She watched as trickles of sweats dripped off the young man's body. She noticed he wasn't really looking at her rather, he looked through her.The room was poorly lit with a green bulb which was practically the only source of light that permeated the place as the windows were covered with thick black curtains that resisted any other form of luminance in the room. Her eyes traveled slowly to the small wooden table where the man had kept his things. Items which include; a pair of cuff links, a shinny gold wristwatch and a big black book on which the words, 'HOLY BIBLE' were emblazoned on its side.
She wondered how one could even dare bring such a book into an unholy premises. She turned to look at the book again to be double sure. It was it, the book. She had been right the first time. She remembered the story of a major character in the book. A certain man named Jesus who sacrificed himself for the sins of the world, as someone had told her. Tentatively, she felt connected to this character. Somehow, not in an exact way, they were both on the same course of action. For instance, she was there in that room being sacrificed for those she loved; her three siblings and her old mother. She hoped that her name one day would be written in some book too. It all came rushing back to her, the process, how it all began. She had made sure she traveled far far away, to a place where no one could ever know her. She had come with a new identity and a new personality as well for the job.
She intermittently shut her eyes as the man jerked harder. He felt disappointed as she refused to give in to the requited response. She just lay there like a log of heavy wood, frigid as death itself. It wasn't that she didn't feel the hormonal surge of the moment but she was too lost in the cocoons of her big dreams that she felt practically disconnected to the world of that room. She knew nobody could tell her otherwise, she was an hero, a sacrificial lamb and for that milesecond she felt connected to piety. The glimmer of the band on the man's finger as he brushed through her hair brought her back to the room. 'Oh, she thought, he was married? ' She conjectured he was married to some pretty young lady just like himself. The lady with whom he felt a deeper connection, a communion of the soul not particularly of the body. Something deep, something beyond superficial, something she could never explain because she had never felt it.
What she felt instead was a regular wave of deep depression as she constantly saw how miserable she was. As she had never , in men, connected to anything other than their wallets or pockets and they, to her body. The man jerked faster than he had been doing and began to moan. When he was done, he wore his clothes, handed her a slim wad of cash, picked up his things and left the room. As he opened the door, a beam of light flooded the room. She in turn, wearing her birthday suit as she laid on the bed opened her arms wide as if she were embracing the light.
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