The Trouble with Black Series - Dangerous women

6 Twice In One Day

Fantasy's what are they? Are fantasy's and desires different things, or are they the same thing just using different letters from the alphabet? What sets them apart from each other? Are they really just a series of events that you wish would happen or are they a way of telling us the future?

This is just ridicules, I cannot sleep. I am worked up about Tristan, its driving me crazy that I forbid myself to think about him and now I can't get him out of my head. I know that I shouldn't be doing it, he is a stranger, and I hardly know him and because a stranger tells you his name, don't automatically stop making him a total and complete stranger.

Lying here thinking about his burnished, copper skin scintillating from sweat or from spreading coconut oil to illuminate his bronze skin. My imagination made it up, all by itself. I do not approve or take any responsibility in its initiative without permission. The idea my mind could create such delusions, illusion, nightmares, and apparition, is fighting. I would never create such things cognitively aware. Is my complex brain fabricating a fantasia, a utopia of hallucinations, an objectifying extravagance bubble floating calmly over a rainbow that is a bridge between reality and eccentricity? I hope not, I am not Jorja. I brush off the intruding thoughts and turn over and close my eyes.

The alarm springs into life shouting for me to get up. It's four AM. Sleep deprived I stare at the ceiling and now fully understand the expression; I can sleep when I am dead. Maybe I am just a little mad, I unwilling and begrudgingly crawl out of bed and head to the bathroom. After brushing my teeth and changing into my sports gear I head out onto the street. I walk across the road when reach the other side I didn't have the desire to jog today. The reason why begins with the letter T.

I decided to walk instead. I reach the bakery around six. I kept my promise to Jorja and brought the cream cheese and salmon bagels so we didn't have to endure the grim cafeteria for another day. Tired and lacing energy I convince myself to take the bus back home. As I stand at the bus stop watching the sun rise into the sky I feel the heat and close my eyes to soak it in and energize.

I hear the sound of an electric window; I open my eyes and see Tristan's face staring back at me. Surprised to see him I hardly react. "Good morning" he speaks to me; I couldn't find the words to reply. Mute and speechless, I wave. "Have you given up jogging?" he asks.

"No" the absent of words makes my answer short and to the point, maybe it's a good thing I cannot speak.

"Would you like a ride home?" he asks, my mind is suddenly reminded of the conversation that I had with Jorja yesterday. Tristan is a stranger and likely a psychopath.

"No thank you, I don't know you and you could be a psychopath just waiting to take advantage of me" I reply with the things I was thinking. It's not a smart thing to do.

Tristan switches of the engine, he steps out of the car and toward me, and I hold my breath and freeze on the spot. Jorja is right! I internalise my concerns. "I am not a stranger. You know my name" he smiles. His smile is warm and a luring, I look down towards the floor to distract my mind from saving that amazing view and saving it to torment me later.

"Because I know your name doesn't mean you're not a stranger. I hardly know you" I reply to the ground instead of him.

I feel his finger lift my chin carefully, reluctantly my eyes scan his face and I marvel at his features, he is beautiful, his handsomeness takes my breath away and I am inarticulate, something that I have never been before. "Well...you now my name why don't you tell me yours so we can progress to being equals" he smiled, his finger brush my cheek as he tucks a loose tendril behind my ear. My Skin responds making the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.