Legend of the Pharaoh

The Tablet of Ahkmenrah

I stood in my walk-in closet, surveying my meager clothing choices. My "date" with James was in a few hours, and I couldn't decide between my two best dresses. The first one I pulled out was red, tight-fitting, and stopped at the knee. It was short-sleeved and the neckline hit my collarbone. Dress number two was purple, strapless, and the hem hit my mid-thigh. The multiple shades of purple in it mixed in a subtle way, and the gathering ran side to side down the entire length of the dress. It was also tight, but tended to fall down a little, so I planned to wear it if I ever wanted to be super-sexy.

                I figured that since I was meeting James' sister, I wouldn't want to appear as anything weird, so I went with the red one. I stripped, picking out a push-up bra and pantyhose to wear underneath. Once I was dressed, I stood in front of the mirror, scrutinizing my appearance.

                "Firea, you look hot. You should be doing this for Ahk, you know," I scolded myself, turning this way and that to see myself from all angles. Should I have to storm off for any reason, at least my ass would look fantastic. Then I sighed. Of course I should be doing this for Ahkmenrah...or I should have at least told him. Guilt hit me in the chest, knocking the wind out of me and leaving me heaving for air. I glanced at the clock: still two hours until I met James.

                I took a while to pick out shoes; my vintage 1940's heels won over, matching the dress just enough to make it classy. Then I did my make-up: the step I dreaded. I made it simple, doing the mascara thing and adding a little eyeliner. When I finished I stepped back to look again, feeling that I had yet again failed but felt too frustrated to redo it.

                I went over to the mirror again, putting on my shoes and looking at my entire image. The last time I had put on this dress, these shoes – my life had fallen apart. Leaving Canada had done wonders for me, helping me get away from him. I wouldn't mention his name, or even think about it. He was abusive; not physically, but verbally. He hated everything I did, but assured me that he loved my body. Eventually, I couldn't take it. I knew that if I left him and stayed around the same town, he would track me down and possibly become physically violent. So I left everything, moving from British Columbia, Canada, to New York; as far as I possibly could from my entire life. Yes, I felt alone, but more than that...I felt free. But my heart was afraid it would happen again.

                The walk to the restaurant was short, and I could see James standing outside waiting for me. He was stunning. Dressed in ironed slacks and a crisp white shirt, he was quite the image to behold. Sleeves rolled up, he had opened the top couple of buttons on his shirt to the warm night air. I tried not to notice, but it was very...apparent.

                "Firea," James walked towards me, his smile warming. "I'm glad you could make it. My sister is quite the questioner, if you catch my meaning." Leading me inside, we joined a young beauty at a quiet table in the back.

                "James, who ­is this friend of yours?" The women stood, reaching out to shake my hand.

                "Firea," I said, smiling and taking my seat.

                "I am Catriona. Please, feel free to call me Cat." Cat smiled, sipping her wine. She was quite metropolitan, and stunningly beautiful. Sitting across from her, I felt mediocre – average, even.

                "Alright, Cat it is." I gave a small smile. I had already put on a mask, and had begun retreating into myself. The atmosphere shifted, making it impossible for me not to feel awkward. My shoulders dropped ever so slightly as I drew back into myself.