Niko’s Eye

Chapter 40.

"Say You Love Me."

Alejandro.

They found a corner in Alejandro’s garage and sat there, in each other’s arms.

"It’s kind of ironic how we don’t know how to communicate. And the promises I make are promises that I have to make with a ring."

"I know you’ll keep them," she whispered.

She had the kind of cheshire grin that brought new life to those around her. She smiled that way when a wonderful new idea had come, and those ideas were always hilarious.

Isis’ speech was slurred and he could feel her weight getting heavier onto his arm. He knew she was feeling sleepy.

Let her sleep, I’ll carry her to bed.

"It takes a phoenix to touch a star, to make a comfortable nest in such hot flames. Angel Star is the keeper of Holy Lore, often called law by mankind. Yet she is a storyteller and will weave truth into many tales of fiction. She is a creator of myth and legend. Lore is flexible and thus is capable of holding divine truth; law is inflexible and a cause of war and harm. Angel Star is thus always telling the truth as if it runs in liberty alongside the imagination. She teaches love as supreme first principle as the key to comprehension of her fairytales. In other words she is the brightest star of heaven, the first archangel. Her yin yang pair is the Knight Angel, her lover, her eternal soul-partner. You know, when I was learning psy.."

Isis fell into his lap as he was finishing off his rambling.

His heart melted, and he smiled. She was so close to his heartbeat and yet, all he could hear was her heartbeat.

Your heartbeat is my metronome, keeping the rhythm of my soul at a steady pace. With your heartbeat I can be music, dance, and so much more. And I hope that it is my steady heart that can do the same for you.

"Though we cannot be lead by our hearts alone, neither can we live false lives of misery in dark caves under neon lights. There comes a time to feel the earth between our toes and the wind on our skin and know that we need to bend like the grasses in the wind rather than become brittle with age. The scars build, the road gets hard and we yearn for the softness we felt in youth. We need to tread a wide path or drive on an open road with music filling our minds. At least then when we return home, we know that it is a place of love to dwell in and be sheltered, and not a cage to keep us until we depart this life."

He kissed her forehead as he looked down at her.

"It’s that you care so very much about others that makes you so beautiful to me. That you see my beauty, that you show how special I am to you, that’s what’s got me for life. You aren’t just beautiful, you make the space around you beautiful too, you affect others and bring their beauty out of them. And you do it with ease. It is who you are. You are a flower that makes others bloom, that made me bloom. I love you Isis."

I’ve changed so much, that I can’t even believe it when I look into the mirror at times.

Although he had the kind of face that stopped you in your tracks, the harsh lines that he once had, had softened. He had gotten used to the sudden pause in a person’s natural expression when they looked his way followed by overcompensating with a nonchalant gaze and a weak smile. Of course the blush that accompanied it was a dead give-away. It didn’t help that now he was so modest with it, it made the girls fall for him all the more. Despite all the opportunity that came his way, now he was a one-woman-man who prized genuineness and thoughtful conversation above lipstick and high-heels. He was handsome alright, but inside he was beautiful.

He leaned his head onto the wall and fell asleep, making a mental note to give Isis her cellphone the next day.

Isis.

In that simple moment he wrapped his arms around me and I let my head rest upon his chest. All my thoughts stopped as if my heart took over from my head every time we were close. Next he would squeeze as if he needed to check I was really there with him, really there and really real. And I was, body and soul. I doubt anyone else ever felt the way I do about his arms.

He was the kind of bonny teddy bear, in gentle brown hues, that childhood dreams of night and day are made from. His fur was kitten-soft, his smile as an offered cup to hold-safe childish emotions whatever they may be. In his eyes was warmth, ever a sparkle in their loving-black. As such he was the perfect companion, the perfect hand to hold.

Most men I know have become automatons of the modern workplace, units in corporations, measured and valued only for their productivity. They are tense from subducting so much anger, burying it so they can get up and do the same tedious job over and over.They become tense parents, controlling spouses, piling damage onto damage until their home-life implodes. What’s left of them after that is bitter, confused and full of resentment.

Alejandro isn’t like them, he’s a total enigma, but I can’t tell why.

He was the kind of handsome that got into my bones, that spoke to me of olden times before he’d said a word.

She thought of times where she had a moment to spare to watch Alejandro interact and socialise.

In that crowded room was one man that didn’t appear to truly belong. It was as though he’d been parachuted in from Milan, Paris, or some other fashionable place none of the rest of us had ever been to. In whatever conversation he was in the other person was enthralled, yet afterward didn’t recall anything important in what he said. It was as if he could converse without leaving any verbal "fingerprint."

She couldn’t shake him off easily. Her heart was always louder than her mind.

No man who seeks to be mysterious can truly be, there’s something about wanting the attention that gives them away. Truly mysterious men have no such desire, their motives remain hidden and hence the allure. The have a stand-offish quality that dares contact without inviting it. They are independent and casual, nonchalant and slow to temper, analyzing situations with ease. They are kind but don’t form emotional attachments often, though when they do they can be counted on to be truly heroic.

Do you keep your hearts in little cages? Are they bound in the false wires of morality? Are they allowed to beat but only so much, no more or less than is decent? I can tell you that hearts are not made to be this way, that their love should know no boarders. They are made to spill love into every recess of every mind and wake the soul from its imposed slumber. So one by one take some clippers and remove the wires, letting your hearts expand a little at a time until they need their cages no longer and may beat safely and know that their natural ways are good.

Isis fell asleep, listening to the lullaby that was Alejandro’s deep and smooth voice.

Aisha.

Rãmirez didn’t mention that Sergio was involved in selling me out but I know he was. Some of the things that Rãmirez accused me for, nobody else knew about but him.

Her fingers, old though they were, lightly tapped onto her chin, as softly as the wands of new spring foliage. From her eyes to the coldness of her thin lips, she was a conduit for evil as if the universe chose her to channel its negativity through.

She silently blessed every single person that had helped her escape from prison.

Every blessing comes with a curse. That can be with one person or split between two. Assholes take the blessings and pass the curse onto others, that’s power abuse. Good people take on their fair share of curse or more in order to bless others. Thus when an angel steps from the shadows to save others they come with an angel-monster. Anyone who tries to curse the angel gets monstered by the angel-monster, the protector. Thus curses aimed at the angel rebound in magnified form. The angel-monster takes the magnified blessingand keeps care of the angel. Another way to say this is the good shepherd the crook - it’s the only way this can work.

I can’t forget the person who helped me back to Mexico.

Aisha had been in Guadalajara for a while and she was beginning to grow impatient as there were a lot of police snooping around her parent’s home. On one of her spy trips, she found out that her mother was back in Mexico and that she was living all alone in that big house, without any form of aid.

Perfect. Now she can die in the miserable way that her useless husband died.

"Next."

Zainab.

She missed her best friend. She was already struggling with not being able to communicate with her, and then her "father" came back.

That was something to look forward to. If she was being honest with herself, she was happy that there was someone who would come and take her out of the hellhole that she was in. Just a few days ago, she had discovered that she was adopted. But it was a contracted adoption on very weird terms.

Zainab and her adoptive family were moving from their home, so suddenly. She couldn’t understand why. Until she was sent into her adoptive mother’s study, to look for some painkillers. She found a pile of documents in a box, it caught her eyes because her birth certificate was peering through one of the dockets. She had never seen her own birth certificate before so she was intrigued. By the time she had finished going through all of the papers, it dawned on her.

And that was why she had given that man her card. She needed to find out if that was really her father, because if it was, she was more than ready to pack up and leave. Her adoptive mother was a controlling and obnoxious woman, and now she understood why.

I was not to be discovered. It’s almost like I was stolen from my dad, because my mother didn’t want me, neither did she want my father to know that I existed. Did she tell him that I died? Probably. But now he’s back. I’m certain that he’s my father. His eyes. His eyes told me. Also, our resemblance was evident. If he’s my father, then I need to get out of here. I can’t even call Isis. I don’t even know where she lives now.

Zainab had once gone to Isis’ home and it was placed for sale. They had moved out, and nobody knew where they had gone to. She had heard that her mother was arrested and that she was a notorious gang leader that was wanted all over the world.

Her heart aches for Isis. She couldn’t imagine losing her father and then finding out that your mother is a criminal. She didn’t even know the whole story so it just didn’t make sense to her, she was even certain that it was all pure gossip.

She sighed as she thought about her best friend.

"I miss you, kiddo."

Zainab started at her phone.

Still no call from him. Why?

She stared out the window as she realised how fake her whole life had actually been. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Either way, I have to get out here.

Isis.

She sat sprawled onto the floor of her bedroom, scrolling through missed calls and messages.

Oh my God, Zainab! Belvia!

She couldn’t believe that Alejandro and herself had fallen asleep in the garage. She found it to be kind of romantic, but she was hoping to get to the bottom of his past, so she could decide if she still wanted to be with him or not.

That’s kind of wrong though isn’t it? I mean, love isn’t suppose to be like that right? It’s either I love him for everything that he is or I don’t. But I knew it all along didn’t I? Ie always had the feeling that he was involved in some shady things, but killing people? That’s a bit much. I don’t know...it all comes down to if I love him or not. I mean, gosh. f**k my life.

Grandpa would remind me how little I can see with my eyes, how much I can see with my heart. He would say that all the eyes call tell you is a result of what happened, never the reason, the intention, the deep emotions that swim below. "It is only with the heart," he said, "that we can see pain, see the sadness that dwells beneath anger." Perhaps when the heart is our eyes, our eyes show love, and we feel connected within, healed, able to walk with compassion.

She bit on her bottom lip as she remembered how Alejandro had walked to one of his cars and brought her phone out. He had said that he had been walking around with it ever since she slipped into a comma. He had communicated with her close friends and family just to keep them in the loop, but now she could do that herself.

He was lucky my phone had no password. I mean, I had nobody to send nudes to. I actually thought I had lost my phone. I had to save for years, just to get this damn iPhone. I want to upgrade though. I should ask...never mind. But he’s monied, what’s the harm in that?

These days, her own thoughts seemed to shock her. It’s like she didn’t know who she was anymore. It startled her but she would always ignore the feelings and loud voices in her head.

I used to be an exemplary Christian girl. But that was just a front. I had to put it up for my mother. I was always the person whom my father let me be. But this isn’t her either. Is this who I really am without both of their influences in my life? Scary.

She shuddered at her thoughts.

I really need to find myself. That’s why I don’t think there would be any harm in exploring. Seeing what I like and what I don’t like. Is that why I’ve been trying to get Alejandro to have s*x with me? What the hell is that all about? Let me talk to Zainab. Or maybe my grandmother first? Yeah, let me talk to my grandmother.

She scrolled through her contacts and hit her nana up.

"Hello, Birdie? Or Alejandro?" , her sweet voice sending nostalgic vibes through Isis’ mind.

"It’s me grandma, I’m back."

"Oh my sweet Birdie, I knew you were a strong girl. How are you my baby? Come now. Tell me everything."

And there she was, my grandmother, loud and beautiful, laughing as if she were a child. Her wrinkles were the map of her soul, made all the more intricate by the sweet paths she’d danced since her birth. I always felt that it was who she truly was, that joy, that sound that tickled everyone else inside until they smiled wide and true.

My grandmother sits in her chair at the window. It is not the most comfortable chair in the house, it is wicker with a floral cushion that is none too thick. Perched there she observes the passers by and makes comments about whatever exciting thing she thinks they are off to do. She lives vicariously through these random strangers who will never know this sweet old girl. I watch her, face entranced, the morning light reflected off her tanned and wrinkled skin and the eyes that belie her eighty years. She has laughter lines from her gift for smiling easily, her personality is all there to read in those creases; she’s no longer the blank page she was in her wedding pictures. Then her face takes on a look of delight, "A cup of tea m’dear, let’s have tea." So we do, always made in a china pot, milk in a little jug, proper little cups like on an old movie. Then she shuffles over to the refrigerator and after some rummaging she brings out two chocolate eclairs.

My grandmother was robust only a year ago. She would sit in her rocking chair and smoke her cigars everyday, come rain or shine. She would walk with me over the hill and around the neighbourhood patch of forest and palm trees. She was never still, either baking, socializing or spring cleaning the house, even though we had a house help. Sometimes she would gripe about the house helps gossiping during their working hours. I think about her deep brown wizened face as she rambled on about what she’s been doing in Mexico.I reminisce about the way I used to stroke back her grey hair that used to be so neat. But I don’t know if she will recognise me, and still love me although I’ve changed dramatically. Will I be her beloved granddaughter today or a frightening stranger?

There is no gem, no diamond, greater than my Granny. For though life crushed her, though she suffered, she shone brightly for me. She showed me that one could survive and learn how to thrive, how to find the good stuff and have real gratitude for it. She said I was the love song that God sent her to protect, if it were only she that ever heard me, at least I can cherish that.

She snapped out of her mind when Belvia had mentioned Aisha.

"Grandma, Aisha faked her own death, she came back and kidnapped me, and then she got arrested and escaped from jail. The police thinks she’s skippe the country, but where could she be?"

All she recieved from her grandmother was silence.

"Hello? Grandma?"

Then the line went dead.