into my mid-twenties, I'd like to think that I'm the most responsible of all my siblings, but after last night, I guess that now remains highly debatable.
I really wanted to be that responsible DD for my brother, but that clearly did not go as planned.
Not after I'd spotted…him.
October 31, 2014
Hey, dudes and dudettes (^_^)!
I hope you're all doing great! And, oh yeah, Happy frickin' Halloween!!!
Courtesy of dailyanimeart.com
Sadly, I don't get to dress up this year *sigh* but there is good news despite that!
As you might (or might not, lol) have noticed, I've changed the publishing schedule quite a bit in the last two months, and as a result, Doctor-Patient Confidentiality volumes 3 and 4 will be out earlier than initially planned ( on the 7th and 18th of November, respectively). Woohoo!!!
I know that's definitely good news for those of you who don't like waiting that long for the next installments. I know I'm certainly upping my game and forgoing sleep so that I can get the volumes out to you faster. That's how much I love you guys :). I might need to restock my fridge with more Redbull, though. A lot more. And soon. Lol.
On another note, I wanted to fill you guys in on my plan for the rest of 2014.
As you guys may know, NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) begins tomorrow, and it'll be my third year participating in it, but it'll be my first 'official' NaNo, if that makes sense. And if it doesn't, that's okay, too :). I don't always make sense, even to myself (^_^).
The novel I'm going to be working on this November is Uncensored.
I think some of you may have already noticed that I've decided to make changes to my initial plans for it. I wanted to release it in three installments at first, but I decided to just release each book in the series as a full length novel instead. I think it just works better that way for this particular series.
And speaking of series, I've also decided to change the name from The Scarlet Key series to The Code Red series. I just think it makes a lot more sense and goes so much better with my vision for the story. So Uncensored will be the first book in The Code Red series, and it'll be out on Valentine's day next year (February 14th, 2015).
I'll be doing weekly posts at the end of each week in November to keep you guys up to speed with my progress on Uncensored, as well as any other developments with DPC (I'm going to try to have volume 5 - and maybe volume 6 - out in December).
Alrighty, that's it for now folks! Talk with y'all soon :).
Until next time...
October 14, 2014
Hope you've all been good!
I know this release is coming out two weeks later than I had planned for it to, but I'd been under the weather recently and just bounced back.
So I'm healthy again, and happy that I can finally give you guys Volume Two of Doctor-Patient Confidentiality, because I know a lot of you guys have been eagerly waiting for it!
I hope you feel it was worth the extra two-week wait :).
Until next time...
October 11, 2014
I'm immediately encompassed by hot air, and I'm incredibly grateful for the nice and toasty atmosphere as I feel the heat quickly neutralize the unbearable cold I felt just seconds ago.
I dust the snow off my jacket without halting my footsteps, and adjust the strap of my carry-on as I feel it digging into my shoulder, bearing most of its unnecessary weight.
I make a mental note to remove whatever items in it that I don't use daily. I have a bad habit of always carrying around a lot of stuff in my bag, but there's absolutely no reason to keep carrying a butt load of crap everywhere in this shitty weather if I don't have to.
The building is dead quiet from this end, and I make my way through the hallway equally silent. Even though I'm tempted to take the elevator to head to my department, I ditch it in favor of the stairwell as usual.
I make my way up the lengthy flight of stairs, taking two at a time like I always do. I consider this part of my daily workout routine, and between my hectic schedule and lack of a gym membership, it's pretty much the ideal daily exercise option for me. Plus, it helps to fully wake and warm me up for practice on early mornings like this.
Just right before I reach the very top of the stairwell, I wince as I feel an abrupt and discomforting sensation right below my chest that makes me stop in my tracks.
Ugh. There it is again.
This is like the fourth or fifth time it's happened since it started a little over a month ago. I don't know why I keep getting this random discomfort in my stomach. I have to hold on to the railing for support as I wait for the uneasy feeling to subside.
The first two times it happened, I just figured maybe it was my body's stress response to the hectic life of juggling two majors, a full-time job, and being constantly worried about money. Now, I'm not so sure it's as simple as that.
I close my eyes momentarily and take in deep breaths, trying hard not to mentally freak out. I find relief when the sensation fades away in a few moments. A few seconds later, I hear the door of the main entrance open again from below me, and a pair of familiar, obnoxious voices follow right after.
Even without looking to see who it is, I know all too well the distinctive, high-pitched and snarky voices of Wendy Gilmore and Julianne Hendricks.
Wendy and Julianne are, for all intents and purposes, first-class 'bee-otches'.
And that's by anyone's standard, including theirs, if they’re honest with themselves.
They're your typical rich and snotty mean girls who have it out for pretty much anyone who isn't richer and/or more overbearing than they are—which, in my class, is pretty much everyone.
Although, I sometimes wonder how long their rich-girl partnership will last. From my own experiences, girls as mean and ruthless as they are always seem to have a hard time getting along with anyone for extended periods of time, even people who are exactly like themselves.
I always do my best to avoid the 'Dastardly Duo' as my best friends, Trixie and Bill, have dubbed them.
I actually think the alias is quite fitting.
The chicks are incredibly mean for no reason at all. Lord knows I've had my fair share of mean girls in middle and high school, and even during my first go around in college, so I'm no stranger to the general behaviour and attitude of girls like them, but I'm way too old to entertain or tolerate that type of juvenile bullshit anymore.
I avoid them not because I'm scared of or feel intimidated by them, but because I'm just not a very confrontational person by nature, and at the age of twenty-four, I find dealing with the B.S. and bitchy antics of their kind incredibly exhausting and draining. I have quite enough going on in my life that drains me as it is, and in the extremely rare chance that I'll actually want more crap in my life, I'll just tune in to Duck Dynasty.
I hear the echoes of their laughter and gossip becoming louder, signaling that they're getting closer. The last thing I want right now is for the Dastardly Duo to begin their daily routine of people-spiting with me, so I push my concerns for my stomach to the side for the moment and quickly make my way to the vocal department.
I make a stop by my locker before I head to the rehearsal room to drop off my belongings. I set my satchel down and turn the grey metal dial as I enter the new combination to my locker. I takes me two tries to get it right, and it opens up with a very slight creak. I had to get it changed about two weeks ago since someone had managed to break into it and steal my iPod, my recorder, a library book—which I had to end up paying for, and a few of my other belongings.
My locker had been thoroughly vandalized, with nothing but broken glass and what looked like lipstick streaks left behind. The perpetrator still hasn't been found, not to talk of reprimanded, so the only thing the faculty head could do when it happened was make an announcement of the incident and arrange to have my combination replaced.
I suspected and still suspect that it’s someone in my class who did it—probably Wendy or Julianne—but I have no proof to back my theory up.
Besides, the Dastardly Duo aren't my only suspects. There are quite a few classmates who really don't care too much for my existence, and I guess that mostly has to do with the fact that I'm one of the top music students in the school and most of our professors seem to take a liking to me.
I was appointed lead vocalist earlier this semester, as well as lead pianist, and apparently only two other students have ever held two lead positions in different departments at the same time in the music school's history. It’s obvious that some of my classmates don't think I deserve either of the highly-coveted positions, and certainly not both at the same time.
A lot of them have claimed everything from being the granddaughter of a legendary music composer to their assumption that I'm ‘part British’—which I’m not, and I don’t know why the hell that would even make a difference, but people will obviously use anything as an excuse—as the only reasons why I was given those positions. I frequently hear passing remarks like, "She's just lucky her grandfather was famous and had connections here" and "It’s not fair! I can sing so much better than she does. What makes her so damn special?"
It's crazy how much perception skews the truth. I consider myself anything but fortunate, but no one would ever agree with me based on simple outward appearances. I guess I should have expected the disgruntled reactions of my classmates.
Like most classical art fields, classical vocal music is a highly competitive field anywhere in the world, and people will use any excuse they can come up with to discredit their competition.
I'm sure the classical ballet dancers across the hall have it much, much harder. I've seen firsthand how fierce the competition in their department can get, and I sometimes wonder if most of the dancers still enjoy dancing with all the pressure they're constantly under.
Lord knows I wouldn't.
I guess I just have to be extra careful and vigilant from now on. It's not like I can afford to lose any more of my stuff.
I take my hat and jacket off and shove them into the medium sized locker, and my satchel soon follows. I remember to take my new MP3 player from it before I close it. Okay, it's not exactly new, but I feel like it is.
Trixie's older brother, Drake, gave it to me last week, insisting that I take it when he heard about what had happened with my locker. I almost wish Trixie hadn't told him.
I was extremely reluctant to take his music player when he offered it to me, even though it was exactly the miracle I needed then. I absolutely hate feeling indebted to anyone, and I hate the idea of Drake feeling sorry for me even more. I also hate the fact that I like the guy, and although I've had something of a crush on for him for a little over a year now, I know I'll never act on those feelings.
It probably sounds absurd to most people, and I'll never admit it to anyone, but one of the greatest fears I have in life…is falling in love.
Yeah. I'm kind of dysfunctional like that.
My greatest fear isn't dying broke or starving to death or being alone for the rest of my life. Not even the thought of having maggots crawling out of my nose makes my system shut down like the thought of being deeply in love with someone. I don't know if that’s sad or what. I mean, most people crave love and romance and spend incredible amounts of time and energy searching for it.
But not me.
Every time love so much as tiptoes my way, I run from it faster than Usain Bolt ever could, and do everything in my power to eradicate any sign of it in my life. I'd heartily welcome the plague over it.
To be clear, I wasn't always like this, though. I thought I wanted love once upon a time, and on very few, rare occasions, I still think I might, but I know for a fact that I wouldn't be able to handle being in love if a bucket of the stuff was thrown right in my face. I just wouldn’t; not after seeing what being in love did to my father.
Not after witnessing and being part of the toxic and destructive aftermath that resulted from that whole situation.
My body shudders involuntarily, not from any remnants of the cold outside, but from unpleasant memories. I actively push the depressing thoughts from my mind before they wander any further.
I scrunch my hair into a messy ponytail and put my earphones as I walk to the backdoor of the rehearsal room, actively switching my focus to music so that I don’t have to think about my somber past. At least not for the next few hours.
The wipers sway intermittently across the windshield and their fibers do a sloppy job of clearing the precipitation from my view. Their constant rubbing against the glass emits ear-wrenching squeaks that I wish I could ignore, but cannot.
These ancient wipers need to go.
At least that's what I've been saying for…how long has it been now? Five months? Yeah, about that long.
Every time I get around to changing these annoying wipers, something else more urgent suddenly comes up, and whatever money I’d been saving towards replacing them goes to that 'more urgent' thing. That happened again yesterday.
I spent the money I’d been saving for a pair of new wipers on a newly published music composition book that I absolutely need and can't seem to find in any of the libraries. I guess it'll be at least another month or so before I get rid of the ancient wipers—and that's if nothing else ends up taking priority over them before that.
Somehow, I highly doubt that things will actually go that way. Maybe I'll get used to the squeaks.
A tired yawn escapes me as I reluctantly listen to the obnoxious voice of a man streaming from my car's radio. He goes on and on and on, blabbering away in an infomercial that's way too dramatic and really over-the-top.
The guy is desperately trying to make flannel jackets sound like magical garments that have been woven into golden pieces of fabric by Rumpelstiltskin, and then later catapulted into retail stores straight from a unicorn's asshole.
He really is doing—or saying, as the case is—far, far too much. I doubt the company's marketing team intended for their ad to sound this ridiculous. Or at least, I hope not, for their sake.
I'm extremely tempted to change the station, but I don't. As much as I'd rather listen to something that doesn't make my eardrums want to commit suicide, the obnoxious banter is effectively chasing away any sleepiness I still feel, and this early in the morning, that's something I desperately need.
Another yawn escapes me and I feel my eyes slightly water behind my glasses as the lingering sleepiness slowly evades them. I crank up the heat a bit and enjoy the blast of hot air that emanates from the heater.
There's barely anyone on the road now, and I'm glad I don't have to deal with so many other cars and their equally grumpy-from-sleep drivers so early in the morning.
My fingers are firm on the steering wheel as I hit the gas, speeding up and managing to pass a traffic light right before it turns red. Pretty soon, I'm pulling into the only unrestrictedparking lot on campus.
Even at this early hour, the lot is fairly full, mostly because it's not that big, and most students without a parking permit like myself scramble relentlessly for parking space here everyday. I'm sure some kids leave their cars here for days at a time just to ensure that they have a spot.
I circle the lot once and I'm fortunate enough to find a spot without as much hassle as usual, and given my morning crankiness and impatience, I'm pretty darn thankful for that. However, even though my car isn't big, the spot is pretty awkward, and it's not even a little bit bright outside. I suck at parallel parking, and being fairly new to driving a stick-shift makes maneuvering my '98 Volkswagen Polo right now even more frustrating.
After more tries than I'd like to admit, I finally manage to park the old Polo without setting off World War Z. The rumble of the engine eventually dies down as I turn off the ignition, and the absence of any radio feed leaves me encompassed in complete silence.
I take a moment to look out through my blurry windshield, and I have just one word to describe my surroundings.
Actually, make that three words.
Depressing as fuck.
Except for the still cars that are lined up, the lot looks like some post-apocalyptic barren wasteland. Maybe I did set off World War Z.
I grab my satchel and open my door reluctantly. As soon as I step out, I'm greeted by an overwhelming gush of frigid wind, and I have to stand still for a moment so that I can adjust to my new frosty environment.
It's that time of year again, and winter has come back full circle with a vengeance, rearing its ugly, frigid head once more. At six-thirty in the morning, the sky looks no different than it did at midnight.
Pitch fucking black.
It's way too dark out here, not to mention ridiculously cold. I walk briskly through campus, feeling the crunch of ice and snow beneath my boots as I take every shortcut I know of to head to west campus—home of the Liberal Arts School.
I tug on my jacket and pull my beanie further down on my head as I continue to brace myself against the mercilessly frigid onslaught. I say a silent 'fuck you' to whichever administrator is responsible for this currently fucked up parking situation.
Fuck, it's cold.
I realize that I say 'fuck' a lot when I feel like my blood is turning to ice.
It's my fourth winter in Milwaukee, and I'm honestly not sure I'll ever get used to how cold it gets here in Wisconsin. And to think I used to complain about winter in Manchester as a kid. What a joke. That was nothing compared to this. Even my winters in New York never got as bad as it does here.
I pull the sides of my brown padded jacket closer together as if doing so will make me feel any less cold. I knew I should have worn a third layer underneath before I left my apartment. Once again, I grossly underestimated just how cold it can get here.
The jacket by itself isn't nearly as insulating as it looks. Despite its deceptive size, it's not very practical. It’s really big for no reason. I wish I had known that before I spent almost sixty bucks on the damn thing. What a waste of money.
Another gust of wind accompanied by snow flurries washes over me, and all I can do is groan in despair.
"Holy hell," I mutter. I silently curse for the umpteenth time, wishing like hell that I didn't have to head to vocal practice so damn early, especially when most of the campus was still sound asleep. What I wouldn't give to be cozied up in my bed right now.
Fuck Monday mornings, for real.
My teeth start to clatter uncontrollably, and most of my nose has already gone numb. I have to keep bringing my hands up to my mouth and blowing between my leather gloves to bring some of the feeling back into my face.
My glasses keep fogging up every fifteen seconds, and I have to struggle to see where my feet keep landing. It doesn't help my poor eyesight that the campus street lights are dim as hell.
What exactly are all the campus fee charges being spent on?
I walk as carefully as I can, all the while trying to maintain my speed. I come close to falling twice, but manage to regain my composure each time.
"Good reflexes. Just like your mother," my grandma would say.
My chest tightens as soon as both women come to mind.
As I continue to dodge muddy mounds and slippery black ice, I idly think of the very first time I was allowed to play in the snow.
I was five at the time, and my parents and I still lived in Manchester then. It was the first time I had ever seen snow in real life, and I was so eager and excited to go out and play in all that immaculate goodness.
My mom had tried to persuade me not to, but of course, like any curious and eager child, I wasn't hearing any of it. Boy should I have listened to her.My so-called snow play session ended with me crying hysterically with snot all over my face because my hands were throbbing in excruciating pain.
Apparently, yours truly thought she was a mini Einstein and figured it would be a brilliant idea to try to build a snowman with her gloves off. I think my mom let me have my way to teach me a lesson. That shit had seriously hurt. Needless to say, that was the very last time I ever did that. I wish I could also say that that was the last time I did something unbelievably stupid.
I feel a bout of sadness creep up on me as I think of the woman who brought me into the world.
Yet another wave of frigid air quickly brings my focus back to the present, actively pushing the memories aside. I can't help but be grateful. I don't like how I feel when I think of my mother, and I don't want to start my day off feeling any more crappy than I already do.
I hum Hayley Westenra’s ‘Across the Universe of Time’ to keep my mind off both my mother and the numbing cold, as well as to hear something other than the sound of my clattering teeth. It's a song I love a lot, and it’s also the song I had chosen to sing for my very first solo performance last year.
I'm still amazed at all the praise and acknowledgment I got from both the audience and the entire music faculty for it. I was even asked for an encore.
Needless to say, that performance had done wonders for my ego, removing so many doubts I had at the time and increasing my love for vocal music even more. That moment also felt like a confirmation that I had indeed made the right decision coming back to college, and that I really have a shot at a successful career in music after all.
I finally reach West Campus, and I thank the non-existent stars for getting here in one piece even though I could barely see a thing on my way here.
I head past the English, Film, and Art buildings like I always do. A minute later, I'm swiping my ID card in the slot at the main entrance to the music building. I eagerly make my way inside, happy to put an end to this annoying, frost-bitten journey.
I lie here in this incredibly soft and cushioned California King Bed, draped by navy blue silk sheets in a room illuminated only by the dim glow of scented candles.
The blended aroma of lavender and jasmine fills the warm air, but despite the pleasant smell, it does little to relax me.
The sound of my shallow breathing fills my ears, and it becomes even more audible as I feel it getting slightly labored, no doubt with sheer anticipation.
My skin is heated and flushed, and my dark, curly hair is a tangled mess against the soft pillow underneath my head. I vaguely register the ticking sound of the large wall clock hanging high above the headboard.
I feel a bead of sweat trickle down my chest and between my breasts, tickling my skin as it moves further south to collect in my belly button.
I stare into the eyes of the gorgeous man on top of my naked body with uncertainty as he enters me for the fifth time tonight, wondering how it is exactly that I got into my current position.
Literally and figuratively.
I continue to behold his big, muscled body as it effortlessly covers mine. I don't think it'll ever be possible for me to get tired of looking at its impeccable display, clothed, naked, covered in mud, or in a glowy sheen of sweat like it is now. My eyes travel upwards to find him staring hard at me, and I feel my sex clench and throb violently, as if it's the first time his arresting gaze has covered me in goosebumps.
He remains silent as he pushes into me without warning or restraint, and I quickly feel myself getting even more flushed at the squelching, sucking sounds that his entry causes.
I feel myself gaping wide open as he quickly buries himself deep inside me, like he's done many times before. His strong fingers dig into my skin as he grips my hips roughly and brings them hard against his pelvis in one quick motion.
I'm unable to stop the yelp that escapes from deep within my throat at the deliciously forceful invasion—a throaty mesh of pain and ecstasy. I arch my back and push my head further into the pillow in surrender, because frankly, that’s all I can do.
This man owns me.
I'm certain of it now.
And I honestly can't believe just how willing I am to be owned by him.
I instantly cream myself and his now sheathed cock, still in utter disbelief at how much he fills me up. A moan escapes my quivering lips as my upper body is pressed further into the mattress by his incredible weight.
My fingers instinctively reach out and dig into his forearms, feeling the magnificently corded muscles and veins in them as I wrap my legs tightly around his waist. My feet are pressed against the taut skin of his firm ass. I feel his hips flex under my thighs, and I can't subdue the pleasured smile that sneaks its way onto my lips.
I'm all too aware of how much he stretches me open, and despite the embarrassment that still lingers, I love feeling the incredible heat and thickness of his cock pressing almost desperately inside my pussy.
I crave it.
The soreness I still feel presents raw evidence of what he did to me just twenty minutes ago, as does the pool of sticky wetness between my thighs, and I can't help but revel in the sweet pain. As twisted and obscene as it is, I always love reminders of how roughly and thoroughly he fucks me.
He pulls back, and pushes forward again with even more force.
He does it again. And Again. And again.
And all I can do is surrender myself to his deliberate actions.All I can do is take every inch of each powerful thrust and allow my body to feel each and every second of the raw ecstasy that’s running wildly through its veins. The flickering flames of the candles cast shadows against the beige walls, and I watch our entwined silhouettes moving in sync to a frantic, sexual rhythm—like that of passionate, devoted lovers.
But that can't be further from the truth. We aren't lovers, and despite the romantic setting, this isn't a romantic getaway or honeymoon. The gorgeous man inside me is not my boyfriend or my husband.
In fact, he's someone else's.
Husband, that is.
And we aren't making love. Or even just having sex. This is good old-fashioned, raw, reckless, uninhibited fucking.
Just like he likes it.
And just like I've come to as well.
He looks at me with unapologetic lust, and his stare is unfaltering. He digs into my very soul with icy blue eyes that both terrify and captivate me. The same eyes that wouldn't leave mine the moment we met. The same eyes that have blatantly refused to leave my mind ever since. And the same damn eyes that still haunt my every waking hour, and won't leave my dreams alone when I sleep at night.
He moves faster and faster, pumping into me harder and harder with abandon. The sticky, slapping sounds of cock in pussy crack and echo through the stillness of the night, giving testimony to our raw and depraved coupling.
I want to kiss him, so much that it physically hurts. I want to press my lips to his full, pink mouth and suck on his tongue, like I’ve been dying to ever since I met him.
But I don’t.
Because I know he won’t let me.
He never lets me.
It’s the one thing he refuses to do with me; his number one rule for me to keep if I want…whatever this is between us, to continue—this arrangement of sorts. And as wrong as I know this is, I also know that I’m not ready to stop just yet.
Our tempo becomes even more hurried, more frantic, and each of his angry thrusts sends me deeper and deeper into an abyss of sheer ecstasy. My moans are turning into a mesh of cries, whimpers, and pleas. My skin is scorched, ablaze with lust and want,and all the pores on my body are screaming in emotional overdrive as I feel myself becoming feverish and drenched in sweat.
I can't believe how different things are now; how complicated my life has become in such a short amount of time.
It was never supposed to be like this. He's off limits.
He's always been off limits.
I keep telling myself that; that being here with him is not supposed to feel this good.
God, he's not supposed to feel this good. I wonder what my life would have been like now if I had gone to the clinic on a different day, or if I had just insisted on going with the physician I was initially referred to.
Never in my life would I have thought that in the events that followed the beginning of a regular school week, a random check-up would end up spawning a highly angst-filled, incredibly confusing, and quickly-unfolding mess.
September 19, 2014
I'm officially a quarter of a century old! Lol.
I'm beyond excited to be celebrating my 25th birthday, and what better way to do that than publish my first ever full-length and debut novel, The Basilisk's Creed Omnibus ?
Yeah. Today's about to be pretty awesome. *super wide grin*
I can't tell you guys how happy I am, that on this special day, I've finally accomplished something I've been wanting to do for so many years. I've finally managed to write and publish a story that's been living in my head since I was seventeen, and doing it has only encouraged me to keep going. And, trust me, I have every intention to. Lol.
A big, gigantic THANK YOU to everyone for all your Happy Birthday wishes. Y'all make a girl feel special *blushes...kind of, anyway*Allow me to bask (and maybe gloat a little, lol) in those special feelings. Just for today ;).
Well, I'm off to do more celebrating with lots of cake and booze (kinda already started so I hope this post doesn't read too funky. Lmao). I highly encourage you to do the same on my behalf :).
Love you guys, and I'll talk with all soon!
Until next time...