Chapter 8
“Ihaven’t gotten any notice, no,” Nala said as she waited in line at the bank. “Also, it’s not my fault you’re behind on your rent, Mam.”
On the other end of the line, Yena Nazarova let out the type of sigh that used to make child Nala’s spine shudder.
Used to be that her mother was a formidable woman who could get her way with a snap of her fingers.
Funny what double the grief did to a person.
“You think it’s my fault?” she said, her accent slipping as she grew angrier.
Yena spent most of Nala’s childhood practicing her dialect so she would have a better chance at a career and help her children get less grief at school.
For many years, it worked. Then she stopped caring as her life crumbled, and one family member after another was taken from her.
I’m still here, Mom. Sometimes, Yena forgot that.
The line advanced one more person. “Of course I think it’s partially your fault. I pay my rent more frequently than you do. And no, I don’t have any money for you to borrow.”
“I wasn’t going to ask!” Good. Nala had the desired effect on her mother. She didn’t want to insult the woman, but she was definitely curbing any thoughts that may have danced in her head. “For God’s sake, can’t a woman call her daughter to chat?”
That was absurd. Yena never called “to chat” anymore.
She was more likely to call to bemoan her financial fate – as if Nala’s was any better – or to drunkenly cry on Tasha’s birthday.
It was like Yena’s existence centered around bringing more despair to her sole remaining family member.
Oh, she could hold down a job. Barely. But her depression was so foul that she was a mere shell of the strong woman Nala once admired growing up.
“Fine. I’ll leave you alone.” Sniffing, Yena heaved another one of those meaningless sighs. “Do me a favor, though. Step up and replenish this poor family. Marry a nice man and give me some grandbabies to live for.”
“Mam,” Nala said, “I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon.”
“Why not! Surely there’s some surly man in that armpit stank of the world who can put up with your attitude. Make sure he actually has money and doesn’t pretend at it.”
I could never tell her about Varen. Not that Nala would go there, regardless of their relationship. “I’ll make sure, Mam. Now I’ve gotta go. I’m at the… store.” She didn’t dare say bank. That would continue this talk of money and who had it and who didn’t.
They hung up in time. Another teller window opened, meaning the line forked and put Nala second behind a man who merely wanted to update his address.
Ten minutes later, she walked out of the bank staring at a balance sheet.
$1055.76. She could barely believe that number.
Nala knew that wasn’t a lot of money, but the check Varen wrote her Sunday night before dropping her off at home would do so much.
She could buy an actual bag of groceries.
She could invest in some winter clothes.
Maybe a fleece blanket for her prison of a closet. Coffee! Oh, sweet coffee before work!
Oh, and she should probably head to Ross and pick up shoes and another dress for The Aviary.
Thinking about that, though… more shivers, and it had nothing to do with the frosty air that cold Oregon day.
For a summer that was sweltering hot… Nala spotted the nearest discount clothing store and decided today was the day she got a real rain jacket.
These other Oregonians could prance around in their wet hoodies all they wanted.
Nala preferred to not look like a drowned rat when she showed up for work.
She was perusing a rack of clearance coats much too big for her when she felt her phone buzz in her front pocket.
What the… She reached in, pulling out the ancient flip phone, and saw an unknown number in her texts.
The only reason she answered it at all was because it opened with, “Next club meeting this Friday night. Can you go?”
Right. She and Varen exchanged numbers on Sunday, although she hadn’t bothered to enter Varen’s into her phone because…
why would she ever text her? Call her? Whatever.
Besides, the last thing Nala wanted right now was to see Varen’s name every time she opened her phone.
After Sunday? All she could think about when she saw that woman’s name was the way Seba fucked the brains out of her girlfriend.
Nala turned her phone so she could painstakingly reply. “I work during the day. I get off at five. Tell Ravenwood he’ll have to wait for my lovely face if we need to be there before seven. ‘Cause that ain’t happening.”
She was in the checkout line with her new purchases when Varen replied. “Pick you up at six. I want to take you to dinner first. We need to talk.”
Of course she did. At least Nala was getting free food. “Sure.”
She was back on the sidewalk, wearing her new coat when she received an unexpected text. “Wear something sexier. We’re going to a sex club and are expected to dress the part.”
Nala stopped, nearly slipping on a patch of ice. “Excuse me?”
“You read that right. You’re going to be ogled by everyone there. To be fair, so will I.”
“I am so excited by this prospect. Unfortunately, I don’t have any hooker clothes and I left the cheap clothing store.”
“Those clothes won’t do you any good anyway. I will send you something. What size dress do you wear?”
Nala had yet to continue her journey home. “I’m suspicious of this, but I wear a size eight, petite. That last part is really important. I’m serious. Don’t buy me a tent with your fancy money. There will be room for us both in there and not in a fun way.”
“I will make sure it’s suitable for your body.”
Nala finally crossed the street and turned onto hers. “Black and purple are my best colors. Also, I need shoes. Size seven, wide. Go all out.”
That last part was sarcastic, although she knew that didn’t translate well in texts. Nevertheless, the final message she received from Varen that day said, “Got it. Dress, shoes, and anything else I think will work well. See you then.”
Nala put her phone back in her pocket and helped herself into the craftsman house.
Thankfully, Patrick wasn’t there, supposedly at his job, whatever it was this week.
They had another roommate, but Paula had spent the past month visiting family back east.
This meant Nala had the run of the house to herself, which didn’t mean much when none of it was hers aside from what was in that closet and what she kept in the kitchen and bathroom.
As cold as she was? A hot shower sounded delightful.
With nobody else home, she could take as long of one as she wanted. She let the steam fill the room while she undressed in front of the mirror and wove her long, dark hair into a tight bun. Her Cleopatra bangs continued to sweep across her forehead, but she would have to ignore those for now.
The hot water caressed her body the moment she stepped in.
For as gross as Patrick was in the living room, at least he kept the bathroom clean – probably because he never showered.
Nala didn’t care right now. Here, in the off-white world of bath products and running hot water, she could pretend that she lived in a real home of her own. A fantasy that didn’t exist very often.
That wasn’t the only fantasy she had in that shower.
She looked down, groaning as she noticed her nipples hardening beneath water droplets. Really, now is not the time, body. Or perhaps it was. She was alone in the house. Nobody would disturb her for as long as it took to get the job done. The hot water should last for a quickie…
None of that was the problem, anyway. The roadblocks standing in Nala’s way were completely, 100% mental.
It felt wrong to be aroused to the point of touching herself.
It felt disrespectful. To what? Her sister’s memory?
Surely, just because Tasha’s life was stolen from the earth didn’t mean Nala ceased to live and function.
Of course not, but Nala was so used to being focused on the endgame – namely, getting justice – that spending even ten minutes getting herself off was the most selfish thing in the world.
She should be plotting. She should be thinking about what she had learned so far from The Aviary.
Nala had lasted weeks, even months without an orgasm. What was different now?
Varen.
She didn’t want to think about it. About her.
That woman with her dangerously stoic demeanor, form-pleasing outfits, and that damned scent that made her smell like the billion dollars her company was worth.
Fuck my life. Nala was not a woman who fell for others like that.
Not even sexually. She had made it over twenty years without blubbering about or drooling over hot, rich assholes, so why would she start now?
This all started when she kissed me.
There was no passion in that kiss. Yet it woke something in her. Something tangible. Something dormant. Something so out of her fucking mind that here she was, standing against the shower wall as her hand traveled to her stomach, stopping short of her mound.
This is wrong. Who was she? Was she a woman in control of her body, her emotions? Or was she a horny, dumb girl in need of being punished?
Wait, what? Being punished?
There it was. A toxic image. A deliciously toxic image of Varen Lake unbuttoning the front of her burgundy shirt and easing Nala to bend over.
“You’re not supposed to be thinking about this, Nightingale,” she would say.
“You’re supposed to stay focused. Don’t succumb to such base desires.”
The Varen of her imagination caressed her naked body, touching her thighs and parting her nether lips with one expert finger.
When Nala realized she was the one touching herself, she thought… well, fuck it.
“I’m a gross pervert,” she mumbled, snatching the detachable showerhead and directing the harsh spray of water first on her breasts, then down to her mound.
She may be a gross pervert, but by all that was indecent in this world, she would be a sexually satisfied one.
“Oh, fuck,” she muttered, instantly awash in rising pleasure as the water pounded against her clit. Nala’s head tapped against the wall, eyes glazing over with steam before she finally closed them and gave herself over to the inevitable.
Not only sexual fantasies.
Sexual fantasies about Varen.
Who else was there to imagine? Nala had no crushes on anyone, man or woman.
It felt wrong to think of Seba. Besides, she wasn’t interested – just the act she performed on a happy Quail.
Nope. Nala’s thoughts belonged to Varen, the only one to have kissed her since one of the worst moments of her life.
Even though her kisses were cold, Nala knew there was life somewhere in there.
Varen exuded a confident energy whenever they were together.
She had pride. Desire. Blood, like any other healthy woman her age.
So much potential lurked in one woman. Even though she came off as focused and determined as Nala in their mission, she wasn’t going to write off her sexual prowess.
Surely, it was in there. Waiting for a reason to come out.
Waiting for her.
Nala was not a seductress. She barely knew how to flirt, mostly because she never cared to know. The people she dated approached her first. Sort of like Varen, who suggested they join hands before Nala even knew what she was about.
So now here she was, water spraying her clit while her other hand pinched her nipples and clawed at her face.
A healthy dose of need swelled within her.
Nala’s body was so starved for attention, for release, that for the first time in many, many months she allowed herself to think of nothing but a woman and the way she could make love.
Ha! Fuck lovemaking. Yes, yes, that was it.
She didn’t want lovemaking. She wanted fucking.
No strings attached sex that was all about the release, the thrill, the unknown she had yet to explore.
A strong, confident woman sucking her nipples, teeth grazing against them in a constant warning that Varen could bite if her sub stepped out of line.
Nala thought it was shower water at first.
Then she realized all the water was currently between her legs, and the wetness she felt beneath her eyes were tears.
Why was she crying? Was it the satisfaction of finally letting go of some of the misery bundled inside her?
Was it reuniting with what it meant to be a sexual creature?
Was it the reminder that there was a world of experiences outside of what she suffered in her short life?
Sometimes it was hard to imagine other people going about their lives while their fellow humans cried for affection.
Nala didn’t want to be swept off her feet and saved. She wanted…
I want to feel human again. I want to feel good.
It came now. Those foreign feelings of relief flooding her body as she began to orgasm.
Nala’s hand slammed against the wall as her knees buckled and her back threatened to slide down the wall behind her.
Her mind was nothing but pleasure. Blinding pleasure that she hadn’t experienced in such a long time, that she had almost forgotten existed.
The thing that helped the most was imagining Varen. She was a convenient stand-in for a partner. That and, well… Nala wouldn’t go there for now.
What was she doing? Tasting her? Her nipples? Her clit? No, that wasn’t enough. As orgasm spread through her, Nala’s fantasy became brazen to the point she imagined herself impaled against that wall, Varen’s fingers deep inside her and making her the kind of woman who did this sort of thing.
“Slut,” a voice in her head said. Was it hers? Was it Varen’s? Haha, who fucking cared?
“That’s right, I’m a fucking slut,” Nala muttered, dropping the showerhead and feeling it vibrate against the shower floor. The crash it created coincided with the end of her orgasm when reason returned and she realized what the hell she was doing.
Abashed, she stood there, kicking the showerhead so it no longer sprayed against the plastic liner. That wasn’t a mess she wanted to clean up later. Bad enough she had a mess going on in her head and loins.
As long as it stayed far away from her heart, she could deal with it. Not that Nala foresaw that being an issue. Her loins may be a lost cause, and her head may waver between logic and la-la-la-I’m-an-idiot, but her heart was most decidedly too cold to care about anything but Tasha.
To be fair, she surmised as she finished her shower, her heart probably needed the release too. Couldn’t be good for it to be so sad all the damn time.
Entry 5
We’ve been invited back to The Aviary. I’m almost afraid to go, because of the old feelings as of late. I had forgotten what it’s like to feel this… stirring, let alone for a woman in my presence.
I must tread carefully. I cannot lose sight of our goals.