Niko’s Eye

Chapter 10.

My name is Zara. Don't ask me for my surname because I don't know who my father is. I usually use 'Voltaire' because I like the ring of it. I'm a petite, curly-haired Persian girl. Or at least that's what I like to think of myself. Somebody once told me that my mother was Congolese but I don't believe it because the person was a madman from the gallows.

When I was 5, I would enter into people's homes through their windows. I did this to survive. I mostly stole food but as I grew older, it became frequent shopping sprees in the drawers and wardrobes of aristocrats and people who just had really good taste in clothes. It cost me a few sleepless nights on the floor of a prison cell. Some days I would sit in a hyacinth tree and watch the drug-dealers in my block sell poison to people like myself. And other days, I just wanted to sit in the rain until I sobered up to face yet another streak of daylight.

On this particular day, I walked into the corner store and asked the man behind the counter if he could give me the usual cigarette that I smoked every day on my way to meetings with perverted men. "Sorry, all out of Stuyvesant", he murmured. His name was Al. I had slept with him once and ever since I dropped his ass, he's been low-key refusing to sell me cigarettes. "f**k you", I replied, and walked out of the shop. It was getting too cranky anyway. Why don't they f*****g get a damn air conditioner? I thought to myself, a bit too loud. Loud enough for Al to respond with curses in Spanish. 'Puta' was all I heard. Was it weird that I found pleasure in a man calling me a prostitute in Spanish? Or was it just that I was not used to getting any consideration from men that I thought an insult was actually a compliment? Or maybe I thought Spanish to be a wonderful language.

I had walked 5 blocks down from the corner store and I could hear a vehicle slowing down beside me. Good, now I don't have to walk all the way to the city in these stolen platforms. The car, which I had figured out to be an old Toyota that I'm pretty sure belonged to a group of Nigerian exorcists, swerved in front of me. Okay, maybe not exorcists because I'm certain my own supposed 'evil spirits' would have been expelled if they were. "Hello pretty gyal. Mek mi tell unuh bout mi love fuh yuh," he said. Okay. Not Nigerian, but Jamaican. f**k me. 'Bombaclat' is all I can manage before I walk around the Toyota and continue my painful itinerary. "Ahh gyal, yuh tink seh mi a ramp wid yuh," he calls out, before promising to bother me next time around.

I had completely forgotten that I initially wanted a lift to avoid bumping into the veritable owner of the shoes I was wearing. f**k it. I was already standing in front of the bus anyways, wondering how the hell I got there so fast. Must've been my train of thoughts. See what I did there? You're a f*****g i***t Zara, not a litteraire. Headphones in, I was zoning out and gazing out of the window, wondering what the next character of my lucid dreams would be called. Amsterdam was a beautiful city. At least for those who didn't have to sleep in train stations and backrooms.

The man I was going to meet was called Adolf Milan. I met him on a dating site. Yeah go ahead, roast me. But I just needed a few more Euros to hold my spot in that Quaker's house. I got off the bus and already smelt the tulips and m*******a in the air. Amsterdam was a city known for its beautiful flowers but also notorious for its mass intake of m*******a in its little coffee shops and pubs.

I was to meet Adolf in a similar pub called the '420 Café.' It reeked of Irish and Gaelic men who were never shy to smack a woman's ass when she'd walk past them. It really didn't bother me and occasionally, I'd throw in a wink only if I was high enough. There he was. Blonde, and well, just blonde. I know you were expecting some charming Channing Tatum look-alike but I'm sorry to disappoint you. This toad looked more like Rick Flair but minus the sunburn. If you don't know who that is then I'm also sorry. "Zara", he said with a thin smile. Formal, aren't we. "Hey Dolfie, it's nice to finally meet you", I replied, trying to keep a straight face. I swear that 'Dolfie' sounded less funny in my head. He blatantly ignored my attempts at lightening the mood and cut straight to the chase after what seemed like an eternity. "I vil give you 70 Euros for 5 hours", is what I thought I heard him say. Are you f*****g kidding me? I was about to protest when I remembered that I only needed 50 Euros to keep me from being homeless and an additional 20 Euros to get me back home.

The meal I was hoping to receive courtesy of Adolf was not even included. We just walked right out of the café and straight into his Lexus. Great, another night without a hot plate of something, anything. The drive was long. I thought of this old man pounding away, straight into a heart attack, for 5 hours. Sweating on top of me and making grunting noises that would startle an actual pig. By the time

I got home, my feet were aching, my chapped lips no longer had lipstick on, I smelt of Old spice and Cuban cigars, and my rent was paid. After taking a cold shower, I lay in bed and closed my eyes. I thought of the Jamaican man. Maybe I could f**k him for free weed. Puta. Oh yes...

"No Hay Problema."

Alejandro.

Isis emerged from the car in her long, skin-clinging, modest dress and Alejandro held his breath.

She had a tiny waist, like the ancient Greek goddess, Aphrodite. And her hips instantly placed a spell on him.

Her face was like the fire-gold glow of dawn, lifting his gaze and drawing him in but her body, and the dress of fine cyan cotton, popped against the deep bronze of her hue and hugged her figure like wet clothes.

Which stole the most part of his attention.

As you would imagine that a hungry lion does not pay much attention to the face of his prey but rather the prey itself and how appealing they are to their appetite.

And so it was with Alejandro. He was a predator and if he could bet his money on it, he had, without a doubt, captured his prey.

He broke his way into Isis’ life as would anyone’s foot, into a shoe.

Isis.

She only had her headwrap left to put on and she had decided that she would do that on her walk home. She took one look at her smiling face in the rear view mirror of the Jaguar and noticed that her thick brows needed another trim.

She sighed. Perks of being a hairy little goat.

She gathered her jeans and sweater and stuffed them in her backpack and before opening the car door, she scanned the car for any of her belongings that she might have forgotten to place in her bag and also made sure she left it as clean as she had found it before stepping out.

She was a little reluctant to go out there and face such an incredibly attractive man in what she now looked like, so she lingered in the car for a while.

She spotted a business card which seemed to belong to Alejandro but opted against picking it up.

Upon opening the door and climbing out, she caught Alejandro staring at her with a glossy look in his eyes.

What the hell was an attractive man like him doing ogling at a childish girl like me in a long ass dress that wasn’t even stylish.

She scrunched up her face and asked him what he was looking at.

Silence.

But then it hit her that she did look different. Especially considering the fact that she had also removed her hoops and her necklace. It was game over.

She shrugged and walked up to him.

"Okay," she said, putting her hands up.

"Go ahead. Say it. I know I look terrible as compared to the jeans I was dressed in but now you can understand why I change every day before I get to classes right? I’m trying to avoid the same horrified stares. Oh, and bear in mind that my family are hardcore Christians who hardly allow my legs to move freely in a denim material so that is why I don’t change inside of the house and that is how I ended up losing my dress. Did I explain that part? "

She tapped her chin thoughtfully and shrugged.

She pushed passed him and walked back to the pavement. And posed.

She then put on a broad smile and began to catwalk.

She then stopped and put up a finger as if to indicate that Alejandro should wait.

She proceeded in her backpack and pulled out her headwrap.

She turned around with her back to Alejandro and his employees and bent over, placed the piece of material behind her head and tied it in front of her head. She suddenly whipped up her head and secured her tresses in a messy bun.

She turned around and shouted, ’"Tada!"

She giggled playfully and picked up her backpack, immediately swinging it over her shoulders.

She spotted Alejandro’s female employer peeking at her with enormous eyes behind her glasses, which kind of reminded her of her own thick frames.

She smiled and whispered in her direction with a hand curved at the side of her mouth, "I’m not crazy."

Hello paranoia!

She refocused on Alejandro and took a deep breath.

Alejandro.

This hyperactivity could be put to better use. Alejandro let his thoughts carry him through this moment that he found painfully uninteresting.

He watched her carry on with her antics until…

She turned around and bent over. And instantly, his buddy woke up.

His ears perked up like a dog that hears its master calling it. He had to practice self-control and lightly slapped his right hand to numb the desire of reaching out to touch her rump.

If she can bend over so far forward…

He had an excellent habit of always thinking about making love to her at every single chance he got. No, not love. He thought. But f*****g…yes. Wild. Animal-like, intense..

He got snapped back to reality when she suddenly stood up straight and turned to face him.

Oh wow.

She had pulled her head wrap so much that it brought the corners of her eyes up in a slightly lifted manner and really accentuated her acorn-shaped face. She was lovely.

He had a smile on his face as he zoned out and hardly caught on, onto the rest of her ’show-and-tell.’

She whispered something to one of his employers behind him and he was too engulfed in her enigma to hear what it was. Nevertheless, he didn’t give a damn.

He only cared about one thing.

Getting her into his bed.