Darkness of day, p.18
Darkness of Day, page 18
“Oh, babe!” Wen said, but her cheeks flushed.
Jelani and Daniel stared into each other’s eyes. Daniel desperately wanted to trust him, Jelani could see it. “I assure you, all is well and all necks are intact,” he said.
Wen looked down at her feet, then at Alisha, who glanced at Jelani and then at Daniel. Guess that wasn’t so funny.
“Of course they are!” Wen said, walking over and draping her arms around Daniel’s neck. He smiled and they gave each other a peck on the lips. Jelani could tell his friend was trying not to look at her neck.
“Go ahead and look, man. I won’t be offended.”
Wen looked questioningly at Jelani, then at Daniel. When comprehension dawned, she frowned up at Daniel. “Honey. You don’t trust your best friend? How could you—”
“Please don’t blame him, Wen,” Jelani said. “He loves you and he’s right to be wary.” He nodded at Daniel, who looked down at Wen. “Let him look,” Jelani said. “Please.”
“Fine.” Wen pulled her hair back and held it with one hand. She leaned her head to one side, then the other, allowing Daniel a clear look.
Once he was satisfied he looked back at Jelani, relief and gratitude clear on his face. At that moment, everything felt right. His best friend and his fiancée, and Alisha. It felt right, but wrong. A tiny part of him knew this couldn’t continue. Why am I here?
“I’m surprised you came up,” Daniel said.
“Me, too,” Jelani replied. He glanced at Alisha, who turned and went into the kitchen and began rinsing glasses that were already clean.
“Ah,” Daniel said.
Alisha had Jelani in such a heated state, he hadn’t registered Daniel’s absence when they’d come in. “Where were you? Not out—”
“Smooth out your feathers, mother hen,” Daniel said, some of the normal ease returning to his voice. I just went downstairs to the gym, that’s all.
“I know you didn’t just call me—”
“Yup. I think I did.”
Jelani’s mouth fell open into a smile. “Oh yeah? You got me messed up—”
“Okay, okay,” Wen said, rolling her eyes. “I know where this is going. “You two can ‘crank it up’ later.”
Jelani snorted, then he and Daniel burst into laughter. It was always funny when Wen used Jelani’s slang.
“Let’s go down to the lobby and give these two some time.”
“I need a shower,” Daniel protested.
“You can have one when we get back.” She crossed the room to the coffee table and grabbed a book on interior design, then tossed a fiction book to Daniel. “You and your B.O. can sit on the other side of the room.”
“Sounds romantic,” Daniel mumbled. “You did just hug me.”
“See you later,” Wen said, shoving Daniel out the door.
Daniel looked over his shoulder. “At least let me get my—” the door shut.
Jelani stood in the living room, watching Alisha rinse and dry the dishes till she was finished. It felt odd standing there. It was his living room, yet it felt like it wasn’t. Alisha finished the dishes and turned around.
They faced each other for a while, Jelani enjoying those hazel eyes, while Alisha made an effort not to fidget. She rubbed her left arm, then rubbed her finger behind her ear.
“You wanna watch some TV?” Jelani asked, and Alisha made a half-cough, half-laughing sound.
“Oh my goodness. Jelani … just be quiet.” She came out of the kitchen and wrapped her arms around him. “Will you listen to me a second?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“I know why you’re nervous, because I am, too. But …” She took a deep breath. “I know I said it before, but … I’m … I love you.” She leaned back and looked at him.
The words were like pain and pleasure mixed into one. He didn’t know whether to feel happy, sad, or furious. He felt all three.
“I love you, too.” This is a mistake. “I’ve loved you for a long time.” Why the hell did I say that? “But I don’t know what to do.” Great, Jelani. Indecisiveness. Perfect trait for a strong man. Solid as a rock.
To his surprise, she rose to her tiptoes and kissed him; soft at first, then more deeply, more passionately.
“Thank you,” she gasped, breaking for air.
“For what?”
“Not feeding me a macho line of bullshit about knowing exactly what to do.”
Jelani didn’t know how to respond. “Um. Yeah.”
She glanced in the direction of the bedroom. His bedroom. Their bedroom.
He hesitated. “You sure?”
“I’m sure you’re trying to kill the mood.”
“You don’t know what I am, not really.”
“I think I do.”
“Do you?” He scooped her off the ground and slipped his arm under her, holding her at eye level.
Alisha’s eyes went wide, and she looked down. She was sitting on his arm as though it were a steel bar, her legs dangling above the floor. “You’re strong.”
“More than you know.”
Her chest heaved and he saw desire and trepidation in her eyes. He took her in, head to toe. Beautiful, he thought.
She draped an arm around him, leaned back, then looked herself up and down. “You want this?”
“Yes.”
27
Jelani lay her gently on the bed and climbed over her. He studied her body, watched her chest rise and fall with each breath. His gaze slid down. When he came to her pants, he unbuttoned them and slipped his fingers in the sides. She lifted her hips upward so that he could slide them off.
Slowly, he pulled them down, his eyes taking in every inch of her smooth brown legs. Once he’d gotten them off, he came back over her. Alisha reached her hands behind his head and pulled him down to her. Her kiss was gentle, exploring. Jelani returned the kiss, their tongues slowly finding each other.
She slid her hands under his shirt and dragged her nails down his back. He arched his back, letting out a shaky breath. Alisha slid her hands back up again, pulling his shirt over his head.
Those beautiful hazel eyes moved as her gaze slide up and down his torso. Soft, smooth hands ran slid over his chest and down his abdomen, her fingers gliding over each crease between the muscles in his stomach. Her hands stroked up and down, and her body squirmed beneath him.
Alisha reached down further, unbuttoning his pants and sliding them down. He pulled them the rest of the way off and she immediately grabbed his buttocks with both hands. They kissed, growing more urgent. He pressed against her and could feel the lace of her bra rubbing up and down his chest.
He abruptly broke off away and groaned with pleasure when her fingers slipped into his shorts and found him. He let out ragged gasps as she massaged him, until finally he slipped his hand behind her back. She lifted her back and he unhooked her bra. He took his time, sliding it away, slowly revealing her round, perky breasts.
Alisha pulled off his shorts, and he slid his hands down her body, pulling her panties down to her ankles and slipping them off. Jelani admired her naked body. Perfect. He slid his tongue over every inch of her. He explored her small feet and delicate, manicured toes. The hint of muscles in her legs. He moved up, admiring her thighs, between her legs, her smooth, slightly sculpted stomach, her small waist. He continued on, running his tongue under her breasts, then up to her tiny black nipples.
He wanted her. All of her. His fangs gradually extended and his eyes glowed lavender. He saw every tiny colored vein in her breasts, each funneling sweet, delicious blood. What must it taste like, that thick hot liquid that practically sang to him? No! Yes.
Jelani clamped his eyes shut then opened them again, but the sight of her beautiful naked body, and those tiny beautiful blood-filled veins called to him. Dammit, control yourself! As if something else had subtly taken control of him, his eyes narrowed and he slid the tips of his fangs over her round breasts, heaving with repressed passion. His breath grew ragged, and a primal sound rumbled from deep in the pit of his core.
“Jelani?” Alisha whispered.
The sound of her voice was a beacon, lighting his way back to himself. He shook his head and looked down at Alisha to see her looking into his eyes. “Stay with me. I love you.” He looked into her hazel eyes and found not fear, but love, compassion, and desire.
He looked back down to her breasts, waiting to be enjoyed, and he went back to them. Her back arched and she ran her hands over his head as he suckled. He remained there until her hands fell away and went down his stomach. Her tiny, delicate fingers found him again and stroked.
They teased each other, played with each other until it was too much to bear.
Alisha guided him upward till their hips were aligned.
She looked into his eyes again.
“You’re sure?”
“Please,” she breathed, then guided him. She took in several sharp breaths as he slowly, gradually, merged with her. Their bodies moved together perfectly in a rhythmic dance of passion. Time undefined passed. They were together. They were one.
28
The basket was heavy.
Heavy as the notion that the space Mallika occupied might as well have been empty. Graceful and dexterous, Mallika could have easily slipped through the crowds of couples, families, playing children and foreigners. She didn’t need to. Everyone pretended she didn’t exist yet gave her a wide berth.
Hawkers spoke of fresh caught fish, hand-woven jewelry, and beautiful handmade saris. As she passed by one shop, she stole a glance at her favorite. It was expertly embroidered, but not overdone and gaudy. It was blue-green, like the ocean. The shopkeeper looked up at her and she realized she had slowed too long to gaze at the beautiful piece. She moved on.
The basket was heavy.
Heavy like a woman’s burden, her mother had taught. A woman must have excellent balance and posture. Mama had always said that when she caught Mallika slouching.
“A woman must have proper posture and balance. Never forget that you’re a lady, Mallika.”
The thought made her spirit smile, though the smile didn’t reach her lips. “What does it matter if I’m a lady or not, Mama?” she had asked once. Her mother ran a hand down her long black hair.
“Because you are, Phool.” Phool. It meant flower, and Mallika always felt happier when her mother used her nickname. “One day you will bloom into a beautiful woman.”
“I don’t feel beautiful,” Mallika had said. “We have to live here, while they live in homes with four walls and hard roofs. They have clean water and enough food. We clean up after them, and they look down on us for it.”
“It is our karma that places us where we are in life, my little girl.”
Mallika was a stubborn child, but also a respectful one. She nodded and silently disagreed. Her mother laughed.
“Oh, my little girl. I think you have more to your destiny than this.” She waved a hand to indicate their little three-walled hut. “Maybe there is more for you in the world.”
“I don’t need more from the world. I’m happy to live here with you, Mama. Or maybe one day we will move away to someplace better.”
Her mother smiled and ran her hand over Mallika’s hair again. The smile was warm and loving; and hopeless.
Mallika snapped out of her daydream just in time to swerve around a child who had run across her path. The mother grabbed the child and pulled him away, admonishing him about how Mallika was unclean and to stay away from her. Mallika ignored the woman and increased her pace.
The basket was heavy.
Heavy like the plight of the Untouchables who remained in their slums and only ventured out when it was to do some manner of filthy work. The Untouchables, her people, were the dregs of society, who represented all that was unclean and undesirable. No one wanted to look upon an Untouchable, and Untouchables didn’t find it enjoyable to mingle with the rest of society anyway. Who would want to mingle in a society where the old superstitions said it was considered unlucky even for your shadow to pass across someone?
It was their karma. That’s what Mama used to say. Mallika didn’t know if her mother actually thought it was true, or just told her that to make it easier to accept. Mama had accepted this life as her karmic existence and had lived it to her last breath with neither jealousy nor animosity toward those whose karma afforded them a better life. Mallika was not her mother.
The basket was heavy.
Heavy like the responsibility placed on a child who was forced to grow up too soon. Her responsibility, and those of many other Untouchable children whose parents had died from illness. It was better in the country. Mallika knew that. She had heard stories of how a family of Untouchables had actually managed to relocate out of the slums of the city and make a life in the country. Mallika had no idea how that could have been possible, given the difficulty of simply surviving day to day in the bowels of society. Was it a story to entertain children? To offer some kind of hope? How could it be? Such a story, true or not, offered nothing more than emotional torture.
The basket was heavy.
Heavy as the hot, humid air, the perspiring bodies, the averted gazes. Heavy as a hard life, cast upon one’s shoulders because of their karma. Karma. All her fourteen years of life, Mallika had heard that word, used as a badge of justification by the privileged, and shawl of comfort by the impoverished. A shawl her mother had worn. A shawl her mother had lovingly tried to drape over her shoulders to comfort her from the unfair realities of her life.
Mama.
Mallika turned down one street, then another, thinking of Mama. As long as she had been alive, she remembered Mama coming home with bleeding, cracked hands, sore knees, and a stiff back. But she was strong. Strong for herself and for her daughter when Papa died. Strong to make the best life for her daughter with the little that her karma had afforded her. Never complaining, ever strong and loving till her last breath. Tears welled in Mallika’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks, and her silent sobs nearly made her lose the heavy basket filled with freshly washed laundry balanced upon her head.
The basket was heavy. Like her heart.
Memories. They were her mother’s experiences, her mother’s memories, yet she felt them, dreamt them, as though they were her own. Pain crept through and forced her to forget the daydream for now. She was hungry, but she wasn’t.
“Mama, I don’t understand.”
Her mother ran her long gentle fingers through her daughter’s raven black hair. “I know, my heart.”
“Help me understand, Mama.”
“I cannot, little one.”
“Why not?”
Her hand stopped, and she pulled little Saaya into a tight hug. “You must ask Baba.”
“But why can’t I ask you, Mama?”
“I am not the same as you, Saaya. Not quite.”
The little girl looked up into her mother’s kind, dark brown eyes. A small part of her knew that her mother was the same, but part of her was different as well.
“Sometimes I’m hungry for food. Sometimes I’m hungry for water. Sometimes I’m hungry and thirsty at the same time, but not for food or water.”
“I know, my little Saaya.”
Despite her confusion, the little girl smiled. Saaya. It was her name, and it meant shadow in her mother’s native tongue. “It is because you are my shadow, little one,” her mother had once told her. “Because you are a dark and beautiful side of me.”
“It hurts when I’m hungry and thirsty, Mama.”
“I know little one. But Baba can help you understand. It is very important that you understand your other nature.”
She nodded, and her long raven hair fell over her face.
The six year old girl ran through the castle, unbothered by the darkness. Unlike Mama, Saaya could see perfectly in the dark. She healed almost instantly, and was stronger and faster than any adult, including her mother. There were also times her body demanded more than food and water. There were times when her body demanded blood.
Ever since she was old enough, her mother had been adamant that Saaya understand that she was different from other children, and that they would be afraid of her if she revealed her other nature.
Up the winding stairs she climbed until she reached the top floor. Their home was the largest and grandest of any Saaya had ever known, and it was yet another secret that her mother had been adamant that she keep. “Some will be intimidated and some will be envious. Never flaunt the good fortunes of your life to others, Phool. Let people love you for who you are, and not what you have.
Saaya came to a room that was easily larger than the average house, and turned the latch on one of the twelve-foot tall double doors. It groaned open, and the little girl crept in.
Facing the tall window, a figure sat with legs crossed in a plush, high-backed leather chair. In his right hand was a crystal glass of red liquid. Saaya stood where she was, watching the back of the chair.
“You must remember to knock before entering,” a deep and powerful voice said.
“I am sorry, Baba,” Saaya said, doing her best to sound like it was the truth.
“In the flicker of time that you have been alive, not once have you been sorry for anything.”
Saaya grinned, but remained silent.
“Come, Ua. Tell me why you are here.”
Saaya loved that she had the same nickname in two different languages. While her mother called her Phool in her native language of Hindi, her father called her Ua, in his native language of Swahili. Her parents often used the two different yet beautiful words to call her their little flower.
She moved to stand beside the chair. “The thirst is upon you, Ua,” he said.
“How do you know, Baba?” Her father turned his head to regard her. In the darkness of the room, his lavender eyes practically glowed. On the rare occasions when they ventured as a family into the cities and villages, Baba’s eyes were always dark brown. At home, often they were brown, but equally as often, they were that purplish lavender color.
