SCS(CP): A Tower in the Sky

 

* Chapter One *


 

It was about thirty minutes to last call, when I gracelessly stumbled my way out of the VIP balcony section, and all my hard partying throughout the night had finally caught up to me.

I felt the oncoming negative effects of my indulgence approaching and I wanted to leave as soon as possible. My head was swimming and my stomach was tumbling, I scanned for the nearest exit, and I soon noticed the double doors I had entered earlier that night, they were far on the other side of the massive dance floor.

Looking at the daunting sea of people between me and the door, I cringed. Nevertheless, I paused to take a couple of deep breaths to settle my stomach for the journey.

Earlier that night I had decided to grace the dance floor with my presence, as I had always been exponentially charismatic, with this magnetic pull that easily caused people to become enamored with me. Most wouldn’t assume, but I was always a rhythmically sensual dancer and that always attracted competition when the beat drops.

 

Approaching daringly, was this Asian beauty, with bright strawberry pink hair. It was cut and styled in an asymetrical bob, shorn higher in the back, no doubt it was real with the way she swung it in that pussy cat doll-esque way girls do. It was clear she wanted to battle, and I would only be too happy to oblige.

Almost serendipitous, the dance floor had cleared, giving us the full attention of the house. Exotically nimble in the way she moved, it was clear she possessed some skills, but she was no match for the likes of me. I threw my leg up in a standing side split, and dropped to the floor with a bounce, mercilessly putting her to shame. As she slipped away back to whatever hole she had crawled from, I grabbed the nearest cigar girl, she was carrying a drink tray, so I told her to send a bottle of champagne to the losing female in a show of good sportsmanship. I then proceeded to give the crowd an encore solo performance, that set the upcoming night ablaze. Unfortunately for me, I was in no shape at the present to perform any similar feats, but I knew a bitch like me wouldn’t have to.

The DJ tonight was on fire, playing just the right mix to get everyone entranced, the energy of the crowd below gave me a numbing rush of euphoria as I continued to make my way down the steps that led from the VIP balcony to the crowded floor below. As soon as I touched down on the bottom platform, people took notice, and like Moses parting the Red Sea, the crowd separated like gliding water, everyone splitting off in tandem.

*These bitches better pay homage* I snidely mused, as I ‘Naomi Campbell’ walked my way across the dance floor just as the intro to Rihanna’s “Diamonds” mixed smoothly with the previous song.

The heavy bass thumped so loudly the vibrations could be felt in my feet, or maybe I was so fucked up that hallucinations were setting in. The people, in hysterics, began to fill the floor in the space behind me as I strut my way towards the exit.


*Damn, that last blunt fucked me up. If I didn’t roll that tree myself I’d have bet money they laced the shit… damn!* The pounding of the music so loud, I could barely hear those last few thoughts, as I stumbled my way out through the double doors hastily.

The silence outside the establishment was as deafening as the indoors. I swayed on an unsteady foot, almost falling face first, as my head began to spin.

*Clearly, I’ve had one too many.. time to go!*

I passed the club marquee that read ‘Elysium’ in big bold blue lettering, it truly was the newest exclusive hotspot in the manhattan nightlife. Anyone who’s anyone wanted to be there, most people waiting hours in line just to get in. My father was friends with an investor of the owners, plus I now, after all these years, finally have privilege to reap the benefits of his vast fortune and what used to be my pristine reputation. Obviously, that came with special perks and privileges with the club, my new found infamy had also garnered me a few headlines on page six in the Post.

“My car, with haste please.” I requested to the nearest staff member, as I walked up to uniformly dressed valets.

They were waiting around for the rush of patrons that were soon to stampede from the club at last call, and only peasants are the last to leave the club, staying any later would be beneath me. Plus I was roaring drunk, so much so, I had to pause when my vision doubled momentarily. I took a few sobering deep breaths as my mind tried to clear away the liquor induced haze that plagued me. The valet replied rudely, without even looking up from his smartphone, I could only stare.

“You got your ticket?”

I guess I took a tad too long to respond, possibly because his rudeness had shocked me, this pause caused his patience to thin and his tone changed to one of clear derision. He loudly sighed in exasperation, before he continued on in front of the other valets dismissively.

“No ticket, no Ride.. You gonna be calling an Uber or hitting the subway home kid?!”

*This ghetto, bridge and tunnel, bitch! Either he’s really new, or really dense, he apparently doesn’t have any idea just who the fuck I am.*

I inner monologued this to myself of course, because I already had enough on my plate, I didn’t need to make a scene, on top of that. Frequenting other clubs, I had thought it was widely known that patrons with concierge service never receive a valet ticket, We PAY our drivers to wait for us! Someone who works here, would definitely find it in the best of their interest to know that little bit of information. Just as I was about to reply crudely in my state of intoxication, the bouncer posted outside overheard this brief colloquy. Recognition of who I was immediately registered on his face, prompting him to step in hastily, to prevent anymore damage.

“Mr. Ellison, your driver should be here any moment with your limo. It was so good to have you with us again and Thank you so much for your… Your patience, sir.”

I gave a slight nod in response, signaling an end to the conversation, with an about face. While I looked down the street for the arriving limousine, I watched through my peripheral vision as he grabbed the employee roughly by the arm, briskly pulling him to the side, no doubt about to raise hell. When people are as rich and powerful as my father is, me by extension of course, they tend to automatically expect things. The job of ‘the help’, is to recognize our littlest of needs, immediately, and in response, they should accommodate any frivolous request as expeditious as possible, showing the utmost respect to them in the process. Not doing so could cost you your job or worse, I have seen far too many lose their whole lives, for offenses far less obtuse. I overlooked this one instance, as I already had an overabundance of issues burdening my mind, at least those that hadn’t been numbingly wiped clear by the heedless amount of alcohol I consumed that night.

An ivory VIP chrome stretch Expedition, pulled up to stop right in front of me, exiting the vehicle was my bodyguard Ti’Hatcha. Standing at an athletically lean six four, the thirty eight year old American Samoa behemoth, squeezed his way out of the front passenger seat of the vehicle. With a handsome face that belied his age, his raw sienna complexion looked smooth and even toned. His hair was cut low, waving effortlessly. His onyx colored eyes, were able to speak entire sentences with a glance, as a result he never said much.

Straightening his charcoal custom Italian suit he stepped forward, gave a nod to the bouncer in front of the club before approaching him to discreetly slide a several hundred dollar tip, while dapped up in a silent greeting.

He returned to the vehicle and gave me a more thorough once-over before we departed, after seeing the state of the condition I was in, he opened the door for me. Noticing his scrutiny, I turned to face him as I entered. The empathic look he gave me said all I needed, to decipher the thoughts that plagued his mind, I only shook my head as I sat down on the cream leather seat.

Once he entered the vehicle, he gave signal for the driver to depart. He gave one more quick apprehensive look back at me, my body, it was now curled up into the fetal position as I laid across the back seat. He’d seen me in this condition very few times throughout my twenty five years of existence, definably not the norm for children of the elite. Most of these kids get into as much drugs, as the endless pockets of their parents money can buy them, then they spend three months on vacation at a ‘Spa rehabilitation facility’ after a slap on the wrist from a judge.


Before this, the most I engaged in was light social drinking and casual usage of Mary Jane ‘mother of grace’. The emergence of my drinking problem, a recent trend ever since the start of the trial, it meant things were taking more of a toll on me then I thought possible. Luckily the club didn’t allow paparazzi near the premises or I’d be all over the front page of the Daily news, the New York Post, and every financial News/blog website across the net. For Jynx Ellison, newly revealed son of Multi billionaire Larry Ellison, to be carrying on like a drug and drink induced socialite would be like throwing grease on the fire of an already impending mega scandal; My father’s many international investors would scatter like roaches when the lights come on.

I was set to take over the family estate, and all the fortunes that came with it, being his only child remotely interested in carrying on the family legacy. My other two half siblings were too interested in the Hollywood machine to care about any business my father ran, so that only left me. His half breed love child conceived by his long time Black American mistress, quite possibly the only true love of his carefully orchestrated life.

My mother, now known as Mrs. Vandela Ellison since the recent nuptials, met my father in college, when they both were in their early twenties. This love affair began during the sixties and segregationist sentiments were still the norm. His bigoted parents would have died and met their maker if he had introduced them to his caramel colored love. They considered race mixing to be betwixt murder and pedophilia, when it came to forbidden sins, but he refused to live without her, even throughout his four failed fraudulent marriages.

I was born around the finalization of his second messy divorce, he quickly took action putting mother and my newborn self up in one of his many high rise properties, on the island of Manhattan. Keeping us discretely held up in our own personal little Gitmo, the thick of the city, the best place to hide us.

As the vehicle came to a stop in front of the aforementioned skyscraper, my already queasy stomach lurched tumultuously. Like Mt Vesuvius, my stomach erupted viciously, expelling the entire day of contents it held, all over the limo floor.

“Hmpf..grr.uhh. Clean.. Clean this shit…[hiccup]…up!” Struggled its way out of my mouth incoherently as I exited, quickly trying to avoid the fetid odor that contaminated the luxurious cabin of vehicle, lest I erupt again.

Following me into the building, Ti’Hatcha had a clean sanitizer wipe ready, he began wiping my mouth as if I were some drooling dribbling toddler. I gave a quick swipe, knocking the nuisance of his mothering hands away, I cautiously stumbled toward the elevator doors that would take me upstairs to my modern day Bastille. The doors opened and I entered the spacious elevator, it had a glass window overlooking the city, and under the dark starlit sky, the lights looked like we were among the stars in the sky, rising up.

Directly under the window, was a glass bench that had been built along the back wall, as we often entertain ‘Old Money’ … In literal sense, the type that can barely move around without a breathing tank. At the moment, I was thankful for it though, taking to the seat hastily. Ti’Hatcha entered behind me, pressing for the secondary penthouse below the crowning suite, in a building of over fifty stories. He also pressed the button for his quarters that were quite comfortable, just a few floors down from my own. He decided to stand, as the elevator softly hummed to life, the smooth momentum began to rise at a steady unfelt pace. As sat in wait, I took the few fleeting minutes to think of tomorrow’s merciful end to this dreadful trial.

I couldn’t believe that snake of a judge had let a little weasel like Jerry testify before the jury. The lies he spewed from his mouth, brought everything to a stalemate, and now who knows what way the dice could fall. I was feeling optimistic before this recent ‘Hail Mary’ play by the district attorney, my Defense Team objected, but they were denied by that abhorrent Judge Clark. I swear, he must of been bribed with the shit he let carry on the in the courtroom yesterday, giving the last punch before the jury was to deliberate. My team tried their best to fix things, and I trust them, they were the best in the business and exclusively contracted to me and the family. For the jury to be in a state of discord, causing a mistrial, would be fantastic for a possible outcome, but they seem like they could go in either direction on this.

We came to stop at Ti’Hatcha’s floor, he gave me a look that showed the compassion of an emphatic older brother or father figure. I scoffed at his sentimental offerings but he took hold of my arm and yanked me up into a crushing hug, I knew he would do any and everything to protect me from harm. He’s watched over me for the past 16 years, and has protected me from so many mortal dangers, I’d never be able to truly put a price on what he does to compensate accordingly. We released and he turned to exit, leaving me to continue on upstairs.

I retook my seat on the bench to keep my composure for the rest of my ascent, more thoughts of my life and how I got to this point plagued me. I recalled every intricate detail of my youth and the demons that had always haunted me.

Looking around, I thought about how I have always despised how beautiful the penthouse, and accompanying suites, looked. Almost entirely superficial, it was carefully crafted and designed, to perpetuate the fraudulence of our lives. Meticulously decorated by mother, while showcasing a stunning view of Central Park, spanning onto most of the inner city of the island, It had been recently photographed in an editorial spread for some popular home decor magazine. who cares, it was all fake and entirely fucking fraudulent..

The bleak reality of the situation was that this grandiosely decorated urban palace, was just a glorified prison. Locked away in secret for years we lived here, while father entertained his many ‘showcase’ families. You know the kind, amenable flaxen haired Caucasian wives and picturesque alabaster children. During those years, They truly enjoyed the lavish lush lifestyle my father was able to maintain in ways I never could have imagined at the time. While on the contrary, our lives in turn were truly antipodean to the ones his showcase families experienced.

Easy to pacify and pamper, he kept mother financially satiated, while I was to be kept preoccupied by rigorous homeschooling, under guidance of the best Tudors the world had to offer. More often than not these individuals were condescending, patronizing, and jaded by their lives of carnivorous intellectualism. I was kept in social isolation from others, to give fathers cultivated image the picture of perfection, he bought our silence and gestures of love, with plenty of fanciful trips and shopping sprees, who knows what she does with the money, I know she spends it that’s for sure.

Trips, money, isolation and education, Thus was how I was groomed, to be the elitist pompous arrogant cut throat maverick clone my father so desired and required. But alas, there’s one thing I believe slipped past his astute radar. What dear old daddy dearest didn’t seem to realize is that when it came to me, he spawned an upgrade. I was exponentially more rapacious than he could have anticipated, I often found myself proficient in the practice of sophistry and chicanery to get whatever I wanted from the people around me. I excelled through my home schooling, graduating high school at 15 with my upper education at UNI completed two months before my twentieth birthday, I was the next coming…

Then, the real lessons of life began. Not long after I graduated, Father started to bring me into the fold. It started with simple board meetings at the family owned global corporate entity known as ‘Oracle’, then progressed to sitting in on his business deals with superpowers such as the Saudi Arabians, the Japanese, the Russians, and the Chinese. That was child’s play to me and things quickly excelled into conducting the conniving back door dealings with the affluent men and women of the global cultural homogeneity, forcing me to learn swiftly that one must live in near absolute apostasy to make it in a world such as this. I was made for this life, or so I thought..

At twenty one years old, I officially took over the operations of the more unsavory transactions and dealings for Oracle Co. and its associates, I could navigate in the back channels most wouldn’t dare travel. I was given status and influence, a well paid position in my father’s company where I’d carry out lite espionage missions, other things: Supervisory detail over the weapons manufacturing companies while making sure our non partisan indentures with the United States government, the black market arms dealers, and other unscrupulous characters were kept individually discreet, securely isolated; Maximum financial benefit was to be reached in all transactions.

I oversaw operations internationally as well, keeping a short leash on the pharmaceutical companies who had tendency to let their avaricious aspirations get the better of them. I never understood their need to experiment haphazardly with deathly contagious viruses or diseases, countless times I’ve had to clean up incidents of outbreak in the deregulated 3rd world. The back door dealings with politicians father had we’re as a result of my contacts obtained through several counts of blackmail and extortion. Among the many invaluable lessons from father I’ve learn, the power of secrets may be the most exemplary, the hobby of collecting secrets reaped many benefits money can never buy.

Around the primaveral of last year, things took an ill fated turn for the worse. I had just returned to the United States from the war torn country of Syria, things in the Middle East were falling apart and I truly believed that was bad business for everyone. Father and his conglomerates didn’t see things that way, they felt there was always money to be made in wartime. Against the wishes of my father, I took it upon myself to supply refugees, which exclusively included only civilian woman and children, with rational provisions. Things like medical supplies, and protective body armor, purposely too small to fit most men. In the weeks following my return, the Syrian rebels had won decisive battles while curbing the skyrocketing death count of Syrian civilians. The stock market reacted wildly, to the short lull of peacetime, with several market rallies throughout the week. Investors in oil and exports won big, while tech and weapons manufacturing depreciated value, bleeding for a full six days.

Father was absolutely livid when he learned of my involvement, my own discrete independent ventures coming to light, when I had thought I was so clever in covering my tracks. I expressed my loyalty, citing previous incidents when I made deals with the devils of the world all for his financial benefit, and he didn’t have a problem then, “Make a choice and seal the deal” he always said before this.. You don’t obtain a net worth of 41 billion USD with out stealing candy from a few babies. He hinted at lingering disappointment in my compassion for what he referred to as “the sheep”, or in polite company he used ‘peasants’, presumably meaning the 94% of the population struggling out there.

He went on to tell me his anger was the least of my problems, seems that I infuriated someone up near the top of the capitalist food chain, in this case, one even higher on the ladder than us. I had messed up a deal worth a few billion, and they wanted payback. I wasn’t told what retaliation would take place, but father claimed he’d handle negotiations personally. I was now his favored son, the only capable heir to his legacy. With my future in jeopardy, I had no choice but to place all trust in my father.

A few days had passed without incident, I continued contact with my father through my head PA, who also doubled as my defense and corporate attorney. My father was always traveling and I often joked about how he lived on his private Jet, it was modeled discreetly after Air Force One but albeit extravagantly more sumptuous. He rarely ever touched ground anymore and since mother finally got the marital commitment she so coveted, I seldom saw her as well. So it was only fitting that we meet for brunch, since we happen to be in same general vicinity of the world to each other.

We chose to rendezvous, at a quaint cafe she favored in SoHo, For all I know she may have owned it. Mothers financials were the only one I had no interest in, it was separate from fathers, there was no use in delegating nor keep tabs on it. She had her own investments and made the smart choices to earn everything she had acquired. Especially, after patiently waiting all those long years for father to finally wizen up when they made it, damn near, to the ripe old age of seventy before he made her something official.

I arrived by limo to the destination chosen, with Ti’Hatcha shadowing me, as the host escorted me inside. I noticed immediately the place was perfect for two or more people to assemble discreetly. We headed towards the back and found the whole back right corner section of tables blocked by an assortment of her bodyguard detail, more than I usually recall seeing and it made me uneasy. From the distance I took gauge of my mother’s lithe frame, she was the ideal picture of a modern wealthy woman of color. Her medium brown skin seem untouched by the unforgiving hands of age, retaining the supple and mature youth of her early forties at the ripe old age of sixty seven, she was wearing a pastel blue and yellow colored blouse, a pencil skirt silhouette hugged her body to give it just the hint of sexual incitement.

Her personality was always a bit introverted, her gaze always calculating, she’d never be accused of being the handsie-feely type but she always let it be known how much she loved me.

She signaled for the guards to let me through, so I could join her at the elegantly dress table, and Ti’Hatcha following suite to stand three feet to my side, silent and attentive as always. I leaned over the table to kiss her on the cheek, before I took my seat. Her hair was meticulously pressed until it was bone straight, cascading down her bust line to cradle her breasts. Mother always had a stunning face, her honeyed chestnut brown eyes gave a luminescent glow to her ebony skin. I inherited the full defined lips she wore upon her face, the Cupid bow prominent atop a plump set of lips. She looked at me lovingly, but I read something foreboding behind her eyes. After gallant pleasantries, she cut right to business, as the waiter that just served us drinks departed.

“Jynx, you don’t have any IDEA what your little stunt has burdened your father with, he’ll have to make tremendous sacrifices to appease them, you’ve caused billions in damages. It seems you interrupted a deal with the US and Russia over aid to the Syrian people, it has also upset lucrative investments many of these people have made internationally. They’ve negotiated and debated about what needs to be done to rectify the offenses, but it seems your little expenditure to the Syrian rebels has pissed off a certain elite career Political Advisor. I’ve heard through the vine, that he is a leading member of this illustrious club of power players.. he’s demanding reparations for offenses made and money lost”

“What was the damage to father’s wallet?” I tentatively asked, dreading the insurmountable amount that could be asked for.

“They denied monetary compensation, as I said deliberations have already been made, and contracts have already been signed.”

“Ok, so what do they request for reparations?” I asked, bracing myself for what public embarrassment they’d bestow. *I see they wish to flog me in the square…* I remembered thinking.

“They’ve brought up charges against you for money laundering, espionage, and treason. Your father has conditioned that you receive due process. So there is a chance we can get you off th.”

“Charges?!.. What the hell! So there’s a chance that I can actually get sent to prison? Like a real federal penitentiary? Those charges are federal, this isn’t some Martha Stewart shit! What the fuck is he thinking?!” I raised my voice, losing myself to the despair the news I received was causing. She eyed me stonily and reprimanded in a voice sharp as a blade but hushed almost to a whisper.

“Clam down, don’t you dare cause a scene.” She said in an even, deadly serious tone. “You’ll ruin all the plans I’ve set forth. Your grandmother promised me this legacy on her dying bed, god damn it. Keep composure of yourself and know that your role in the scheme of things will be revealed in due time..”

She often spoke vaguely of things of that sort, never elaborating on what that legacy promised was or what grandmother had said. It must have been more than financial gain, as she came from money before even meeting my father, the blood through her veins inherited from a wealthy ancestry. My grandmother was descent from a premier family of freed slaves, early before Abolition was even a whisper, they became so wealthy to the point they were able to buy out their former masters estate, and many of his peers along the coast.

“Why would father sell me out like this? Is all of that truly necessary?” I paused, as something came to me. “Also, wouldn’t the media circus of a trial damage father’s reputation and investments? He cares more about his reputation than our very own lives, why would he let such events unfold?”

As I softly inquired her, the thoughts of how I’d finally received karmic justice for all my perfidious past transgressions crossed my mind. She reached her tender hand over to touch my own, and stroked her thumb across my knuckles.

“I know you have doubts but things will turn in your favor soon. You have a power in your namesake, blood and mind, that comes across this world once in a hundred lifetimes. You are a modern day prince my son and one day you’ll have to slay many kings to ascend to your rightful throne..”

She reach up, stroking my face softly as she confessed those words as tho she was reciting a story she already heard, from a movie already seen. I stopped a tear from escaping my eyes, maintaining the dignity and pride she expected of me.

“Ready to get this over with?”

She stated as I saw the bodyguards, now revealed to be undercover FBI agents; they began closing in around me. I quickly motioned for Ti’Hatcha to stand down, as he searched my eyes for any sign I wished to flee, and go renegade. I had accepted my fate and let them take me, I still believed father’s word, trusting that he wouldn’t let anything happen to me. They took me downtown and you could have almost said my bail was paid before I even was booked, being in and out of the police station in under two hours. The press picked up the story and the impending media storm began, and many of the them stalked me wherever I went, going through drastic measures to get a sound bite or photo.

The DA pushed for an acceleration of the trial date, it was easy to assume they were trying to make an example out of me. One thing I knew for sure was, they’ll never take me without a fight. Even though I trusted father to handle things, I wasn’t going to just acquiesce to a system built by the plutocratic crooks I’ve made an insurmountable amount of money for in the last few years. I knew the duplicitous deeds ALL of these motherfuckers engaged in, Even those as high up as the Oval! I also had the proof to back it up, different duplicates stashed in various locations. I just had to discover the head of the snake and all this mess could finally be over, I put my team to ferment around the task of just that.

This elusive politician father is dealing with must be a powerful man indeed, to make the third richest man in the country and 8th in the world take an ass fuck of deal such this, takes immeasurable influence. All I needed was a name and I could light the fuse to a bomb that would be their lives after I was through with retaliation.

The trial started 3 weeks before the winter solstice and I couldn’t help the solicitous feelings as they began to institute the legal proceedings, it was in my favor that New York has closed hearings. The news networks weren’t happy about the restricted access and in turn pried further and further into my private life, the most they could pull up was that I was a gay male and that my father had me out of wedlock. He’s married to my mother now, so that glossed the later over, my sexuality also not an issue because I always had an androgynous beauty and many had probably speculated about my sexuality already. My face made great for the papers and propaganda magazines, splashed with their dramatically salacious headlines manipulating the opinions of the masses with every new detail.

Unfortunately for investigative journalists and police detectives, my miscreant misdeeds were so covered up that nothing incriminating could be found and just like that, mass opinion on the case changed with the public. We exploited that during the jury selection and My defense team was lethally offensive after the first few days of litigation, in which the prosecution laid out their case. Quickly undermining the prosecution, with barrage after barrage of attack on the credibility of their evidence against me. They didn’t have anything remotely concrete, and the DA was running out of tricks. The jury was starting to visibly respond, showing a heightening agitation to the prosecutors ineptitude. After a two day recess that coincided with whatever cash cow ‘holiday’ that was being exploited for monetary gain was occurring, we returned two days before the new year.

Upon returning, the DA seemed to have a new swagger in his step, it came with a matching shit eating grin. He motions to bring a surprise witness to the stand, my team of course objected, but only to deaf ears. The DA called in his mystery witness, it was my father’s accountant, Jerry Goldstein, who had always handled our large transfers to overseas accounts. He was sworn in and cross examined by the prosecution. That bastard proceeded to give an alleged first hand account of me embezzling from several of my fathers companies and charities (which definitely wasn’t true), and allegedly sending that money overseas to fund insurgents and terrorists with weapons.

This had a definitive impact on the jury, who for the first time seemed to look at me with a skeptical and mistrusting eye. My defense, when cross examining the witness, effectively exploited the holes in Mr. Goldstein’s story but the damage had already been done. After each side gave their respective closing arguments the jury’s deliberations began. That was three days ago, and early last night we received message that the jury had reached a decision, the verdict would be read first thing the following morning.

The elevator made a chiming sound that signaled I had finally arrived at my destination, it broke me out of my moment of reminiscence. Thou merely minutes, it had felt like hours had past on this ascent. Feeling the sickening dizziness of my earlier transgressions reemerge antagonistically, I quickly exited into the foyer that was decorated with Romanesque stylings. I headed straight for my sleeping quarters, running to my bathroom before I mistakenly started spewing chunks onto the Persian rugs that line my bedroom.

Pinning my hair up as I ran, I made it to the toilet just as the next convulsion began and I let loose violently into the porcelain bowl; I cradled the seat as I made my last few dry heaves. Slowly I dragged myself to my feet and began to strip down until I was fully disrobed. As I walked into my waterfall shower, I pulled a shower cap over my pinned up hair. I hit the preset button and began to feel the perfectly temperate fluid cascade down my body. A Shea butter infused moisturizing soap was dispensed from a nondescript chrome panel on the wall and I rubbed it in, to wash the grime and distress of my day away.

*this could be one of my last normal showers for next few years* I morbidly thought.

I cut the water flow and hit the flash dryer, after being air dried thoroughly I stepped out and stood in front of the full length mirror. I pulled the shower cap off and unpinned my hair, it fell down to middle of my back.

*I’m glad I had good sense to preserve my blowout for tomorrow or I would have walked into the courtroom looking like a tore up Diana Ross!* I mused, as I pinned it back up for bed.

As I brushed my even white teeth, I took note of my smooth buttery light tanned skin with its hue of high yellow as an undertone, I soon strayed over to the full length.

*I seriously need a tan, I’m so bright.. Ugh*

My regal anglo features were inherited by my father and softened androgynously by my mother’s exotically distinct african genetically traits. My mysterious almond shaped dark jade and hazel eyes were a tell tale sign of my paternal parentage, erasing any doubt of who sired me. The heavily defined cupid’s bow that topped my luscious lips, displayed my mother’s strong genetic influence on my features. Fencing and tennis ensured my body was athletically toned but pliantly soft in all the right places, my thick and shapely lower half giving me a dangerous silhouette to behold.

I just sighed, as I finished brushing my straight white teeth and rinsed, getting sick of looking at my own reflection. Exhaustedly, I headed to my custom double king size bed, falling with a plop. I quickly nodded off with the hope that the sanctuary of my dreams eased my spirits.

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3 Comments Add yours

  1. Sir Tiggy of Smalls says:

    Ti’Hatcha puts me in the mindset of Samoan singer, J Boog.

    A force of nature embodied in a human whose presence is palpable.

    You do not want to make any sudden movements. Despite his size…he would be formidable in a battle and quite agile.

    So, this seems to be an origin of Jynx from Spy the Grace of God. Shall be interesting.

    Spy the Grace of God must be far in the future, as I imagine Jynx being on trial would take precedent over Cydnee deciding on a location for a retreat.

    I wonder if anyone else will show up…

    Liked by 1 person

    1. You are very correct in your observation of the timeline, SCS takes place before the events of SGG. As always, thanks for taking the time to comment, I appreciate your perspective on my stories 🙂

      Like

    2. Actually all the stories in ‘Macrocosm of the Golden Scrolls’ are intertwined in the same Literary Universe

      Liked by 1 person

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