Neglected Flame

The constant shimmer of shower water stops. The bath door slides open; the deep patter of wet foot falls on the bathroom mat. Then... silence. The door swings open illuminating a small corner of a much larger; darker room. The silent hiss of steam meeting the outside chilled air. A shadow is present on the adjacent wall; then the figure itself, stepping into view. Tall, wrapped in a wet towel, still dripping, emerging from the invisible fog. He wipes his head semi-dry; water splashing from his shoulder-length dark red hair. Both illuminated by the single, solitary light originating from the bathroom. He turns to an even darker corner of the room as if responding to a presence there. The sound of shifting bed sheets is heard; a strong whiff of perspiration hitting the air. A body silhouetted in shiny sweat laid on a bed outstretched as if beckoning. A smile comes across his face as he tosses his towel aside; his bareness reflecting off the full-length mirror that hangs behind. A woman is heard taking a deep breath of anticipation from the darkness as the male thrusts himself into that direction. The sudden jolts of bed springs fill the room. The sounds of bed sheets playfully flung too and fro is heard as constant rocking ensues soon after. Time passes. Positions change. More time passes. A sigh of disappointment. Silence.

A light on the nightstand clicks on. It begins again...

"What?!"

"I'm not in the mood anymore."

"Why?"

"I just don't feel like it anymore."

"But it's always like that damn-it!"

He tries to reach closer and show her his affection with a confidence-assuring hug as she pushes him away. He leaps from the warm bed into the frigid room in frustration to debate with an even colder woman. She laid there; arms crossed in front of her covering her well endowed body. He stood there; limp; arms waving in retaliation.

"Look, if you want to finish, ju, just go in the bathroom or something."

"I didn't come all the way up here to spend it in some freak'n bathroom! Goddamn-it!"

No answer.

"I thought we came up here to work things out."

Silence.

"Get away from the stress? ...Hello??!"

"I just don't feel like it now."

"You don't feel like it, ever! When it's with me anyway."

"Whatever..."

She reaches over to her pocketbook on the nightstand.

"Don't you dare take that out!!"

"And why not!? It's mine!"

"But I thought you didn't feel like it."

"I don't."

"So that's the way it's gonna be!? You get more out of that plastic than from me!"

She's Tinyoella. 23. Tina for short. An island girl living up to her exotic namesake with American passions. Often called the "Golden Child" by her family and friends due to her golden, curly hair; almost blonde, golden brown eyes and golden tanned skin with equally golden dreams. She's an aspiring writer and an ambitious student in the arts; perhaps too ambitious. Working part-time as a runway model and even nude model, she's still concerned with her failing figure; which isn't. Her only flaw is not that she's a drop-dead model, but that she knows she's a drop-dead model.

"Look, just go into the bathroom and do whatever it is you gotta do. O.K.! This is my business."

"Forget you then!!"

On goes the clothes even faster than he took them off and goes barging out of their room; the nightstand light clicking off seen under the slammed shut door. He bolts out the main lobby; adjusting his jacket to his body; on lookers doing just that. And jets out into the deserted parking lot. Lighting a cigarette then remembering his promise not to smoke again.

His name is Joshua. 22. An average joe with an not so average past. Barely a man, yet the deepness of his eyes speak volumes of his age. Sporting jet black hair, the sprouts of greys are due any day now. An easy going sort. Artistic, optimistic, usually striving for that which is just out of reach. Some day all that will change when one of his ventures finally pays off; some day.

"Yeah, the second one broken tonight.", he thought.

He strolled passed his car; a cream Mitsubishi; lost in thought. Then realized, should he take the car back into the city and leave her taking a cab? He throws the cigarette onto the ground, stomps on it... then jumps in.

And this is their story.

Speeding down the highway, lighting another cigarette, he thinks of his past three years; going on four; supposed to be. Thinking was it stupid of him to propose to her a month back. He thinks of her; regretting anything? His thoughts goes on far into the night; most not nice.

"I need some."

His venture ultimately takes him back to New York. Manhattan. 34th St. He enters a bar he hasn't been in over three years. A few heads turn; some not recognizing, some remembering, some not caring.

He talks to the bartender; Willie. Tall, stringy, dark tanned. Semi-flowing dark hair; green eyes glowing. Very fidgety when he's nervous and Joshua making him just that; having the bad habit of calling people by their twisted nicknames.

"Hey Billiam!, where's Greg?"

Glasses clang. He sucks his teeth in an informal manner, gives Joshua a complementary drink, a funny dirty look and goes in the back.

She walks in. Short, ivory skin, hazel eyes, chin-length bright red hair, small build. Tight short-sleeved blue sweater and gray gap jeans showing her best. And sockless low-top sneakers. Mouth watering. Her friend soon enters; tall, blonde, blue eyes; naturally. Fuller build shown by longer red sweater, tighter blue jeans and high-top sneakers - with socks. More open but less flirtatious than her smaller companion. They see a new face by the bar; Joshua. Needing to smile; he doesn't as they step forward. Claiming to be out-of-towners, they make small talk; the short one being more aggressive of the two. They ask him; being a 'local' boy; to show them the town. Already assuming that he's local; which he still is; he can see this coming a mile away: Hotel card keys drop on the counter. Room 36 on the 6th floor; Pennsylvania Hotel right next door. Local boy should know where it it. 10:00 she said.

"I'm Christie, this be Jona."

"This might not be a wasted trip.", he wonders.

The card keys are pocketed as another approaches. Male. It's Greg. Short, thin but with a heavy build. Dark complexion. Brown, shoulder-lengthed braids. Spoke with command; always sporting a deep, monotoned voice. Christie quickly scribbles her number onto a laid out napkin and leaves.

"It's been forever, son!", Greg greets. "I see you haven't changed a bit."

Greg giving the departing couple an odd stare with his squinty eyes thinking of their leaving being related to his presence. Then happily turns to Joshua. He doesn't ask about his significant other. Swinging, grabbing, pulling, beating, patting, grunting; a guy's greeting. They chat, laugh, talk of old times.

The bar phone rings right beside them. Greg grabs the phone and speaks with the other person for sometime; a look of suspicion on Joshua's face. Time passes. Greg begins to hand the phone over to Joshua; the gesture being obvious. Only one person would know that he could be there; Joshua thought. He hates being predictable. Joshua hands the receiver back shaking his head. No. Greg craftfully invents a story while jotting down a phone number on the same napkin with the girls' number. Joshua twirls in his stool waiting for that moment. Greg hangs up.

"Eliza...", Greg only stated; gesturing to call back; smiling.

"What time?", Joshua responds.

Greg simply points to the napkin.

"Where?". Joshua asks again.

Greg repeats his previous gesture; smirking.

Joshua deep in thought; confused; indecisive; lost. He swipes the napkin with both numbers scratched on it and strolls out; Greg calling to him.

"I'll call you later before you get off, O.K." ...the reply.

Joshua exits into the busy street; eyes on napkin. Wondering about his Tina. Should he cheat? He should for she may be with the bellboy and the maid or still playing with her rubber friend at that very moment, he thought. He crumbled the sheet in his palm and marched on.

10:00 pm. This is the moment. By a side street she stood; promising everything unholy about lust. With her long body and jetted chin-length hair, tear-away pink top and cut-off blue shorts, wearing the sandals from her loft. Joshua greeted Eliza.

"Hello Ella..."

She sucked her teeth and smiled.

She took him by the hand and like a lost puppy or a virgin boy, she lead him in. A flashy hotel. Up to the 7th floor; relaxing elevator music. Room 23. He took a deep breath. A loud click of the opening door. They enter a dark, cold room. Air conditioner booming. The room stays dark. He can hear clothing, under the noise of his breathing, slip off and hit the floor. He is grabbed; ruggedly. She takes him into her. He could feel her teeth; grinding. Crackling of saliva continue for several moments. He's thrown onto the bed; almost missing it. A candle is lit; her bareness glowing in its gold. She soon joins him; rolling in bed. Scratching and clawing. Neighbors listening. All tensing; growing tighter; engorged.

Limbs become entangled. Fingers explore bare bodies. Every inch blessed by tongue. Toe to head; somehow getting lost in the middle. A long awaited feast begins. Loud exhales are heard. Fingers probe deeper. First one, then two, then more. Moans transform into screams. Wrists are squeezed by lips. Buttons are licked. Juices flow. Flesh is scratched. Blood flows. Bronze bodies tingle at the drop of melted wax. A joined motion everlasting. Two souls becomes one. Positions change. They are still one. Dominating and submitting trading places. Trusting vigoruously. Bodies tight, intensifying. Satisfying. She rides. He succumbs. Her nails along his chest. His hands on hers. Gripping. Squeezing. She drowns him. He does his best to swim well. Almost washed away. Waves almost overwhelming. Like a coming storm with no eye; no calm. It rages long into the night. Violent. Shattering. The surrounding do not remain in one piece. The vessile they ride ravaged in the tides.

He looks up at his African princess ride and sway wildly. Primal. She looks down at her Aztec warrior flex and heave madly. Relentless. Two athletic husks dance to a carnal tune. Rhythmic. Incredible. She digs her claws into him. He wraps his hands around her throat. Each trying to conquer the other. Her back arches. He pierces her very being. She sucks his very soul. Eyes roll into the back of skulls. The screams are heard. Their vessile crashes; runs aground. Candle dying down; wax melted; mostly covering their bodies. He begins to pulsate. Sends her souring. The candle dies. The bed in tatters. Sheets soaked from the storm. The sun comes; lighting the room. He holds her tightly within his embrace. Smiles on both tired faces. Moisture soak their battered bodies. Sunlight bouncing off a tufted of golden brown hair hanging from under the jetted black wig laying lopsided on her sleeping head. Joshua begins to wake...

"Thanks Tina..."

Sometimes only a new flame can breath life to a dying fire...