Mirage

“So, you like the flowers?” asked Jay. He was driving with one hand on the wheel, his head comfortably resting. He looked at the traffic ahead with a casual interest, while half-turning towards Yvette, eyeing her with a quizzical look.

“Um. Yeah,.” she said, glancing up from her phone and flashing a wide smile at Jay. She touched the white tulips in her lap, gently. “They are beautiful.” Then she looked down to the phone again. Nicodemis was especially mysterious lately. Yvette could not always grasp the meaning of his words, and of course, when she asked for clarifications, he did not respond to it. He never did. She felt like he is preparing something; that his words point to something in the near future, and will only make fully sense when that something happens. Yvette knew his website by heart by now, and she guessed that he will announce new tour dates soon. Maybe he is coming to the States? Shidonii tried to prepare her for that, long time ago. But she still was not ready to face that decision, meeting him in real life or not.

“There’s something about tulips that remind me of you. They have this humble, innocent beauty…”

“Hmmm”

“You probably know more about these… what flowers represent…, you know, in your… studies?”

“Hmmm. Maybe. Not so much.”

“You do actually hear, what I’m saying right? I hope I’m not holding you up or something…”

Yvette looked up again, to face Jay, rolling her eyes.

“Of course I do. Am I not taking part in this conversation in your opinion?” she answered, irritated.

“Well, you are. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Yeah. Sort of.”

“What should I do? Should I phrase my answers more... elaborately? To satisfy, your, what, high intellect?”

“I don’t know. You could be a bit more engaged. Anyways, no worries, go back to your phone. We’re almost there.”

“Duh…” grumbled Yvette. She quickly typed in that she won’t be available for a while. She somehow did not notice that they almost already arrived.

The piece was delightful. Jay was a fan of modern contemporary theatre and knew all the indie performers and art groups in town. The original story was set in the age and setting of Romeo and Juliet, or something similar - it was hard to say since it was presented in a strange way, using many contemporary items and costumes. The show was funny, full of comedy, laughter, dance, and people having sex wearing huge Venetian masks. Yvette had a lot of fun, though she did not pick up much about what exactly is going on. Maybe she exchanged a few messages with Nicodemis at some crucial plot twists or some important development, but he did not mind at all.

Jay was very upbeat after the show, and willingly explained some of the twists that Yvette somehow skipped, and provided explanations for the numerous interesting metaphors and symbolic layers of the piece. He explained passionately, with waving gestures, while driving through the uncharacteristically mellow evening and Yvette could not stop laughing at his hilarious but clever observations.

Back at Jay’s, Yvette lit a few candles just for the fun of it, while Jay opened the wine he selected for the night days ago. It was a deep red Merlot from Italy. Jay talked about where his passion for live performance comes from, and how he loathes musicals - Yvette heard that one three-four times at least, but Jay was so funny when criticizing something from popular culture that she did not mind at all. They finished the bottle fairly quickly and Yvette went to take a hot shower, leaving Jay in the kitchen who lit up, and started smoking one of his tiny cigars. He reserved the pleasure of smoking only for these quiet evening moments.

Yvette rubbed lotion into her skin, all over her body, after playing with the foam of the soap they made with Grace on a workshop a few days before. She removed the remains of her make-up, put on a fresh white bathrobe. She felt pleasantly tired, ready to grind a few episodes of the series they started watching together, and drift into sleep.

It all came apart when Yvette stepped out of the bathroom and ran into Jay, who held her phone in his hand, staring at the screen.

“You in a cooking club or something?” asked Jay, slightly irritated, handing the phone back to Yvette.

The words “I feel your taste.” gleamed on the screen, the last message from Nicodemis. Yvette did not know whether she should feel angrier, or more ashamed, so she just stood there, lips slightly parted, and blushing steadily.

Jay just watched her with a sad smile for a few seconds, then went back to the kitchen, lit a cigar, grabbed his keys, and left his apartment. “Feel free to stay for tonight. I won’t come back for a few days.” And he disappeared.

An hour later, Yvette was staring out the kitchen window, with cried out eyes, dropping the ash of the cigar she was smoking onto the splintered remains of her iPhone. She drank the glass of wine, the last of the bottle she opened, and stood up, taking a few uncertain steps. Suddenly she grabbed her things, got dressed and left. She ran down to the street and waved down the first cab.

Twenty minutes later she was kissing a very surprised - and a bit sleepy - Ben violently, pushing him back into his own flat.

Ben was sure that something wrong is happening, but after a few half-hearted efforts to talk some sense into Yvette, he gave up, and let the woman relieve him of his shorts. If his ex wants to have sex no strings attached, why should he try to stop? It’s been a while anyway… his body instantly started to respond to the sweet kisses on his stomach and the caressing touch. He leaned down and grabbed Yvette, who let out a tiny ecstatic shriek. Ben brought her back into his bed, removing her shoes while carrying her lithe body. He put her down gently and started kissing her neck, while Yvette unbuttoned her shirt.

Yvette felt tons of pressure, leaving her. The familiar caring and tenderness of Ben drove her away from her woes to a peaceful land of highly connected erotic pleasure. She grabbed his hands and pushed them on her breasts, while Yvette breathed heavily. She urged him to remove her panties, as she already kicked off her pair of trousers when Ben put her down. She grabbed his head and pushed it upwards. Ben obediently crawled up to her and they joined in a passionate kiss. Yvette moaned, entwined her legs around Ben and rolled them over so she could be on top. She reached back to rub Ben’s hard cock gently to the soft skin of her inner thighs while she whispered to her ex, asking him to cover her neck with little kisses. She waited until she was shivering from the excitement caused by the small kisses, the kisses she knew so well that Ben is capable of, and then, she launched backwards to penetrate herself with his cock, violently, painfully, as far down as she could go, than coming up again, and this time, Ben grabbed her hip and now he controlled how he drove his cock inside Yvette, much more slowly, making sure he is running smooth like silk, lubricated by the plentiful fluids of the woman in top of him.

Tears ran down on her face as she eased into the rhythm of the man under her. Rage, memories of humiliation, doubts washed away with every new waving motion. Ben held her tight, strong, and gentle, controlling the movement of her hips but leaving Yvette doing the movement. Instead of the wild chase of pleasure sex resembled with Jay, she felt safe and comforted in the embrace of Ben. It was like coming home, which was something bitter to bevallani , but Yvette, drifting over the steady, detuning waves of alcohol and the fading hurt, felt blissful, letting every heartache of hers sink back into dark oblivion.

She moaned and subconsciously, she urged Ben to up his tempo so she could up hers as well, riding herself into an orgasm. Though she was pretty drunk, she did notice that her powers do not rest, and that she is reaching out with tentacles of pure energy, tapping into Ben’s subconscious, and when her relief got close she could hardly decide that is she controlling Ben, leading him into doing what he is doing, or does she only feel his will and acts accordingly?

Ben was close, but not that close, so after she came, he quickly changed their posture to bury Yvette with his kisses from top, and making her his from the top, becoming one.

They fell asleep embracing each other, like careless teenagers in love, from a more pure and happy time.

Ground Zero

Yvette bit her lip and covered the elaborate cuts on her forearm, with pulling down the sleeves of her hoodie. She raised a hazy eye on her sister, offering up a glass, pointing her head to the big, cubic crystal whisky bottle. “Care for a drink?” She said, half drunk.

“This is, like, soooooo not you. This is unusual of you. What has really gotten over you” said Sybil, far away from being approving. Yvette shrugged and refilled her own glass anyway. The crystal shivered heavily in her hand.

“I never saw you like this. Never! Is this depression? What happened?” Sybil went on, without considering sitting down, staring at her older sister, who seemed to experiment with those sections of her wardrobe which had been untouched since the late nineties. Her teenage years all Goth and grunge.

“I happened.” Yvette said in a hoarse voice. “Like it always does and it always will do. It’s always down to us, you know, Sybil? In the end, it’s all just us.” she said, staring blank, raising a shaky index finger, drawing a tiny circle in the air, like she was gesturing around to the outside world, and then, to knock on the side of her forehead. “It’s all… just us. That’s all”

“Was it that prick? The Italian? He left you, right? Cheated on you in Europe, did he? You said you were okay with that… I did not make sense to me though. Still doesn’t. How can that be okay? He left now?”

“The Italian… has left for good. I think. But, you know, it doesn’t matter. Prick or not prick… he is no more. Nothing matters.”

“Yeah, but you’re still a mess! You’re scaring me, Yvette baby. She saw a pack of pills carefully dodged. Whoa… you takin’ pills?!” Sybil burst out, jumping towards the quite casually covered packets of mood stabilizers, flipped between some lady mags. Yvette just shrugged and shone a drunken smile. “It’s okay… it’s all okay, cause it doesn’t matter and it’s all just us. We create it all.”

“Honey, sis, I… I need to tell someone. We need to get you a psychologist ASAP. I know quite a good number of them. I can contact them right away. We… someone needs to come and help us.”

“Help us?” Yvette cuts in

“Yeah.”

“You think you need some help, Sybil? Can I help you, darling’? Want a drink? Or a pill?” she said with a shrewd smile

“Gosh, Yvette! I can’t get you, this is so not you! You’re not being serious!”

“Maybe you’re too serious.”

“Why don’t you just… get yourself together? Brace up and get your acts together. This mood won’t help you.”

Yvette poured another drink and gulped voraciously

“Why don’t you just… die?”

Yvette was a little surprised. The cup hung loosely between her lips, spilling on her. She could not really believe her sister just said that. But, well, it was out anyway. It doesn’t matter, really, since nothing really does.

Sybil’s lips shivered, as she opened her mouth and closed it again, failing at finding the right words, or any words, at all. She felt like she was blasted by a ray of frost, something unexpected, uncalled for, and out of the blue, something terrible and horrifying. Someone stole her beloved sister’s mind and put some dark, cold ooze instead of it.

After a couple of seconds, which seemed like hours, she staggered to the entry of her sister’s apartment and bounced through the door, fighting her tears, without being capable of saying anything more, without further ado.

Yvette did not flinch hearing the bang of the closing door, ignored some new incoming notifications on her phone with a single swipe. She did not pay a visit to the office the whole week, so the mid-level management started to freak out. The system was self-sustaining for years, but Yvette started to follow up things more closely in the last couple of years, which had a very beneficial effect on the company - numbers started to soar, and now the decision about going to the stock market was very much on the table - not something the execs could even dream of only a year before. But the carefree, no-nonsense approach, lovely personality and the secret intuitions Yvette brought to the board after her Dad left, really helped to go through with some crucial decisions, and navigate dangerous waters without heavy internal conflict. Yvette demoted herself to an employee and allowing the CEO to take charge and with reassured loyalty to the company.

Yvette always made clear that she, as owner, is strictly playing from the background, leaving the strategic leadership to the CEO and the board of directors - but the business structure quickly got accustomed to her beneficial presence.

But Yvette had other things in her mind lately. She disconnected from all those channels, and executed Nicodemis’ ever stranger orders and wishes obediently. The Egyptian urged her to dive into the bottom of her grief until she finds utter and complete freedom, because that will unlock the potential for unconditional love. In other words, she needs to destroy her full spiritual consciosusness and rebuild herself from a self-driven, experience-centered point of view, re-establishing the focus on herself, instead of hopelessly longing for outside confirmation.

Yvette, honestly, did not care much. Some of these blurry days, she thought she is no more than a virtual sex toy for her Master, and his guidance is a load of bollocks, serving only for chaining her to Nicodemis. But it was still better than the scary, black oblivion whirling in the depth of her heart. The Egyptian paid attention to her, in the form of chat messages and video calls, true, but Yvette knew well that actually these devices of the modern age has a very a real effect on the sub-consciousness of their users. A meager chat exchange can go deep into the soul as well, because what really matters is the energy created by the awareness on both sides of the digital channel. The ancient ones did not need devices at all, that is what the lost art of telepathy was all about. Thought transfer wasn’t even needed when, in the age of highly acute minds and hearts full of love, people could experience total empathy, a full review of their loved ones presence and condition, simply by concentrating on them and praying for their well-being.

She playfully caressed the slowly healing carving on her inner arm, which she did with a razor. The brown, bloody scab in the loose shape of the Eye was looking at her, so now it could watch over her every time she glances down on her hands, until it heals… Yvette had the perverted hope with a black smile, that maybe it won’t ever heal up to disappear completely. She hoped the cut was deep enough.

She did not ask for the help her advisors - what could they say to a wreck of her former self, hovering on the cushions of alcohol and mood stabilizers, in a constant flux of binge drinking, drug trips and erotic ecstasy. In a way, it was a liberating travel to terra incognita, exploring landscapes she never dared to set foot in, not in her high school or college years, so it could have been very invigorating if she had not felt the utter devastation she in unleashing on her soul, which was crying and shivering in pain and despair while being consumed by the burning rage of the Material all around it.

It happened a few days later, when she was working on pushing her boundaries further out, according to the instructions of Nico. She had several pills, numbing out everything, turning her consciousness into white noise. The practice was about adhering to the Hidden Lust inside her - which was the focus of her “training” most of the time anyway. She kept her arousal up inside her, with vivid mental images and whisky, tuning everything else down, conditioning herself into the state of an obedient bimbo. She was hanging out lately in Jay’s “white room”, because it reminded her to sexual pleasures of the past, tormented her with everything constantly reminding her to Jay, who seemed to have left town without a word, and because it featured a way better home theater system than what Yvette had at home. Today was about fulfilling a filthy fantasy she had a few months back- chained herself to the metal shelves on the wall, just like they did with Jay, after attaching a gag into her lips. She threw the keys out of reach, and just breathed there, her nipples pointing hard, her holes thoroughly lubricated with lube, industrial metal banging from the speakers and subwoofers, with the entry door left half open, and with the faint, drifting, detuned, semi-conscious desire according to the instruction of Nicodemis. It happened exactly then. Yvette did not realize it, but it was well after 4 AM by that time. The curtains were closed, but there seemed to be a tiny gap between them, as the first ray of sunlight appeared on the flat Eastern horizon of Jay’s third story apartment, burning up bright through the violet sky. Yvette, through the haze in her mind, first thought that something exploded outside, winking angrily at the sudden burst of light, waiting for it to fade away, but it did not fade, it just crawled higher and burned brighter, hurting her eyes, washing all over, in a tiny, thin line on her exposed body. Jay stormed in. It’s always been you Yvette, I am just not ready for a commitment of such, I will always love you and keep you deep within my soul. Ciao, my love, see you soon.