Word of the Day: pittance

Action & Adventure, Comedy, Fantasy, Horror, Mystery, Romance, Spiritual, Uncategorized

pittance (n.): a very small or inadequate amount of money paid to someone as an allowance or wage

Roughly twenty men are standing, waiting for me in business suits and shades at the intersection where the boardwalk and the fishing pier meets. I’m obviously underdressed for the occasion. A v-neck and blue jeans. I look over to my right and notice a flock of birds flying overhead towards me. The way they are flying, it looks more like a single file of dashes than a bunch of birds that’s etched over the sky. Like a game of hangman or something.

When I look back at the same game of hangman standing on the harbor, a white man at the middle of the group steps out. It must be Tommy.

”Beautiful Sunday isn’t it?” he says once I’m within earshot. Tommy smiles and reveals gnarly, yellow teeth. One is even chipped. Disgusting.

”Yeah. You got the shoes?” I say. Stopped the small talk before it even started. I want to make this transaction as quick as possible.

“I see you’re not playing,” he says. “You got the $24,000?” I bring attention to the duffel bag in my right hand. 24,000 even. A pittance compared to what I’m used to paying for my shoes. I’m going to be broke after this but at least I will be like a god at the office for the next week.

“Good,” Tommy says. “This way.” He gestures towards the pier and the suits suddenly part like the Red Sea. I walk ahead of Tommy onto the long pier where there are boats parked on both sides.

“The one over there on the right,” I hear Tommy say. I look back to see where he is talking about.

Of course. The largest yacht out of the bunch. I stop by the bridge leading into the boat and wait for Tommy and the men in suits.

“Not the yacht. The submarine,” Tommy says. “Master will see you there.”

Master?!

Is there something I’m missing here? Who the heck is this guy I’m buying these shoes from?

Tommy walks over to the sub and the door on top of it suddenly opens.

“After you,” he says. I swing the duffel onto my shoulder and climb into the sub. It’s dark and dank as I climb down the ladder. I reach the bottom and turn. A long corridor stretches out before me. There is a man (who is also in a suit) at the end of it. The guy who opened the sub in the first place I suppose. He beckons me.

As I walk, my breath is loud in my ears. I’m starting to worry a little bit. I’m just ready to get my shoes and get out of here.

The man opens the door behind him and leads me into a large, spacey room. Sitting in the middle of the hollowed space is an old man with his legs crossed and his hands resting peacefully in his lap.

“He is here.”

It was Tommy who had spoke. He had climbed down the ladder after me and now he is right behind me…in a bowed position?! “Bow,” Tommy whispers.

I do.

“Welcome,” says the old man. “I understand you want the last of my new editions.”

Wait a minute. You mean this man is…

”I am Natheodore,” the man says.

Oh…my…god. Natheodore’s from Natheodore himself?! This is officially a dream come true.

Word of the Day: verisimilitude

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verisimilitude (n.)- the appearance of being true or real

Just because I am a wolf-shifter, some of the humans think I have an unfair advantage in life. Truth is that I’ve really worked so fuckin’ hard to earn a place with the wolves.

And nobody knows this more than Kelsey. My personal Angel.

As a matter of fact, she is the Highest of all the Angels– healing my life in every way possible: physically, mentally, and spiritually. I don’t know what I would do without her.

She is the one healing me now.

“What were you THINKING?!” she says. I groan. I’m thinking she said that more to herself than to me because I’m too busy going in and out of consciousness to care what the hell she is saying right now. “Attacking a grown bear like that?! You’re still early in your training.” I hardly hear what’s being said because I’m laid out in the snow with my head ringing. I took a grizzly paw to the head and now there is blood running down my face and into my eyes. Pain ramifies inside of me, reaching each limb, flowing like the spilt blood that’s supposed to be circulating my body. And just when it feels like all of the muscles and bones in my body are about to give way, I feel a sudden warmth.

Energy!

It seeps through me and I find myself becoming one with it. Surrendering to it. Suddenly, nothing else matters. I just want more of that warmth.

I open my eyes. My vision is blurred but slowly it’s coming back. The bear I was mauled by is walking away now, its haunches covered in snow.

A white ghost.

I feel Kelsey’s hands on my head and ribcage. God that feels good. I look at her without moving my head because doing so would still hurt too much. It surprises me the Angels don’t have wings like the stereotypical angel I grew up knowing. They can still fly though.

Then I look around the glen as my body slowly replenishes. I am in snow heaven. There is snow everywhere. A white wonderland. Then I see the bear disappear into the forest. Good riddance. I will have to get a meal from somewhere else. My lips part.

“It messed me up good, didn’t it?”

“That’s an understatement. I don’t even know why I do this for you.” I feel the guilt then. Even in the pain. Because I know EXACTLY what she is talking about.

“I still care about you,” I say, ribs still aching. I wince. She was worth the effort though.

“Oh please. Just rest. I know you’re just going to run back to Her after this.” As I come to, her voice suddenly sounds like music to my ears. It’s as if I can suddenly hear better. Her powers must be working. The blood in my ears is gone. “That’s all you ever do,” she continues. Wait what? “And like a fool, I keep giving you chances.”

Left with no kind of comeback whatsoever, I simply succumb to feeling.

Then I see it. Is it…real? It’s gotta be.

I blink.

The verisimilitude of the wolf in the distance is confirmed when Kelsey’s scrutiny follows mine. My wolf sense responds. It’s her.

My heart and soul.

The second we meet eyes, we lose ourselves to the primitive nature inside of us.

“You see what I mean?” Kelsey says looking back at me. That’s so unfair. 

“I mean what do you want me to do? I love her. And it’s a love deeper than that superficial shit. It’s like I can’t control myself. It’s the wolf in me.”

Kelsey looks away from me.

“I know.” She sucks her teeth in frustration. Us angels are told not to fall in love with the wolf-shifters. Stupid me. That’s exactly what I did.”

Wow. She really knows how to make me feel like shit. I breathe again and my head no longer throbs. Neither does my side.

I am healed!

“Thank you,” I say rising to my feet. I meant what I said but it feels like it’s not enough. There is a emptiness I don’t know how to fill.

“The least you can do is…” She pauses and looks back at my mate at the edge of the forest. Then back to me.

“Kiss Me.”

WHAT?! How could… I can think of forty seven things I want to say when there is a sudden touch on my mind.

Gail. She is using the telepathy connection we share. We had just gotten out of a fight. That’s why she wasn’t hunting with me. Her voice sounds understanding.

“Kiss Her,” she says. What? “I can’t love you the way she can. We are wolves and Kelsey is an Angel. I am grateful you’re healed. So this is my way of saying thank you.”

I look at Kelsey.

“Ok.”

Without another word, I put my arms around her and give of my soul.

Word of the Day: Rancur

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rancur (n.): bitterness or ill will; hatred; malice

Nightlife is better with her. I have to admit. For one, I feel less of a creep when I people watch. It’s such a healthy hobby. It lets me know I’m actually the one who is still sane. A couple walks by with interlocked hands so tight, you would think the woman was delivering a baby or something. I’m talking about white-knuckle grip, tight. I mean why are they holding hands anyway? Hands are such troublesome things. I’ve decided that chronic hand holding is actually a disease. Mental of course. Neglect is like bacteria implanted by host’s parent(s) and developed over time until the host has full blown case of dependency syndrome.

The hands says a lot about a person. That’s why I take care of mine. I’m not taking care of them when they are being suffocated by some chick. In the case of hand holding, they become all sweaty, and clammy, and shit. I can’t be having that.

I look across the table.

Daniella knows not to try to hold my hand. She holds other things of mine. Things the public and other women can only dream of seeing. She looks up from her churro and smiles. Gorgeous thing she is. Her eyes are some shade of olive I’ve never seen before. The dress she is wearing says, “Fuck me now.” Damn cleavage is one of the most alluring I’ve seen in my life too. I pause.

Is it bad that I don’t feel guilty knowing she is just another one on my list? Just another body I’m going to smash. Again.

Another one of my victims.

I take a sip of my water. Not yet Neale. Not yet.

What I like about Daniella is that she is a bad girl. Or bad woman. Whatever the hell you wanna call them. Who knows what the hell women want to be called nowadays? Damn hypocrites.

The waiter stops at our table.

“Would you like anything else?” he asks.

“Check,” I say. Daniella purses her lips perfectly together like the drop dead, gorgeous siren she is, her eyelashes so long, they could probably touch her nose when she closes them. But the girl hardly ever blinks.

“Don’t you want dessert?” Daniella says to me. The waiter looks at me expectantly too, brows plunging into his hairline. This girl doesn’t know how to turn her freak off. I scratch my head.

“I left my sweet tooth back at the hotel baby,” I say light-heartedly.

“Room service then?”

Holy fuck. My blood starts moving a little bit faster.

The waiter clears his throat and walks away. Smart man.

Don’t hate the player. Hate the game.

I make a mental note to never be so cliché again.

“Only if it’s free,” I say.

“You’re so cheap,” she says.

“Don’t forget shallow,” I say raising a finger. She frowns.

“What are you trying to say?” Ah hell. She found me out.

“I’m not trying to say anything.” I search her eyes. I can already see she is looking too deep into what I just said. I’d be doing myself a disservice if I don’t put her in her place. So I tell her the truth. “I’m saying you were easy.”

There. I said it.

What am I saying? I’m really just that good. She wouldn’t have worn that ridiculous outfit if I hadn’t told her to wear it. I simply wanted to see what all I could make her do.

“Neale, you’re an ass. Did you know that?” I smile.

Is that what you told yourself last night when I was giving it to you?” There is real curiosity in my voice. As if I really didn’t know or something. Ha. Broads.

That’s when rancor filled her eyes.

“Neale, you’re really such a loser.” That’s right baby. Say whatever makes you feel better. “I don’t even know why I care.” You don’t. “Your sex was mediocre at best.”

“Now wait a minute!” That’s the last thing you say to my brand of man. The upper echelon.

“Take it back.” I’m pointing my finger at her and there is a bad taste in my mouth. As if her very words danced on my tongue. How dare she talks about my sex game in such layman terms.

Suddenly, the waiter is back and gives me the check.

“I hope you enjoyed your time with us,” he says and walks off.

I glance at the bill and look back at her.

“Don’t be such a hateful bitch all the time. Learn to appreciate good dick when you get it.” I look at the bill again. Any number seems like too much to be spending on her now. I should’ve never spent money on this bitch. I pay for the food and leave a decent tip.

“It’s time to get out of here before I do or say something I’m going to regret.” By the way I said it, she knows I mean business. I’m letting the temper get the best of me. Chillllll Neale.

A silent, mental woosah.

The ride back to the hotel was a little awkward. She gave me head the whole way back and told me I was the dumbest piece of shit she’d ever met. Another successful night in the world of dating I’d say.

Note to self: Never give a one night stand roll over minutes.

Word of the Day: Overt

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overt (adj.)- plainly or readily apparent; not secret or hidden

Angie sat on the stairs with her hands in her lap. She gave me a searching look. As if reading the essence of who I am. I was never the one to cry wolf. I was hungry like the wolf. My ambition she was tired of. It was written all over her face.

That beautiful face.

“You didnt have to embarrass him like that.” I grin. Not because I’m an asshole. More because I’m genuinely an asshole. I can’t fuckin’ help it.

“I deserve you,” I say. “Not him.”

“I’m not a prize to be won,” Angie says. I understand what she says but I hear it better. Her voice says one thing but communicates something different.

She is…happy. Glad. Content to be rid of him Content to be with me.

She stands.

“You ready to jump roofs.”

“Yep.”Since we started parkour training a week ago, I must say my muscles have been feeling somewhat sore. Her boyfriend challenged me to a race last night and lost miserably. I mean dont get me wrong, I’m still in great shape. It’s just that the landing part of parkour can’t even compare to the thrill of being in flight.

We head to the roof. She opens the door and immediately a rush of cold air breathes it’s way into the corridor. The breeze feels good on my hot face.

“You dont have to try win every time we race you know,” she says. “That’s not the way to a girl’s heart.”

“I thought that was mine already,” I say. “What else must I do?”

Angie walks over towards the edge of the building and looks down. The mind of the city is loud in my ears. People. Cars. Dogs. Cats. And the gravel underneath our feet.

Angie turns around after looking at whatever the hell she was looking at and begins to walk towards me with long, elegant strides.

“What else must you do?” She stops right in front of me and cups her hands on my chin and jawline. Her touch is welcomed.

“Make the jump for me,” Angie says. “Not for you.”

“I thought that’s what I did,” I say.

“We both know your pride won my attention. Now I want you to win my heart.” I gulp. I’m not ready. A grin stretches across her face.

I begin to stretch to prepare for one of many jumps I know I will make. This one feels different somehow. It’s not overt either. She can tell I’m feeling a little nervous about the whole situation. Regardless, I take to a sprint and leap with all of the strength I can muster. I feel my legs kick as if I’m propelling myself forward. The other side approaches quickly and before I know it, I land on the building and allow myself to roll forward to take away the force from the jump. I stand up and look back. Angie is still watching me.

“What you waiting for? Come on,” I yell. “Make the jump for me.”

Word of the Day: Heuristic

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heuristic (adj.)- encouraging a person to learn, discover, understand, or solve problems on his or her own by experimenting, evaluating, possible answers or solutions, or by trial and error

Becoming a man has been one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life. So as I count up the stacks of money splayed out on the glass table in the living room before me with the hockey game on the television as background noise, I’m not embarrassed to admit my heuristic way of life may have been sloppy and reckless, but it works. It’s also nothing short of amazing. I mean I have Khloe sitting next to me looking like an angel in some black, boy shorts and topless. She is doing a number on her 9mm. Practicing putting it together and taking it apart as fast as possible.

“Must you do that shit over and over again? I’m counting money here,” I say. She grabs a handful of bullets and shakes them like dice.

“I’m gonna hit the jackpot tonight baby. Watch and wait. You got me all inspired and shit with all of this money. Looking like a damn ATM in here,” she says. I crook a grin. I reach a hand and grab a chip and dip it into the big bowl of dip on the table.

Crunch.

“Why hockey? Turn the basketball game on. I don’t want to hear this shit.” Knowing I wasn’t going to want to hear the NBA commentators either, I turn the stereo on and “Thank U, Next” by Ariana Grande is playing on the radio. Oh great.

“I love this song,” Khloe says. I sigh.

“I know.” She picks up the remote and turns the basketball game on. The Lakers are playing against the Clippers. Classic LA showdown.

“I don’t like the Lakers,” Khloe says.

“So.”

“So you should be like me and pick the Clippers,” she says.

“Don’t be such a devil. You’d be the type to be an Angels fan aren’t you?”

“I love angels,” Khloe says. I finish counting another ten thousand and place it over on the right side of the table with the rest of the counted money. Should be 20k more to go.

“Baseball ain’t my thing. I just said it to see if you were one of those dumb ass women who loves the sport that’s barely a sport at all.”

“How dare you talk about baseball like that. It’s hard to hit that tiny ball coming at you that fast.”

“Oh goody. Learn one thing and I can play just fine. When you’re not hitting the ball, you’re standing around probably hoping the ball doesn’t come to you. That’s real difficult,” I say sarcastically.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Khloe says with a click. She had put a bullet in the chamber. I sit back in astonishment. Would she really shoot me? She stands up rather quickly.

“Take it back! I’m done putting up with your shit. That’s why I’m never marrying you. Take back this piece of shit diamond. I don’t want it anymore,” she says and throws the ring I gave her at my face. She misses barely.

“You ungrateful bitch. Get the–”

The door to the living room flies open and another gun comes from its mouth. It wastes no time. A shot rings out and Khloe falls to the ground.

“Holy shit! What the fuck was that Yovanna?!” A dark, long-haired beauty was standing there with the gun pointed at the pitiful thing bleeding on the floor.

“That bitch was threatening your life Dima. She had to be put down.” I look at Yovanna with wide eyes. More amazed at what she did to help me than the fact somebody was shot in front of my very eyes.

“Call the ambulance. And Yovanna…thank you.”

I look at her body spilling blood on the ground. She is already gone.

 

 

Word of the Day: Enmity

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Enmity (n.)- a feeling or condition of hostility; hatred; animosity

The hate in Lindsey’s eyes corrugated my eyebrows so hard that it felt as if the muscles may have been a sheet of concrete. The enmity between us has been building for sometime now and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t ready to extinguish it. She looks super hard at me. As if she is ready to use her power again. The way I see it, she is just another stupid, blonde bitch in my way. I tried loving her. She didn’t like that. She didn’t like me showing up at her car wash to tell her there are better things in life than washing cars in plunging, neckline shirts with no bra and flirting with no life guys for a living. Looking at her now I can tell there are devilish thoughts going on in that head of hers. Those green eyes hits like no other and before I know it she lunges at me at sonic speed.

I see her leading with her right. Predictable. I shift to shadow form in the nick of time. As Lindsey goes through, her presence causes my shadow to follow her because of the speed she is traveling. I use the momentum to gain an advantage behind her and materialize back with her in a chokehold.

“Get the fuck off of me,” Lindsey says.

“Better not do that shit again. You hear me?!” I holler in her ear. I can practically feel the enmity coursing in her body, vibrating against me, making me want to do nothing more than to break her fucking neck. Next thing I know she is driving her elbow into my stomach. I hunch over and she escapes my grip.

Now I’m angry. I want her dead.

“Learned that working at the your lame ass nightclub,” Lindsey says. I look up the L.A. street and notice there is a crowd of people gathering to watch us.

“We are supposed to be keeping our powers a secret,” I say.

“Fuck that,” Lindsey says. I startle. “I’m so tired of you thinking you’re the only one in the world for me. You’re obsessed with me.”

I flush.

There is some truth behind what she says. Sharing her is never on my to-do-list. And I find it leads to fights like these. However, this time is different. This time, her eyes are ready to kill.

“I’m not obsessed,” I say. “I…”

“I don’t care anymore,” Lindsey explodes. “I’m gonna kill you.” She lunges at me again. This time, I waste no time. I manifest a wakizashi using the shadows. When Lindsey tries to punch me, I dodge the blow and make a horizontal slash across her abdomen as she hurtles by with her super speed. I feel the steel cut easy. I look back and Lindsey is already on her knees with her hands over her lethal wound. She collapses the rest of the way to the ground and breathes her last breath.

“Rest in peace,” I say. A tear falls down my cheek. I look at the crowd that formed around us. They are staring in horror. I must go before someone attempts something heroic.

So without another word, I just walk away.

 

 

 

Word of the Day: Aesthetic

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aesthetic (adj.)- concerned with beauty or the appreciation of beauty.

I need to go out. It feels good to finally relax and what not. I mean truly, it does, but this room is too cramped. I rise from my chair and open the sliding door to go outside to enjoy the ocean.

Then I see her.

She is standing beneath the outside shower on our wooden balcony overlooking the ocean, her head tilted back and the water caressing her body from head to toe. My mouth drops. I think I might be jealous of the water on her tanned skin.

My heart picks up and blood and heat rushes to my groin in waves. Her aesthetic curves swing around her black thong and elegantly pushes her black top out in front of her so that I could see the fullness of her breast. Her hands reach back and run through her hair gloriously. Like a goddess.

Long fingers. Productive fingers she has. They run down her arms, over her chest, and down her legs as she bends over in front of me. I breathe again before I forget to.

I take a step onto the wood. It’s warm underneath my feet but I barely notice.

I’m in need her.

And I want her. That’s what matters.

I stride two more times and it’s enough for me to be on her back, pulling her back up towards me by her hair so that she is standing straight again and pushing my sex against the small of her back and down to her round butt. Fuck that feels good. I succumb to the feeling as she gasps and looks back at me. I look down at the tiny droplets on her neck and they run from me down to her cleavage as if to hide from my scrutiny of her.

Her neck. It’s so vulnerable there, all stretched out underneath my stare. I bend down slowly and press my nose against it and then smell it, starting from its base on up to her ear. Her scent pleases me.

“Your body is like the earth,” I whisper. She puckers her lips slightly. Blink, and I would’ve missed it. I grin. I must say I do like having her all to myself in my hands like this.

“Dont forget who made it so,” she responds. “I work hard for this.” A dark chuckle escapes my lips before I can stop it. She fits so well in my world.

One of my favorites.

“You make it worth it,” I say. “Tell me what else I need to know.” I exhale into her ear. And she breathes ragged against my inhale.

Breathe. Breathe.

“You think you ready for that?” she asks. She shifts her eyes back towards our magnetic connection and then back towards my eyes. They are brown and inquisitively moving back and forth ever so slightly underneath long, black eyelashes. Her mouth and nose are open, allowing her breath to feed her heart of which I’m sure is pumping furiously inside of her chest.

Pumping for me.

Before she can do anything else, I grab her by the throat with my other hand and pull her closer to me, her back on my chest. Of which is breathing heavily now.

“Follow me.”

And I push the back of her neck forward where she catches herself on the rail with her hands. I strip her of her thong in one decisive pull and fill her with my everything in the presence of Mother Nature.

Word of the Day: Sedulous

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Sedulous (adj.)- (of a person or action) showing dedication or diligence

“Harder.”

She lets out a grunt and delivers another jab to the punching bag. Better.

“Care to stop hiding behind that thing and spar with me like a man?” she says with sedulous eyes, her chin still tucked beneath her gloves the way I showed her.

“Only if you promise to start hitting like one,” I say. Another punch. Harder too. I must admit Jessica had me fooled when we met at Starbucks. The way she smiled as she ordered her coffee and the frivolity behind her words as she bantered with the barista. It was enough to save my world the time to know not every beautiful woman hated what the world had become. But now, watching her from behind this punching bag after asking her out on a date, one could only wonder how could I have been so oblivious as to think this woman was in anyway vulnerable to the universe around her. She is a fucking animal.

“Just because you showed me how to protect my button doesn’t mean I can’t push yours. Did you think me to be a helpless girl? A damsel in distress?” I scoff. Yeah.

“Of all things, a damsel in distress was the last thing I thought of.” A white lie. “As for thinking you of being incapable of taking care for yourself, don’t be so naive. Everybody, even me, knows the best thing for a woman to love is her own heart. However, I’m surprised to find you aren’t afraid to get your hands dirty. These aren’t amateur punches you’re throwing. Care to come clean?” She scoffs this time.

“Everybody doesn’t know that,” she says. She punches the bag once more and puts her hands down. “I know who you are. You aren’t fooling me. Did you really think you could get away with taking advantage of women with your slick words and pretty face? I’ve come here to fight, not flirt. Put on some gloves pretty boy.”

My brows arch. Her words do more damage than her punches could ever do. Usually, I take great pride in choosing my victims, but I’ve read this one all wrong. Yet, she has piqued my competitive nature in such a way that I would feel foolish to skip over her challenge. If all of my world is what she wants, that’s exactly what she is going to get.

I walk from behind the punching bag over to the shelf where the gloves are.

When she suggested we go to the boxing gym for our first date, I just thought we were going to hit on each other playfully, figuring she wanted to learn how to protect herself. But now I see this was all a charade. She isn’t vulnerable. She isn’t weak. And now, she really wants a piece of me.

So be it.

If she really knows who I am, then she knows I’m a fighter at heart. She knows I’m not going to go easy on her. I have a reputation to uphold.

The gloves are firmly on my hands as we make our way to the ring.

I hope she is ready.

 

 

Word of the Day: Esoteric

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Esoteric (adj): understood by or meant for only the select few who have special knowledge or interest; secret; confidential; private

When I looked into her eyes, deep, past the tear hanging from each, I felt the anger ebb slowly away, sinking, sinking, an anchor latched to its ankle, pulling it back down to dormancy. That’s when I knew she was something more than just another beautiful face. She mattered.

So esoteric was the rage I felt that the world in itself could have easily been swallowed whole by an impermeable wall of darkness that even a black hole couldn’t manage. Breath, heart, lungs, stomach, genitalia. All responding, all trusting. And those eyes, somewhere lost in a color between green and blue, and her hair black as a blank television screen, falling down, down past her shoulders. Even past the middle of her back.

No one had been able to conquer my rage…until now. That was her purpose. And as selfish as this sounds, another part of me, the one who had toiled for years and years to obtain the success I so richly deserve, had wanted to hold on to that anger for as long as I could. But now I know, that kind of passion was just slowly killing me. Holding me in place for years and years, not knowing the damage it was doing, not knowing the irony that came with its protection. I wasn’t safe holding onto such rage, even though it is what gave me so much power. What I needed now was control over that power. So I decided to make a new decision.

Hate.

“I’m here.” Such a soft voice. Amazing what two words could do to all of the pain, all of the agony, all of the heartache I’ve endured. Two words.

I’m here.

And to think my little bitch of a sister is the reason for so much of my heartache, prodding into my affairs without the right to even do so. Fighting for my love when she knows me and her will never be a match. The dumb bitch. But at least I can feel my chest again without it hurting so much.

The woman standing before my very eyes has brought something into my life I couldn’t see before.

Reason.

Reason to not want to destroy any and everything in my path. Reason to give this world another chance, even though it has had nothing but cruel intentions against me. Reason to love myself truly, not by giving myself all of my attention, but by loving another.

Love. Hate.

The two things in my life now that make the world go round.

“I’m sorry for what I put you through,” I say, chest heaving, wanting to push against hers while unsure as to whether I deserved the right to do so. She places a hand over my heart and feel the thing beating away passionately. Furiously.

“There is no need baby. I have you.”

And that’s when life changed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Word of the Day: Irascible

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Irascible (adj.): 1. easily provoked to anger; very irritable

2. characterized or produced to anger

I was in the middle row of the SUV drumming my fingers against the inside of the door when I noticed her through the back window. Barely on time, but on time nonetheless. I waited to see what she was going to do. Why did they send her?  She had walked over to my side of the car and stopped at my window, nothing but a silhouette behind the tint. A wraith even. Personally, I didn’t trust the bitch, so instead of rolling down my window, I pushed the button to my driver’s window. It went down slow, the only thing daring to speak, cutting the tension like a guillotine to neck. And the tension persisted.

She obviously got the memo and walked up to my driver’s window and poked her head into the car, not bothering to look at me, but instead glared towards the very back where my nephew sat with horrid eyes, his hands resting quietly in his lap for all to see. He knew he had fucked up. But he’s still young, though quite the lout I might add.  I hadn’t taken my eyes off of the woman in blue. Her faint smell polluted my car with a tropic aroma I wouldn’t want my side bitch to wear. I snorted audibly. The next thing that came through that window was that bitch’s finger. It singled out my nephew with a certainty colder than the truth of her presence.

“Don’t get in our way again,” she said. I felt my temper begin to flare. Me being the mafia boss I am, I fully understand how important it is for my nephew to take responsibility for his actions. Him killing one of their plugs is bad for business, true enough, but he is family. That’s not what made me mad. What made me irascible was how close her finger had come to my face. So, what had happened next was beyond my control.

I grabbed her finger, the delicate thing, feeling the phalanges and metacarpals so vulnerable and ready to submit to my will with a simple jerk of my hand.

“Watch who the fuck you’re talking to,” I said. Everything in me wanted to break that finger clutched in my grasp. And I was going to had it not been for that petrified look she gave me.

“He costed us a man. We can’t tolerate losing our men, especially not for the simplest of tasks.”

Her finger trembled in my muscled hand.

“I don’t care what he did. You need to mind where you’re sticking your body parts. You get my drift?” I squeezed her finger and watched her eyes stretch more in horror.

“Yes sir. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“It had better not,” I said, the words bitter as sour milk. I shoved her hand away from me and reached into the back pocket of my driver’s seat to pull out an envelope.

“Here. This should make up for your losses.”

She took the white envelope and said, “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Indeed. You will do well to remember your place in the future. That will be all.” And I rolled up the window without warning, almost decapitating her head in the process.

Dumb bitch.