Black Angel

Chapter Three

Zola / Derrick

Zola

    It was Sunday now and I would drive back home in a few hours. Usually when I'm staying here, I couldn't sleep. Well, the maximum was two or three hours. But not last night. I'd slept nine hours straight. Considering I can't even sleep those hours back at home, I see this as a win.
    But I couldn't shake that feeling off me, that it has something to do with Mr. MuscledMystery. "Bro, you sure you don't want me to ask Todd whether he knows him or not? That guy could be it for you, just sayin'." Macy said knowingly, shrugging her shoulders. Does she really think I don't know this? Since I saw him, I couldn't think of another thing or person than this guy and his hold on me, the pull between us.
    It was like he put a spell on me or some other crazy shit.
    "Mace I do know it. But one: what would that do? From how you described him and from what I saw we can agree that he might be used to supermodels jumping on him. Two: that would be embarrassing, wouldn't it? And three-" I couldn't continue due to an interruption á la Macy. "Stop. Don't you dare finish that sentence. You wanted to say 'And three: I don't think he would like some chubby, ugly woman like me', right?" This time I was the one interrupting.
    "Exactly Macy! This is what I wanted to say. Just look at me goddammit!" I was gesturing at myself, waving with my hands up and down. "I was always rejected. I liked someone and when I told them, or when they were told by someone else, either they laughed at me or embarrassed me by rejecting me in front of everyone else. Or another thing I've already told you: Making friends and trusting them with my problems, just for them to bring it up in a discussion and leaving your side. You know how I always ended up crushing down in that field. Well, that 'love-field'. Not even my own family likes me. For fuck's sake Macy, my own family! So please, stop acting like I'm a brat which only wants attention because she won't ever see whether she's, for real, beautiful or not." My angry attempt in a speech soared down to something pathetic and there I was: yet again losing tears.
   I think she got the point this time. Instead of looking like she was sorry for me, empathetic tears welled in her eyes too. She pulled me in a warm embrace, and I tried very hard this time not to burst out into tears. Once again, I succeeded. I was so used to holding back and trying not to cry in front of anyone that it'd became a daily exercise.
    "I'm so sorry Zole, I'm such a blind dumbass that I couldn't see what's really going on and why you really are thinking all those things." She stroked my hair as a sob escaped my throat. "If you don't want to, I won't ask Todd. But I want you to know that you are indeed one of the strongest women I've ever met. Just tell me if you change your mind and I'll ask him immediately." There was sincerity in her voice.
    That shouldn't sound self-absorbed, but I knew I was strong. Otherwise, no one could survive in that house I call home. I've always had a narcissistic mother and my father was always the one to say 'do what your mother says' or 'whatever you may say, your mother is always right' and so on. I understood him. Truly, there's no joke. He just doesn't want to experience that mass of hatred from her I am experiencing on a daily basis. He obeyed to her just so he could be in peace. Thus, I understood this. Really. But I know one thing clear like I know my own name: even if I did obey to her every command – which I obviously did not – she wouldn't be able to love me, not even like me the slightest bit.
    Macy and I separated, but hugged another time right after, this time properly and a bit tighter that before. "Okay then, let's get breakfast first." Macy said in her everything's-fine tone. I laughed and we made our way to the kitchen.

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    "Do you really think he looked at me?" I asked all of a sudden, concern and curiosity piercing my tone. After breakfast, Macy and I did some cleaning. She lived alone but, considering how clean she likes everything to be, you could assume a mom is living in here. "Giiiiirrll, you're sooooo in love, haHAH-AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH, BITCH!! What was that for??" She said but I pinched her what turned her laugh into a scream and an exclaim.
    "I am not in love. My chest is just doing something weird. I'll just have to see a doctor, probably."
    Since I had told her how I felt when I first saw him, she's teasing me with it. "Not in love, my ass." She said with a huff and went to the kitchen while I remained in the living room and continued cleaning.
    Was it possible to fall in love with someone whose face you didn't even see? Just because your gut is pushing you to him? Just because there seems to be a pull between you two?
    Just because you were feeling something strangely good that this feeling satisfied a part of you which you didn't know needed to be satisfied?
    My mind was reeling with questions way too fast.
    God, I needed those answers. I guess I'll have to make an arrangement with Mrs. Kaminsky again.