Years had passed since Zachary's argument with his mom, and still the memory burned itself deeply in my mind. He had left without a word or a clue as to where he'd go; he just vanished into obscurity leaving us broken and terrified of his whereabouts. I hadn't the faintest idea of where he could have gone, neither had anyone explained to me the circumstances under which he left. Lisa admonished herself at having run her son from under her roof and offered little in explanation as to why she'd made the choice she did. No amount of poking or prodding would make her budge, and the passage of time felt painful missing my older brother. I grew bitter resentments expecting a call, a letter, of a visit from Zachary; but it became abundantly clear his coldness extended to me, as well.
What had I done? Was it my little spectacle that drove him away? Was I too assuming that we'd had similar desires? The embarrassment had stripped me of my confidence. Anger and uncertainty grew the corners of my mind until its insidious tendrils had wrapped around my waking thoughts; it was this state of mind that prevailed for the last five years. That anger had not and could not be directed at Zachary, it was directed at me. I had begged myself to release him from my memory and enjoy the love of other men. Yet, with all my persistance and effort, my heart belonged to him. It had came to the point I felt numb. No heights of emotion stirred affection in me even with the best lover, nor dissapoint could drag me to hell. Zachary had taken more than his belongings when he left, he'd taken the better portion of my heart. Dear reader, how can one feel something when there is nothing to feel with?
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Five years had come and gone; the procession of time ceaseless in its torture. My twenty third birthday was nothing remarkable, and I had spent it alone going through the motions of little tasks I had set for myself to evade the abyss I had so desparately wanted to embrace. It was a sunny afternoon, and it struck me a pleasant idea to go to the bar I had often frequented with friends. Changing into a loose white tee shirt and form fitting, low-rise jeans a cheeky thought crossed my mind. Should I wear a thongs that peaks from waist of my pants? Not only had I thoroughly liked that aesthetic, it pleased me deeply to be a tease. I exist as an illusion, a goal to be obtained, something just out of reach.
The sexual thrill that reverberates in my chest when I see a man's sexual frustration write itself upon his face is far more delicious than the orgasm itself. It seduces and consumes him, begging for release only for me to deny or allow. The tension between two bodies is as palpable as the dull throb in jeans. The heat growing from a slow ember to a raging fire in my swollen cunt feels like liquid electricity in my veins.
The breeze was warm and the air was sticky with a potent fragrance of summer, which called for a night of excessive fun and debauchery. To talk, to play, to flirt was just practice for me; these men where rocks for me to sharpen the blade of mental wit on. Not a single one possessed the qualities to win my heart. I rounded the corner with eager anticipation for what the night held in store for me. I reached Paddy's, a local bar that my friend group had decided to call home for the last couple of months. It was walking distance all the lastest clubs and intrigues of the city, but relaxed enough that I could manage to hear every third word of a sentence to glean the intention of a conversation. In short, it was fun. It was a cornerstone of my youth, a second home where my heart roamed free. I could know people for the night or for the season, it made no difference to me. They would come to learn I cared little for consequence unless it stirred in me a challenge.
The hour grew late and I had flirted and drank the night away, but I could not shake this feeling of being watched. Which dark corner could I explore; which booth should I look under; which shoulder should I tap for the hungry gaze to reveal itself? Someone more skilled a hunter than I lurked about in the crowd of bodies, and it heightened my intrigue. Suddenly from the periphery of my vision an imposing visage made itself clear. A tall, dark, handsome man of about thirty stood leaning against the bar resting his cheek in his palm with an amused grin growing on his face. His handsome face wore a five o'clock shadow and a brooding pair of eyes that sat recessed under his intimidating brow. A tight black shirt hugged his chest and arms suggesting a charming physique waiting to be revealed, and thick pair of strong thighs hidden behind blue jeans. Thick black hair sat atop his head in a short haircut. He sat just off the edge of the bar stool engaged in conversation with a short, blonde who wore a forest green dress with a deep cut revealing her perky cleavage.
Then it dawned on me, I had been staring at Zachary all along. For the 5 years he was missing, I had imagined what kind of man he'd become. I had no speech prepared, nor had I planned on confronting him. The happiness I'd felt that random chance would rejoin me with my step brother quickly became anger at the thought he had abandoned me long ago. It seemed so trivial to hold a grudge against him, but to respect his wish of no contact I refrained from approaching. As I sat ruminating on my next course of action, I looked up and saw I'd caught his eye. He gave me a quizzical look that persisted for only a moment, and I felt relief at the thought he had not recognized me. It seemed safe to not approach him. All my interest for continuing the night had vanished, and it seemed best I go home. I collected my bag and left Paddy's.
The return trip to my apartment took me through some dark alleys and dimly lit streets, but the shadows that danced on the grounds no longer were a cause for me to look over my shoulder. I was deeply engrossed in thought. Maybe not confronting robbed me of my only chance at closure, but what good can come of having my deepest fears affirmed. He did not love me, nor did he care to remember. I hadn't changed much since we last saw each other. My ash hair was a bit longer, my hips a bit wider; but my green eyes were still the same. I had been so consumed with what ifs that I did not percieve the gaining steps behind me. A strong hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.
" Hello, sis." a deep voice echoed.
I was startled and stared at Zachary in bewilderment.
"Hello..." I stammered in amazement.
"Why didn't you come up to me at the bar?" Zachary asked half seriously.
"Why haven't you written for five years?" My excitement gave way to resentment.
"Hmmm, touché." He was callous in his delivery.
"You know what? Don't fucking bother." I said. Memory served him kindly anunciating my feelings for him, and not the reality of this cruel and antagonistic humor.
"No, listen I can explain!" Zachary began when he realized his jokes would not take him far.
"I don't feel like listening," rage resounding my chest.
"Save it for someone who gives a fuck!" I began back in my direction.
"Lisa kicked me out because of the photos and your underwear she found in my room!" he blurted out.
I stopped cold in my tracks.
"She told me if I wanted the rest of my college paid for and my living expenses covered that I shouldn't reach out to you again." he cried aloud in desperation.
"I got my things and left, I didn't have much to begin with but I took what I had and moved out. I wanted to call you, but I would have been cut off." Zachary lowered his voice as he quickened his step to catch up to me.
"I thought you hated me," my voice began to crack.
Suddenly the word photos replayed in my mind.
"What photos did you have, Zach?" I asked.
His face dropped again.
