Ego's Trap | ✔

49 | Tapes and Chills II

☆☆☆ Chapter 49 ☆☆☆

Tapes and Chills II

Daniel and I finished three movies back to back. Two romantic comedies and one war drama, in that order. Yes, that's right, one war drama, over two hours long. I'm not a fan of them so at first I didn't want to watch it, but Daniel pleaded with those sly puppy eyes of his. I couldn't deny that cute little runt of something he seemed so passionate 'bout watching with me, so it didn't take long for me to give in.

Surprisingly enough, the movie drew me in with its amazing cast and moving story. So much so, that I didn't realize anyone knocked on the door 'til Daniel paused the movie and sprung from the bed to answer it. I was almost able to convince him to lie back down with me and ignore the knocks with the flash of a boob, but his curiosity tipped him over to the other side of things. On the bright side, it turned out to be Gloria, a veteran maid who had come by to drop us some food, as she has come to do in the time Daniel and I have holed ourselves up for... uh, fun purposes. We gladly gave her our thanks, accepted the food, and I fed it to each other as the movie rolled.

By the end of it, we had no food to comfort us as we thought back on the most painful scenes, but we did have each other. We cried like babies, I'll admit. I didn't expect for a war drama to hit me so hard 'cuz I thought the historical part of it would bore me to death before I would get to such a point, but maybe that's what was so good 'bout it. It made the movie hit me with feels far more than any other type of movie could do, simply 'cuz of its very real stories. Maybe that's why Daniel wanted to watch it, aside from using it as an excuse to cuddle with me for hours on end.

What can I say? Cuddling is one of his most favorite things to do. He's a very touchy-feely type of guy, attached to me like a dog is to their owner. It warms me up on the inside to feel so loved, but damn does it get annoying sometimes. Not right now obviously, 'cuz I'm still feelin' the ghosts of the tears I shed from the deaths of Colonel Blaw and his regiment and I would love to have his company. Which is why I'm staring at a blank screen, pouting and sighing on the bed. Daniel's in the bathroom, taking a dump or somethin' before getting some more action done with me.

Over thirty minutes have passed since the moment he went in there, and it's making me antsy.

Okay, y'know what, screw it, I'm not havin' it!

I leaped out of the bed, and yanked my shirt from the ground to put it over me as I neared the entrance to his bathroom. The door was closed, but that didn't stop me from wanting to give him a quick wake-up call. Except, something called my attention, stopped my tracks.

In the five months that I've been dating him, and the many more that I've come to know him as my employer, I've never really taken a moment out of my time to look at his room. All I've cared 'bout in here are three things; his bed, his video-recorder, and his tapes. That's it. Oh, and maybe his four Spanish textbooks, which I've noticed he tends to study almost religiously when we have nothing better to do, but that's for another day to talk 'bout.

That's it. Those are the only things I've noticed in his room, 'til now. A long piece of thick string, kinda woolly, caught my attention. It was dyed to a pale purple── lavender, I think. It was sticking out of his wardrobe (why does he need it if he's already got a walk-in closet?!), along with some other pale strings that were easy to notice 'cuz of how dark the wardrobe was.

The wooly texture of the strings tickled memories from ages ago, of hot, itchy wristbands I kept finding 'round my bedroom no matter how many times I threw them away. Something about them stood out to me when I was younger. At times, those wristbands would have variations of my name on them. Imani, Ane, Imani Ane. At times, by my window, they would have notes pinned to them, in cursive. It annoyed the living daylights out of me 'cuz I couldn't read them out, and it just kept on happening, as if whoever sent them out to me failed to get a damn clue. Well, even if they had happened to have not been written in cursive, I would have tossed 'em out. No doubt about it. The writing was always way too small, and it filled every single bit of the paper. Who would want to waste their day reading them out when they could play outside in the local park instead? Monkey rails, tag, and baseball were right up my alley as a kid, not reading. Even to this day, reading's not my thing.