After a tragedy, Amila Johnson abandons her life in New York and retreats back to her birthplace of Houston. She tries to start anew but she can't get far with the skills of being an almost classically trained ballerina.
Deciding to take up her fri...
It's one twenty-three in the morning." Deja groggily said, dragging her slipper-covered feet across the veneer-polished concrete floor. She blinked her sleepy eyes a couple of times adjusting to the abrasiveness of the kitchen light as she ambled over to one of the high stools at the bar. She yawned as she slid on the seat, her booty shorts rose higher up her thighs but she was using all her awakened brain cells to figure out what her friend was doing. "You're making..." Deja paused to stretch her mouth and emit another yarn that she didn't shield, she wasn't that awake to care about pleasantries. "Grilled cheese. What the fuck? Do you have a tapeworm or some shit?" "I'm worm-free." Amila swirled away from the stove with her hand firmly around the handle of one of the skillets that rarely got used when Deja lived alone. She performed a trick, with the flick of her wrist, she flipped the sandwich on its untanned side and once the butter kissed the hot surface it filled the gallery kitchen with sizzles. "Just need to think." Deja nodded, scanning her eyes over the counter blanketed with several types of bread from rye to pumpernickel then chuckled at the latter word before she found the assortment of cheeses on the opposite counter. Her humor drained once she saw the Gruyère and the mound of golden sandwiches beautifully stacked on the platter she borrowed from her mom to make dinner for a date that wasn't worth all the work she put into it even if she undercooked the chicken and gave him a bit of salmonella. "Think about what?" Deja asked, sliding off the stool a little less sleep and a little more hungry. "Did your nightmares come back?" Amila shook her head as she placed another golden sandwich atop the pyramid she started constructing around midnight. She didn't want to think about the nightmares that originated after the police officer and Deja's parents sat her down and told her what happened the night her family went to bed but never awakened. She swallowed the lump in her throat and quickly thought about something else Her mind was overwhelmed and consumed with the proposition Dominic presented her with earlier. After he dropped her at the loft, she tried going to sleep but the rollout sofa bed that had granted her peaceful rest, on those nights she wasn't stricken with nightmares, didn't work its magic. She tossed and turned, feeling every one of the springs digging into her back, hip, and shoulder. She knew it wasn't the bed that disrupted her sleeping pattern, it was words and the allure of what could be. "I didn't have a nightmare." She said, tipping the skillet and sliding the mozzarella-cheddar, tomato sandwich on the saucer Deja held out happily for the answer she was able to give. Being terrorized by the images of your family sleeping soundly in their bed and trying to shake them awake only to have their beds turn to coffins and catch on fire wasn't something she hoped to reoccur. The therapy had worked and they hadn't been back for a handful of months and she was thankful for that. But now she was being haunted by something else. Something that whet her appetite and solved most of her problems with more precision than algebra ever could. "Good," Deja said, breaking the corner off the sandwich. "But what's got you up trying to be a chocolate-dipped Martha Stewart." She pointed to the array of sandwiches before biting into her cheesy piece. Amila set the skillet on one of the cold burners of the stove before moving to the cutting board wondering if she should tell her friend about something she was going to have to turn down because it wasn't the proper thing to do. Was it? But then again, her therapist did say talking things about was better than holding them in and letting them fester. She turned away from the countertop and watched her friend take another bite of the sandwich and let it all spill. "I had dinner with Dominic. We got to talking and I told him too much about my present situation. About technically being homeless and not able to live paycheck to paycheck because one paycheck doesn't cover all my expenses and food and he offers to help me...well it's more like a business arrangement. I, be his kinda girlfriend and he'll take care of me." Deja stopped chewing, frozen with her mouth open. Her blinking eyes were the only movement her body could execute as she digested the tsunami of words her friend flooded her with. She closed her mouth, swallowed the food, and said, "Bitch....what?" Amila held her cheeks with mortification and some embarrassment from entertaining the thought of saying yes to his proposition. "I know I have to turn it down and—" "Biiitch," Deja sang the word as she viewed her friend with utter confusion. "You're going to do what?" "Tell him no." "Tell him no," Deja repeated the words as if they had to come from her mouth for her to comprehend them then she held her hand. "Let me get this straight this rich ass, fine ass man that you had a connection with wants to take care of you and treat you like a girlfriend because your kinda-broke ass is sleeping on my couch...and you want to tell him 'no'." Deja's head tilted, "Come again." Amila's eyebrows drew together as she slid her hands into the pockets of the sweatpants that swallowed up the lower half of her body. She ignored the 'kinda-broke' knowing exactly what Deja was referring to and there was no way she was ever going to toy with that thought. She was broke. She could never use that blood money. Deja's other words, however, struck her with utter confusion and she knew that her friend wasn't fully understanding her. "Wait. I don't think you're following me." Amila took a step closer to her friend. "He's going to pay me and he's going to probably want sex in return." "And?" Deja blinked. "I'm not understanding the problem here. You—" She stopped and drilled her sight on her as if she discovered the answer to the world's hardest riddle. "Sure, you don't have much experience but you're not a virgin." Deja shook her head realizing the truth, that they never really discussed that aspect of her life. She was the only one that went on about her boyfriends while Amila was always a great listener. "I'm not." Amila took in a deep breath, her shirtless chest rose as the white lace bralette stood out against her beautiful taut brown skin. Deja looked at her with disbelief so she repeated. "I'm not. I mean...uh...ballet was my life...and sex is...I'm not a virgin though....does oral count." Deja sorta shrugged. "As foreplay." Amila let out a miserable groan and then dropped her head in her hands. "This is why I have to say 'no'. I can't be some seductress. Rihanna, I am not." "Mila." Deja took hold of her shoulders and waited for her to lift her eyes. "You were a dancer. I've seen you dance and you have poise, grace, and a lot of sensuality. And so what, fine you've never had penetration. You were never a 'black swan' but you executed that routine as if you were one." "You're saying I should fake it." Deja nodded. "Mhmm." Amila sounded. She was unsure if she wanted to fake anything with Dominic. She knew falling in love with him would be easy and that was something she wasn't ready for. Deja smirked. "You say you want spontaneity and new experiences are a great way to heal from a loss." "Deja." She sang her name as if he harbored all the words and emotions she wanted to convey. "Amila." Deja retorted in the same manner, knowing it encompassed all the answers she wanted to give but if it didn't the look on her face did. "You like him and from the way, you describe yawls first date it was straight out of one of those Jane Austen books you tried to make me read even though there's a shitload of movies about them." "The books are better." She quipped. "You think I should do it?" "It's not about what I would do. What do you want to do? Not what your parents would do, what Akeela would do, or what you would do if they were still here but what would you want to do...just you." Amila bit down on the plump flesh of her bottom lip thinking and her eyes instinctively went to her phone on the bar. She had her answer but did she have the nerve to fully through and go for what she wanted, even if it wasn't the type of occupation her resume and experience level fit? She moved away from Deja and grabbed her phone from the counter and started to compose a text. Deja watched her fingers tap on the screen then said, "After you hit send we need to have a conversation about all these people out here giving you oral without penetration." "Fine." Her fingers paused as she glanced at the chrysanthemums in a vase. "But after you tell me what you did to have Keaton hunting down those." "No problem. I'm an open book on Audible." Deja quipped before biting into her sandwich. Amila chuckled then finished up her message and hit send after removing the smirking emoji. It was too soon for those. Right?
What do you think Amila texted to Dominic?
Should Amila let her lack of sexual experience deter her from Dominic's offer?
Will new experiences help Amila heal?
What do you think Amila is referring to as 'Blood Money'?
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