Explosion

Breakfast was business, pure business. Nyla sat across from Damaris, and reacquainted her with how things ran and what would be expected of her—using Graham’s business model of course with her own modest adjustments.

Damaris was unusually quiet even for her, but Nyla was not concerned with that. This was business, and she had divided her business and her life very distinctly.

“Are we all clear?” she asked Damaris, who nodded. “Good, I have arranged for you to stay in an apartment in the city. You can live and receive clients there.”

Damaris nodded again, and put her hands together as if in prayer. Nyla looked away from her, got up from the table and prepared to go to the cemetery.

Her body burned from love not made. She had spent the entire night with Andres, and he held her but they never made love. But the closeness of their bodies was like a ticking bomb inside of her. Her body vibrated with every touch they did not have. His scent was inside her, like the scent of a summer storm that was long in the coming and then poured.

Her center was lost as she thought about what had not happened, and Nyla curled on her side on the bed. Touching herself would not work, when even the sheets made her feel sensitive. She was that ripe for the picking.

Andres walked into the room and she exploded inside.

“Sorry, let me know when you are ready to go to the to cemetery,” he said.

The ride to the cemetery was the longest ride she had ever had. Every shift, every time she touched Andres accidentally another explosion went off inside of her. On her knees before Graham’s grave, she thought she saw the dirt move under the flowers as she picked them up and maybe even a hand and she startled.

“Nyla?” Andres knelt beside her to touch her arm, and she grabbed his hand so tight she could feel where she punctured his skin with her nail almost before she let go—before she tried to let go. He did not let her hand go, he did not let her go…

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