Molten Chocolate Crush Topped with Açai Berries

Bruised lungs, cracked skull, battered heart and tortured soul – ooh – the first sign of love.

Hypnotized. Sleep deprived. Filled to the brim with emotions.

Devour the heart. Sip on the soul. And keep that porcelain body warm all night long.

Stream sunlight into the darkest corners of the mind and illuminate sinful thoughts of a man with a permanent frown.

Nourish the roots, reap the harvest and protect the flowers that blossom with forgiveness.

Welcome the flaws, eschew insecurities, and fight for the rights to love unconditionally.

Strange and addictive – these feelings are raw, overpowering and completely unrealistic.

Serenade to the ears that will gladly listen to the lies from a lustful mouth.

Don’t fight the current, cave into the passion, follow the heart that never stops beating.

Throw in a life saver for this heart is drowning in a vast ocean of love.

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Molten Chocolate Crush Topped with Açai Berries

Impossible Friendship

I sat across from a man that I swore I would never see again. Yet, fate has a mysterious – if not a cruel – way of bringing us together, and under rather interesting circumstances too.

My heart is sore.

Your friendship has been impossible to obtain and I want to bury these memories into the cold, damp soil in hopes that they will never see the golden sunlight again.

Someday, perhaps, these tainted memories will blossom into a scarlet rose.

My mind was riddled with these thoughts and even though we picked out a small, private table outside, I still couldn’t breathe.

He was leaving the country in a couple of days and the thought of his feet touching a different continent gave me a nauseating feeling.

Suddenly, I pushed away the dainty cup – while he was in the middle of divulging details of his upcoming trip – and slammed a scrunched up five dollar bill on the round, metal table.

He paused, unsure of what I was trying to accomplish. He never liked my spontaneity because he always thought he had me figured out.

“Good luck. I have to go. I forgot that I have to work on a presentation,” I lied and gave him a polite smile.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his green eyes searching for mine.

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I hurried out of the café before he bombarded me with questions that I couldn’t answer. I slipped my arms into the pleather sleeves of my bomber jacket and melted into the faceless crowd of strangers that rushed down the sidewalk.

I shoved my clenched fists into the pockets and gritted my teeth.

I left my sunglasses in the car, back in Chinatown, and I couldn’t help but feel stupid as I started crying in public. My tears earned a couple of concerned stares but I kept my eyes pinned to the cracked asphalt as I slipped by the eager tourists that dotted Little Tokyo and hurried down Hope St.

My heart felt like an open piñata, and all of its content was out in the open for him to analyze. I knew it was a mistake to see him and I knew that he’d win this fight – he always knew what to do and say in these situations.

He’d always come out a victor.

And at that moment, I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs and share the pain that coursed through me with the innocent bystanders that stood at the cross section with me and waited for the green light.

I was being selfish and yet, I didn’t care.

I jogged up the stairs to the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion when I heard him call out my name. He reached the top, panting slightly, and the sight of him completely out of breath with beads of perspiration on his forehead made me laugh.

He failed to see the humor in the situation. “What the hell was that all about? Why did you run out on me like that?”

He was angry.

“There’s nothing else for me to say. I wished you good luck. That’s all. End of story.”

“Oh, come on! I wanted to leave this country on good terms. Why are you acting like I still owe you an apology? You were warned. You have always been warned about my reputation!”

“I remember. I just—” there were so many words that I wanted to yell in his face but just like the school of silver fish in the ocean, I couldn’t grab a hold of any of them. And, there was an array of emotions that I wanted to run through but I couldn’t identify which one of them I wanted to display first.

Anger? Sorrow? Confusion? Nonchalance? Happiness?

I started to cry again – he had an uncanny gift of bringing tears to my eyes and twisting my emotions into a cherry knot. I stood a few inches away from him and it literally felt as though we were the only two people on Earth.

No one else mattered.

“I’ll miss you, homie. Despite the pain you put me through, I still wish you the best.”

He took a deep, exasperated breath and raked his fingers through his hair. For the first time, I saw a hint of sorrow in his green eyes and that’s when I realized he was hurting too.

He pulled me into a warm embrace. “I’ll miss you too.”

Impossible Friendship

Don’t Speak

ever-after-danielle-swimming-450

Tears streamed down her face and burned the soft, crimson flesh of her cheeks as she pressed the cool bottle of Absolut to her forehead and studied the cotton-candy clouds that floated across the blue sky outside of her windows. She bathed her listless limbs in the warmth of the morning sun as she lay on a shaggy rug, amidst the broken glass that was scattered across the living room, and rested her feet on the velvet cushions of the tufted, turquoise sofa.

A faint, crackling sound pierced the silence as the needle of her antique phonograph scratched the surface of a spinning vinyl record and breathed life to the legendary voice of Nina Simone. The deep, melancholy Black Is the Color of My True Love’s Hair drifted over the graveyard of massacred paintings piled next to the shattered picture frames, an upturned coffee table with its tapered legs reaching out to the exposed ceiling pipes, two fractured table lamps and a sea of slashed chiffon curtains sprawled across the walnut floor.

Izabel took a swig of vodka and fought back the urge to cough as the clear liquid raped the inside of her throat.

The phone rang.

“Hey, you know what do do after the beep.” Beep!

“IZABEL, what the fuck! Answer your goddamn phone. I know you’re at home, sulking like a lazy cow over this stupid breakup. Try not to commit suicide until after our afternoon meeting with the client -” an angry honk in the background drowned out her sister’s angry voice, “-green means go, you stupid fuck!”

Click.

Izabel closed her eyes and imagined floating atop of a lake. Its placid surface mirrored the steel-grey sky above and matched the rhythm of her deliberate backstrokes to the chirping of the birds that sang among the tall, conifers.

A familiar voice echoed throughout the surrounding boreal forest, spearing the dense fog, and called out her name. It spawned a lonely tear. The crystal drop snaked down her pallid cheeks and melted into her frozen, blue lips. She continued to swim through the cold water. Her lifeless body sailed out of everyone’s reach and drifted towards a place where she could spend the rest of her life in solitude.

Don’t Speak

Crossroads

Nicholas sat still, his eyes were plagued with sadness, and a rueful smile touched his thin lips when he took hold of her delicate hand. His thumb gently brushed the surface of her smooth, soft skin before he gave her fingers a light kiss.

Izabel blinked back the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks, and looked away.

The sky outside the tall, glass windows of LAX was a blanket of midnight blue, with a cluster of diamond stars, and occasional airplane in sight.

It was four o’clock in the morning, and her heart was ripping apart at the seams.

Izabel scheduled an early flight to escape the memories that perfumed her life in California, and desperately yearned to begin anew on a foreign land, across the Atlantic Ocean. There, she built a grand, Baroque-inspired mansion and there, awaiting her safe return, was her fiancé, Evan.

He was a handsome man, with eyes that matched the color of the turquoise waters around the Caribbean islands, a headful of dark, disheveled curls and strong, cleft chin. He was every inch of a man any woman could have wanted for a husband: astute, sophisticated and charming, but he couldn’t ignite the flame in the pit of her stomach the way Nicholas had.

The man across from her was destined to run free, like a wild horse, never to be domesticated, and Izabel learned that lesson the hard way. His heart was buried deep within his broad chest, in a vault that guarded it from love, affection and possibly, heartache.

He was never destined to be a husband, or a father.

“I never meant to hurt you, and I’m sorry if I did.”

She nodded her head slowly, gazing absentmindedly out of the windows, and growing immune to the excruciating pain that threatened to tear her limbs apart. Her soul was massacred as a result from his careless lies and calloused actions, and at times, she wondered if she was still alive.

It took all of the courage in her heart to forgive his dirty deeds and sail out of his greedy reach.

She rose to her feet, with a nonchalant smile on her red lips, and cast one last glance at his mournful face. He looked small and helpless, almost childlike, but Izabel knew that it was just a façade.

Nicholas was a psychotic mélange of selfishness, jealousy, rage and rancor. But, he only let the monster loose after the victim was tangled up in his golden web of lies.

Izabel freed her hand out of his iron grip and said, “Goodbye, Nicholas. May we never cross paths.”

 

 

Crossroads

Filthy Sexy Nasty Lust

Selena lies awake in an empty bed. The soft curves of her naked body are enveloped in darkness and her pensive gaze is fixed on the diamond stars that glisten above the tall skyscrapers outside of her windows.

She gives out a hopeless sigh; the kind of a sigh a woman makes when her heart aches for her lover.

The man of her dream is thousands of miles away, on a business trip, and she sates her carnal desire for him with a glass of wine and a boatload of wishful thinking.

Now, her mind is a whirlwind but it’s not riddled with thoughts of her client’s multi-million dollar campaign. It’s infested with dirty, sexy thoughts of him.

She yearns to kiss, bite and lick his lips. She wants him next to her, in this cold and empty bed.

Selena closes her eyes and shuts the world outside. Nothing matters. Not the noisy traffic, not the helicopter in the sky, not even the sound of her phone vibrating against her mirrored side table.

She envisions their bodies tumbling down into a sea of turbulent white, cotton sheets. He lies on top, and his body is warm, inviting and hard as stone. The scent of his skin lingers on her lips and sends a brain-numbing shiver down her spine.

He runs a hand through her midnight-blue locks. His hand is rough and calloused, and yet it feels deliciously soft against her cheek. His thumb outlines the shape of her soft, plump lips, and then it glides down her long neck and finally rests on her collarbone.

Selena gives out a shiver.

Her skin burns underneath his fingertips and with every caress, her body sheds the last ounce of innocence. In its place comes a painfully sensual feeling; it uncoils in the pit of her stomach like a snake and it’s ready to strike.

Selena knows that once she’s bitten, her body will be poisoned with lust.

He waits patiently for her decision, but his treacherous fingers are tracing, caressing, arousing.

Delicately, almost cautiously, her feather-soft lips brush against his and leave a trace of sweetness behind. She relishes the warmth that bursts in the pit of her stomach and pools into her toes and fingertips. His breathing is deep and shallow, and the glisten in his ebony eyes is enough to consume her whole.

He wants her. It’s undeniable.

She parts her lips and welcomes his lust with a wicked grin. His warm breath, sweet as honey and potent as red wine, caresses her cheeks and then his mouth crushes hers in a ‘til-death-do-us-apart kind of a kiss.

The kind of a kiss that threatens to peel the skin off her bones, and robs her lungs of air. The kind of a kiss she wants to share for the rest of her life with the man she fantasizes about almost every single night.

Filthy Sexy Nasty Lust

Tough Love

Evelína Arakari was tough.

Only a tragedy could rattle her nerves and squeeze a tear out of her hazel eyes. As the first rays of sunlight speared the gloomy darkness she couldn’t suppress the tears that streamed down her cheeks.

She cradled her face in her trembling hands and sobbed hysterically as her mind became infested with thoughts of her boyfriend lying in a sterile hospital room, underneath a white, linen sheet.

He was dead.

His body, once strong and healthy, was stabbed four times in the chest. He fell into a coma, and died at the hospital.

His mother cried and screamed like a wounded animal when the doctor pronounced his death, while his father stared silently at the wall with a blank expression on his wrinkly, sallow face.

Evelína rushed out of the hospital and burst into the dark and chilly morning. She fell down on her knees, balled up her fists so tight that her fingernails left bloody marks in her palms, and screamed at the top of her lungs until she lost her voice.

It was now past midnight and the wind howled like a lonely wolf.

She wandered aimlessly down the empty streets of Prague, swayed gently on her feet, and mourned the death of her boyfriend with a quarter bottle of Grey Goose.

Andrei was the one that introduced her to alcohol. He was what the neighborhood called ghetto.

Parents distrusted him, kids in the neighborhood feared him and the police hated his guts. He was sixteen when he died, and spent the last five years of his life in and out of juvenile delinquency. His father was an alcoholic, his mother was a prostitute and his friends were bad news.

Evelína met him by accident.

He sat on the curb, outside of a small souvenir shop. His face was bruised, his knuckles were torn and his nose bled into the palms of his hands.

He got jumped by a group of guys, but he never shared the details.

She offered to buy him a warm sandwich and walk him to the nearest medical center. He accepted the food, but cleaned his wounds with a bottle of vodka instead.

Since that chilly November evening the two of them became inseparable. But now, his body lay six inches under the ground and she had never felt so alone before.

Tough Love

Outside

Essie and Tom stood outside, braving the cold autumn wind and a light drizzle.

Even though dark, ominous clouds stretched across the charcoal sky, Essie felt a rush of warmth sweep through her cold limbs as she stared deep into his dark, fathomless eyes.

A hint of pink stained her cheeks when he curled his soft, plump lips into a knowing smile. A strangely captivating feeling cannonballed into the pit of her stomach and set her insides on fire.

He reached out a strong hand and gently took hold of hers. The touch of his warm, slightly moist, calloused skin triggered fireworks in her brain and filled every nook and cranny of her slender body with desire.

He gave her cold, trembling hand a slight tug and pulled her into a strong embrace.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered into her disheveled, red hair.

She didn’t answer; her brain couldn’t find the right words to tie into a sentence.

Instead, she rested her head against his chest and marveled at the sound of his steady heartbeat. It felt as though she waited for an eternity for this moment, but it’s only been three months since they’ve met.

She stole a quick glance at the old couple that sat comfortably inside the café and smiled at them.

“Cold?” Tom asked when she shivered from the inexplicable warmth that prickled her skin

He unbuttoned his wool coat, wrapping it around her, and pulled her closer to his chest. The scent of his skin and the warmth of his body sucked the air out of her lungs. She wanted this moment to last a lifetime.

She wanted him to be her sweetheart.

Outside