The Beautiful Stranger Part 3

November 21, 2017story

Read The Beautiful stranger part 2 before you proceed.

“I can be your Yoda, you know.” He smiled at her as she curled on his lap like a small kitten.
“what’s a Yoda?” she asked, nuzzling his neck.

“It means protector.”
It has been two weeks since Zakima last saw him. She sighed as she rubbed the rag against the
counter. She had been reduced to cleaning from waitressing since people didn’t want to look at
her revolting skin colour. Her boss was too nice of a man to fire her so he hid her behind the
counters. Zakima was thankful, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt.With everything going on,
and her not being able to see Vance, she was frustrated.They had been dating for a month now.
He was kind, smart, creative. Everything you thought he shouldn’t be. He holds a shy smile and
usually an awkward air around him like he didn’t know where to put his hands when he was holding
her. His laugh was a merry and rare sound. It was sad Zakima didn’t hear it often enough. His eyes
were kind and comforting, like sending a small message, I got you.

His arms were strong and made
her feel safe. She loved seeing a smile on his face. A genuine one, not the one he did for the sake
of others, but the one that lights up his eyes like Christmas lights. He was stubborn and sometimes
impassive. His words were sometimes too true but they were soothing. He cared but didn’t know
how to express it. His silence was sometimes upsetting but his hugs were consoling. Zakima loved
being near him, despite all his stubborn arguments. She loved soothing his insecurities, reassuring
him. she loved losing to him. she missed him. But it’s been two weeks now while Vance has been
too busy and her own insecurities were facing up again. She hated it, feeling unwanted.
She knew it wasn’t his fault.

That the circumstances were such that she could not meet him and
that didn’t mean that he didn’t want her. But she was scared. ‘I am a black Muslim, with nothing to give, a lowlife cleaner,’ she thought bitterly, she rubbed the rag
brutally. Tired and a bit angry at life, she continued working, going back and doing dishes,
sweeping and dusting. By the time she was done, she was bone tired. It was night time, not really a
safe time to be alone in New York for her. She packed her things and left.
“So, you don’t believe in love?” she asked him, looking down on the coffee turning cold in her hand.
“love is overrated.” He shrugged.

She was thinking about him as she was standing in the long line to get liquor. ‘change of plans, get
drunk and sleep without dreams,’ she thought. Not that she has been dreaming of him, but she did
not want to. He was bit distant sometimes lost in his own world. His life was different. he was
indifferent to the idea of love. He did not need it maybe. He had it more than once and now he was
tired of the guilt that came with it. He liked her, he had said once. She knew he meant it. She didn’t
love him and neither did he. They were just lonely.
“what’s a bucket list?” she asked, as he lay there softly making patterns on her naked back.
“it’s just a list of things you want to do in life when you are happy and content.”
“your list must belong then.”

“you don’t think I am happy?”
“I think you are happy in phases.”
They both had agreed on that.
She gulped half of the bitter liquor in one go. She was hungry and tired. Cleaning jobs didn’t pay as
much as waitressing. She was unwanted everywhere. Back home, her parents wouldn’t accept her
for how different she was, how ironical it was, her own people shunned her for being different, and
others condemned her for being the same as them. she didn’t know where she belonged. Alcohol
didn’t hold answers but it did hold escape. She was tired of people judging her, tired of looking at
like she was a piece of trash. But Vance didn’t. he did not look at her like that. He did not flinch
when he touched her. ‘But then where is he?’ her mind taunted her. ‘he can get better,’ it was the
one thing her demons and she agreed on. ‘It wasn’t like he loved me anyway,’ She thought.
“you are wrong,” he argued, shaking his head. “you don’t always need love, it’s an unnecessary
label.”

“I agree,” she sighed, “but it also brings security.”
He looked at her incredulously. “it’s unnecessary,” he insisted.
She smiled, giving up, “as long as I don’t want it.”
‘I want it now. Not love but you.’ She swallowed another pint. She should have bought food instead.
Her mind was getting dizzy. She entered a small bar downside, sitting on the edge of her stool. The
music was loud and the lights were neon. The bartender had a crooked smile. He looked at her
incuriously. He didn’t care about who she was. After all, it was a bar, where sad people came to
look beautiful under the hazy veil of imitate happiness. There were smoke and alcohol. She
remembered how she first met him when she was high off some cheap weed.

“Hey, only women are allowed to curtsy,” she had exclaimed.
“now that’s just sexist.” He had smiled. Her mind was dizzy and her body was moving to some unknown beat. She swayed on the dance floor among another hundred strangers, who came here for the same reason as her. They were
lonely too. The memories were like a tornado in her mind, a hurricane of disjointed pain. It was
unnecessary, this pain. It was self -inflicted. She needed to feel wanted somewhere, anywhere.
Unknown hands were touching her body, she didn’t mind. At least they wanted her.
“beautiful,” someone’s breathe trickled her ear. She swayed in his hard arms, unknowingly.
“are you lonely too,” she looked at the stranger, he was beautiful too.
“Always has been,” He replied.

Their lips touched in that moment, his breath smelled of vodka and his tongue tasted like cigarettes.
It was poison and paradise. His hands weren’t careful, they weren’t rough and sweet, they weren’t a
bit calloused, they weren’t warm and protective. They weren’t Vance’s. He wasn’t Vance, but in that
moment, he wanted her, maybe more than Vance did. He was reckless with her, not caring where
his hands touched, how hard he bit her lip. He was hungry for another body to wash away his
own isolation.

Zakima’s hands were strung around his neck, holding on for dear life, as she kissed the life out of
him, putting all her insecurities in him. she wanted Vance, and he was there to fill the space. She
kissed her emotions on the wrong lips. He wasn’t her beautiful stranger. Not the one she wanted.
But he was still a beautiful stranger.