Wanderlust [Lesbian Story]

XI

Wanderlust.

It means a strong desire to travel.

Those who knew me already believed that I would be married to this unknown entity that's named wanderlust. That nothing could hold me down, restrain me, and I would forever lust for travelling all over until there's nothing left to travel to anymore.

With my backpack filled of clothes and journals, a beat-up camera, and a knife that became my treasure, I travelled for months and months, satiating my need to move. To admire the sights and people, to exchange stories and learn new things, to—

Forget

I shook my head to remove the memory I dare not to remember. The phantom that looms on my thoughts from time to time, that brought ice-like feelings to my chest.

It's been months since I left that quaint town and never have I felt the need to travel more and more before that. Never have I felt the need to run away from a memory I still can't forget. Never have I thought I be using my travelling to avoid a certain small town in Italy.

With the need of travel as a sort of escape, I focused on the new page of my life.

Currently staying at a beach resort in the Bahamas, months after my visit in Italy, I savored the ambiance before me and why I'm even in this breath-taking place. The kind owner of the resort, Ross as ironic as it may sound, allowed me to stay in his resort for free and give a review an honest review of the establishment. I gladly accepted Ross' offer so here I am, savoring the scenery.

I should thank Minx for this. I took her advice in making a travel blog ever since I left that memorable town; updating twice a month with reviews of the places I've been with. And because of that, I became a well-known travel blogger. Giving advices and showing the beauty of my travels.

Lounging by the beach, I took pleasure in reading a book while playing with the knife that I became one of my treasured items. Along with my camera and my journal that's missing some pages. As I savored the ambience of the beach, sand, and salty air, sadly for my luck, men and women approached me, asking for things they thought they could have.

My name.

My types.

My body.

Every one of them have been shot down by showing the knife I kept dearly and threatened to castrate them—for the men, as for the women, I politely turned them down. Mingling maybe my thing before, but now, the only thing I wanted was to travel.

As I lounged silently, focused on my book, a pair of well-polished leather shoes on sand caught my attention. It was very unusual to see such fine shoes—I could say those were oxfords—on beach sands.

I sighed heavily after reeling in the possible reason of the owner of such items to be before me. Another person hoping to get lucky.

Eyes on my book, I held my knife and aimed it lazily that him or her. "Im not interested in anyone who could buy me a yacht or tell me I'm the most beautiful woman they've ever seen. I have a knife and I'm not afraid to castrate you or scratch your beautifully polished nails with it," I said in a bored manner.

There were no scared or surprised reply from the owner of the leather shoes. What I did hear was a soft chiming chuckle and a familiar Italian accent.

"Amore, as if i would call you the most beautiful woman I've ever seen or buy you a mere yacht or let you castrate me with such knife," the owner said with a husky yet feminine tone and let out another amused snicker. "I can, however, tell you that I could buy you a fleet if you wish, and I would call you my goddess if you so ever please. And I bet I could steal that knife from you with that flimsy way of holding it."

I tore my sights away from my book and I thought my heart stopped beating then and there when I looked up.

Standing before me, proud and smirking so dashingly cunning, is that little boss that I left in that small town. The little boss whom i offered my freedom yet declined it after having me for a night.

Standing before me is none other than the ghost that kept on chasing me in my dreams. The woman who wore a crisp suit while her hair, black and styled a bit messily and an undercut, stood before me with an air of authority around her. The woman who was feared in that small town in Italy.

"Kiel..." I whispered her name as if it was a forbidden word.