Destined Love

Destined Love - Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Five:

The night air fills my car as I leisurely drive home.

I can still feel the warmth from the palms of her hands, that were splayed across my back moments ago. Her fingers were gently brushing my spine; I remember the touch almost forcing me to further melt within the embrace. Just the memory of her breasts against my chest and the honey-vanilla scent of her hair has me feeling as if I'm back at the river with her, rather than daydreaming about the moment as I drive in a daze.

Realising my Ariella-induced thoughts, I give a swift shake of my head, desperately urging myself to regain my temporarily lost composure. I push the image of her face, the feel of her, the scent of her, to the very back of my mind—a place where it seems that all thoughts of Ariella remain.

As I drive further away from the river, where I left her walking back down a path with Fabian, I find it easier to gain back control over my mind. The more I travel, the easier it gets to clear my head and fall back into my normal—and much more comfortable—state. And when I guide my truck in behind Cole's, my mood changes back into a more familiar one.

"Where have you been?" Cole questions with an assiduous quirk of his brow.

Slamming the front door closed with a swift foot nudge, I throw my new keys onto the kitchen bench top and reach for the refrigerator. Cole taps his fingers against the side of it, his face muscles pinched with impatience.

"Dinner was ready an hour ago."

I pop the lid off a fresh beer. "Your point?"

"You weren't here for it. A call would have been nice, then I wouldn't have wasted time preparin' a meal that only ended up soggy and in the bin."

"I don't have a phone."

"Invest in one," he responds patronizingly.

"Sure, I'll get right on that."

He rolls his eyes at my disinterest. "How was the drive, anyway?"

Amazing. "Good."

He frowns. "That's it? Just good?"

Swallowing a gulp of beer with a satisfied sigh, I give a light shrug.

Cole follows me into the lounge room, where I take control of the remote. He flops down across from me, in his one-seater, and directs me with a smug curve of his lips.

"Well," he draws out, "while you were on your good drive, I found out a lil' somethin'."

"Like what?" I drawl.

"Sadie has a thing for you."

I let out a dry snort. "I know that already."

"Oh." His brow furrows. "She mustn't know that you know, because she asked me to ask if you would be interested in "spending some time" with her."

With power of the remote, I turn the volume of the TV up several notches.

"So," he continues with interest, "are you interested?"

"Why can't she ask me this herself?"

"She's shy."

I raise my voice over the noise emitting from the TV. "Well maybe it's a good thing she didn't ask me directly, because I most definitely ain't interested."

"Fair enough." He nods, leaning back in his chair. "She not your type?"

I almost laugh. "Not even close."

"What exactly is your type?" He glances at me as I drain my beer. "Wait, let me guess: huge ass, big boobs, a brain the size of a peanut?"

"Don't forget the fake tan and stripper make-up." I wink.

Cole chuckles, and for a short moment I wonder whether or not he really believes me, because I'm not even sure if I believe myself. I'm soon starting to realise that maybe I've never actually had a specific type; before this life, girls all seemed to blend together—there was no generalization to the chicas I chose to hook up with. As long as they were all woman and could satisfy the animal within me, then that was all that really mattered.

Disregarding the remote, I bin my empty beer bottle and silently trudge to my room, leaving Cole to himself and his late night television shows, because I suddenly begin to question myself. If I don't have a type, then why does Ariella seem to stand out like a bright beam of colour against the dull backdrop of my life? All those girls could never have prepared me for a beauty as undeniable as Ariella's; they were all just blank and monotonous human-shaped canvases, I just didn't see it at the time.

Or maybe I'm just losing my mind. I knew today at the river would have its after-effects, but I hadn't realised it'd affect me to the point of questioning my very own view of myself. None of these thoughts are me, they're all just a distracting consequence from Ariella's touch, and her every-lingering presence. At least that's what I'm forcing myself to believe.

Which is why this self-defence lesson I stupidly decided on needs to happen as soon as possible. Getting it out of the way can be the first step of freeing myself from Ariella. I can teach her what I can, and after that, there'd be no reason to be around her any further. I'll keep my distance, and she'll no longer become a distraction.

So with that in mind, I use the motivation to find a pen and paper. Falling onto my mattress and flinging off my shoes, I lean against my bedside table and begin to write a short, straight to the point message in my unattractive scrawl. At this point, writing a letter and leaving it in her mailbox is the only option I'm willing to physically give her a message. I'm not sure I'd mentally be able to handle seeing her a second time in less than 24 hours.

And so, with a deep and tired sigh, I dot my initial at the base of my note and fold it in two.

Be at the river, near the rock, on Saturday at noon. Don't be late, mi chava.

-K.

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Glossary:

Chicas (girls)

Authors Note:

I've been having a lot of disagreements and arguments lately on Wattpad (even after the bullying message I sent out on my profile). I've been called quite a few names; apparently I'm the rudest bitch on Wattpad, and I'm stuck up and ungrateful - according to some people I'm ungrateful to all my fans. I'm not, and I never have been so don't make judgements when you know nothing about me. Most of this is via Private Messages or Meebo Chat, because the low-life's don't have the guts to message me where other's can see, because they know they'll be reported and they're in the wrong. So they resort to PM's, where they can freely abuse me all they like. I'm not sure what the heck is going on lately, but I feel like a gang is forming and just causing shit with me. Each all have their own stupid reasons to why they'd rather send me messages than do something productive in their day. They must have pretty boring lives. But, then again, so do I, but I don't take it out on everyone else. I'm seriously sick and tired of it all, and if anyone has anything else to say to me, then do it, because I don't give a shit - do your best, but I'll throw it right back at you.

My confidence has been ripped out of me because of everything that's been happening lately, but I'm still updating. I hope this chapter is alright, and I apologise if it's not to my best standards!

Note: New cover for Destined Love.

Thank you,

Tiana Jade.