Into the Violet Gardens

by Isaac Nasri

  Dancin’ the Kronos Remix? How could I forget?

  In contrary to Troy, who relied on heavier bass of dubstep to lie back, Alana had her bent for the catchier, if not the lighter side of the electronic genre. She couldn’t bear listening to one of his playlists without having to screw a finger in her ears after releasing the earbuds. This had to be a major area that separated them intellectually.

  Alana raises the timer from the center of her breast and sets the time. “Go y’all.”

  The three engage. The muscle fibers whirling in Troy’s triceps gleam as he thrusts his body consecutively. His chest stretches, and his body races to the tune. Not one breath escapes from him. Ricardo pushes his body, whistling air and duplicating the cyborg’s movement as he does. Gabriel’s cheeks fluster as he forces his body upward, and his arms wobble. Before he can set on his 15th mark, Gabriel tumbles.

  “Gabriel,” Alana calls out. She stalks hastily toward her brother, grunting disapprovingly at him as he pants. “Naw. Naw. C’mon up. No breaks, I said.” Despite Gabriel’s weight, Alana manages to wrap her hands over his bulky arm and raise his weight. “You out.”

  On the other hand, Troy competes rigorously with Ricardo. Troy flings his torso like cannon, clapping his hands numerously as he lands and side steps his palms from left to right. He couldn’t count. With each clap Troy sets, Ricardo’s eyebrows oscillate and his balance on the ground dwindles. The alarm rings, freezing the competitors in their motion along with the music. Alana claps.

  “Big boy got it!” Alana lauds at Troy.

  An enervated Gabriel looks toward Troy, as if wanting to congratulate the cyborg, and red pouches linger over his eyes. He takes a piece of his sleeveless shirt, showing off the hair on his belly fat as he rubs his lips. Glancing around him, Troy kneels and breathes, whirling his bionic arm as the heating sinks in. Ricardo stares down confusedly, and by chance, he places a lucky hand to where his specs were and sets them over his shifty eyes.

  “Venga,” Ricardo cries gruffly at Troy. He throws his arm upward. “How can you be so fast in this ditch?”

  Troy lowers his arm, and the lighting cools in his fibers. A smile curls around his lips. This exercise couldn’t get any livelier.

  Fast. Oh, you haven’t seen much from me yet.

  Gabriel waves his hand, remarking, “Meh. Not worth comparison tío.”

  “Last round starting soon,” Alana alerts aloud.

  Troy catches her twinkle with the timer around her neck until Ricardo asks, “Why don’t you try?”

  Alana looks over her shoulder. “Oh me?” She sets a hand to her chest, flummoxed. “I the—”

  “Won’t hurt for two,” Troy says with an edge of muse in his tone.

  Defeated, Alana places her hands firmly to her hips. Troy cuts her expression with a wink of his eye, and she blushes. She signals a finger to her lips at him before trailing to her room. In her absence, Troy rises and initiates the music onto repeat immediately. The cups on the table waggle to the vibration belching from the phone. It didn’t take long for Troy’s eye to glint toward seeing Alana stroll with her head rocking to the tune. Her capri, now replaced by her brand textured leggings, tucked underneath her grey cami. The blue archaic ornaments seemingly sizzle like foam in a maze with each step she makes.

  Damn.

  Alana kneels beside Troy, going prone. Her glutes stand rounder than Troy visualized. The time starts off, and the pair square off. Putting aside an arm to his back, Troy’s cybernetic hand locks as he pushes his body rapidly like a staple clamping on a stack of papers. Troy looks over at Alana, having his knuckles spark upon catching her thrust her chest smoothly. Gabriel bites his lips as he musters his push-ups while a muscle pops in a struggling Ricardo’s neck.

  Altering the setup, Troy let's lose his balance on the floor. He hears Alana yelp once the cyborg leaps over her in mid-air like a frog. His hands land suddenly, and the floor quakes. Alana’s hair flings as Troy lunges to the other side rapidly.

  “That’s ridiculous!” Ricardo wines.

  Troy continues to stun him further as he motions in mid-air rapidly. His shirt flags as he hops simultaneously to the voice beats. His view alters, bringing him back into the gym. Alana’s knuckles planted against the cyborg’s hands. Troy’s back stood supine on the mat, withstanding the tip of her sneakers against his as he whistled to each rise she initiated above. His chest pumped to the pressure, and a vigor pervaded over his bionic veins.

  That can only last once the alarm nails his ears and the Virtual careens. He rotates his body, scanning and heaving to Ricardo, pressing a hand to his spine. The same couldn’t be said for Gabriel, who rises from his stance and slaps his flabby bicep. Troy’s prosthetic feet clatter on the ground like a drill machine, and that’s the sole sound that reverberates once Alana turns off the music for good.

  “Good game, y’all,” Alana states aloud.

  Troy offers Ricardo a contemplative glance. His bionic hand folds and he nods silently. The blind man’s glasses sparkle, and the room beams as the two men share a silent approbation. Nothing but good thoughts roamed.

  That was a fair one.

  The cyborg rises on his feet and turns to a nudge on the shoulder. Alana beckons him amicably, and Troy follows alongside her into a room that happens to be her bedroom. The door locks behind him, and Troy’s pupils click to the iridescent flashes illuminating from the lamp. An odor sprays, satiating Troy with a cherry essence that creeps slowly.

  “You was wild,” she banters.

  Troy looks at her, cracking a smile as he takes a seat on the mattress. Ironically something soft sticks in the center of his buttocks, and he rocks sideways, grabbing and grimacing at a small bag of tampons in his finger.

  “Oh!” Alana blurts out. Her cheeks turn crimson to Troy flinging the box over him.

  Alana clutches a hand to her hair, and the lightings swarm over her skin like a rainbow of colors dancing in the nightclub. She glosses at her closet, which is surrounded by her active wear outfits and jeans, before advancing to Troy. Troy’s chest skips a beat to her shins locked to his while Alana glosses upward, sighing as she tightens her hands against her hips.

  “I feel that, Troy.”

  Troy stares down at his thighs and his pants ruffling slightly. He shrugs a shoulder.

  “Sounds like you got plans to share,” he says.

  Troy tilts to Alana, slouching to his side, and the bed wobbles. The floral ring on her index finger dazzles as she caresses the violet sheets.

  “Yeah. Thinking we will spend a night together.”

  Troy raises his chin, riddled with questions. “And where does this entail? Because—”

  “I know the spot,” Alana says quickly. She pats his shin, alleviating him somewhat from any doubt. “Not what it sounds. My family and I have been there too.”

  Troy stares down to where her hands clamp on his bandage wraps. Uncertainty bit him like a wolverine piercing his fangs into the honeycomb. The outing could’ve been anywhere but outside. Even with the latest veneer shielding his skin, that could only last until a random troublemaker peels away the shadow. He’s made too many qualms in the streets to be remiss. Home in Ricardo’s place was about enough for him. Yet Alana, despite genuine, was somewhat positive of those chances barely igniting in this restaurant.

  Wish I can be as hopeful as you.

  He draws his hand away, whirling the first wraps to his wrist until he pauses to Alana grabbing an item from a shopping bag. Troy grimaces to a shirt set in his hand, but upon gazing closely, his surprise transforms into a beam.

  Troy examines the tribal patterns on the shirt, the same one he’s seen hours ago. He turns to Alana rubbing her ankle toward him as if anticipating excitedly for a magician on the verge of pulling something fantastical out of his sleeve. The cyborg removes his shirt, leaving him to gaze at the wraps concealing a big portion of his bare chest in the door’s mirror.

  Troy rises, witnessing his abdominal muscles bend vi
sibly behind the pallid bandages. Alana hums with a fruitful interest. When he’s fastening his arms into the shirt’s sleeve, Troy jerks to Alana’s presence. Her fingers straighten down on his shirt, and the cyborg’s muscles twitch to the slight tightness. Alana opens the first drawer, grabbing a dark fragrance jar, and sprays toward his torso. The fragrance leaves a small stain on the shirt’s fabric, and Troy’s nerves gyrate to the dense aroma inundating his body like a demigod stumbling fresh onto the soil of another dimension and taking in the serenity of its artifacts.

  Goddamn. Never felt so fresh.

  “My brother’s Axe I kept for him,” Alana mentions. Her eyes level down at his shirt. A sweetening stream tickles Troy’s skin as Alana strokes his arms, brushing her hands up to his shoulders, where she massages them.

  “Look tight,” she compliments him. Alana looks up at him, and Troy glosses down to meet her flattered gaze. He then retreats his gaze at the door mirror, uncurling his shirt’s neckline and stunned at the view of Alana and himself shrouded in the plethora of lights. He couldn’t deny it. Troy was indeed flattered at best. The television program can be heard booming outside of this room. Alana follows his gaze and flashes a smile as if enamored by his reflection.

  Troy stares downward at Alana, asking, “Guess that’s all you’re wearing?”

  Alana grunts sportively. “You have seen nothing yet, big boy.” She lets go of him as she undoes an earring from her ear. “Won’t be long, though. Hopefully.”

  Troy turns his back, leaving the room to see Gabriel, with a manga at hand, mount an eye to what he’s seen. Nearing, the Virtual lays eyes on Ricardo, with the latter lounging on the chair, swears in shock.

  “I didn’t know you’re also into that Aztec style yourself,” Ricardo states.

  Troy grimaces before locating his boots and slides his feet inside. He aims a thumb over his shoulder.

  “Well. Hermana’s everybody’s modeler,” Gabriel claims with a yawn.

  “And that smell, Gabriel.” Ricardo aims his nose to the ceiling, sniffing like a Pitbull searching for his freshly baked bone. “Oh, I like it.”

  Oh my god.

  Troy slaps a palm to his face, mortified but humored by the duo’s reaction. Four minutes pass, and the bedroom door cracks. His eyes linger to footsteps, followed by a piercing glance at what’s seen. Alana stalks with a chic flare as her smoothed hair rocks freely. A necklace, as bright gold as the hue imbibed in her hair, laces around the mandarin collar of her red, short-sleeved crop top, revealing a good portion of her toned midriff. Her navel concealed. A circular cut displays on her top, revealing a layer of her bosoms. Green tribal emblems and flowers ornate on her pencil skirt, where an elastic belt slings on her waistline.

  “Aye,” she calls out softly to Troy. Her purse swings over her shoulder. Gloss brightens on her lips. Troy’s member aches as if on the edge of cracking apart his crouch. He holds his breath, maintaining a stance.

  “W—” Ricardo looks around frantically, at Troy and then his niece. “W—dios mio, Alana.”

  Alana shakes her head, guffawing. Grabbing his bag from one of the chairs, Troy approaches Alana, wrapping the last of his bandages on his hand. She lingers close, caressing and brushing his low natural hair like a comb before drawing a chapstick out of her purse.

  “Told you,” she whispers, dabbing the piece on his lip.

  Troy spots her drawing her gaze to Gabriel and Ricardo, who still locks in his flummoxed state.

  “So we’s about to be heading out for the night,” she states aloud. The two nod strangely at the cyborg, who simply strokes the back of his neck. Alana glances with a spark of optimism at Troy, clutching his back. “I'm sure he going a be safe.”

  ***

  Alana’s hands were warm on the wheel as she drove. Her graceful eyes trail at the moon slithering from the clouds. On the other side, Troy sets his gaze on the SMART panel, whistling and trailing a finger over the screen like a professor inscribing esoteric jargon on the board while his students stare in uncertainty. Hours passed since Troy’s delved her into Harmony, and her fingerprints blistered from the discipline. Three lives recovered was more than enough for her to be in respite as a tyro. For a human behind the shadows, at least she did her share. She’s seen enough turmoil.

  She frowns to sirens wailing in her view, and cars surround where a blaze rumbles by a standing tree. Her ears clam to the engine’s cacophony. The tarnished car’s tire melts through the inferno while firefighters hose water, combating away the fire. Her stomach knots.

  Don’t tell me another Virtual died.

  To her twisted surprise, Alana tilts her head to what the police officers release from the ruins. Four of the federal agents seize the charred corpse by the limb. Not one augmentation in the human’s body as they rest her on the blanket on the ground. A grizzly hole, possibly originated from a clean gunshot, shows visibly from the rear window, leading to the front. Pedestrians murmur angrily among themselves.

  Alana turns right, wanting nothing further in what she’s seen. She darts her eyes upward, sighing.

  Alleviating herself, she says, “They know we coming.”

  Raising an eyebrow, Troy removes the earpiece from his left ear.

  “Yeah?”

  “The owner,” she emphasizes. Alana looks to her right. “I called. She knows we’re coming. Shocked to see she's still around, though.”

  Troy grunts as a matter of fact, unable to make the comment. That is, until Alana states, “Yeah…the owner.” She titters under her breath, and the gloss absorbs onto the tip of her tongue. “She's pretty chill. No worries. She got us.”

  Alana’s known Kulap since the former was about nine, by the time the latter was a resident in Miami working as an elder daughter to a manager in an international cuisine across her neighborhood. Panting from the older students storming like bulls, Alana would brush into her door, hearing the bells jingle as she stormed toward Kulap’s desk. A young Thai lady then, with no nonsense, stalked toward the entrance, hard broom at hand as she stood strictly against the students, forcing them to turn back reluctantly. Tears rushed from the child’s eyes as she looked over the window. Back when Alana was defenseless and before laying eyes on Troy, Kulap stood as her senior, offering her a fortune cookie to placate her. Who knew how long it’d been just for Kulap to see her like this?

  Coming across a range of cafes on White Plains Road, Alana spots a baroque restaurant to the right of Troy. Its entrance lights dazzle, catching the cyborg’s attention. Few of the clients can be seen lighting a cigar, standing posed against the outside rooftop’s columns before walking inside. She presses on the brake pedal, finding a space to park her jeep.

  The two unbuckle their seat belts, and she follows once Troy opens the door. Locking the vehicle with her car keys, Alana’s golden heels click on the pavement. She almost stumbles before looking down at the concrete. She looks over at Troy, heart fluttering as his gaze falls astutely on her.

  “Can you walk?” Troy asks.

  She leaps forward, reaching her arm and wrapping it around his with no protest from the cyborg. Alana tightens her grasp, saying, “With you.”

  Troy’s rising warmth brushes on her skin, and bubbles surround her view as if she were walking into another stage alongside him. It’s been long since she waited to walk in his arms like this, and so much needed to be divulged. It was inane to conceal it.

  Her foot tramps onto the carpet, and her world shines to a sturdy lady in twin ponytails standing by the door. Someone she truly anticipated.

  There you is!

  “Alana!” Kulap calls out. She waves excitedly in her scarf and sarong over her pants. Floral paintings enamor her skin, which was as tan as caramel cream. The twin golden rings lock intact on her fingers, even to this day. With the fresh crack at the side of her lips, it was apparent to assume she’s reached her late thirties. Some things, even with time, didn’t transmute as people assume.

  “It’s been long, sweetheart
!”

  “Oh my god!” Alana calls out, on the verge of choking. Her eyes begin to moist gradually until Troy nudges her. “Time passed!”

  “Look fantastic,” Kulap flatters. The restaurant owner turns her sight on Troy, pointing curiously. “Oh. Who is the name of—”

  “Troy,” Alana says immediately. She faces him, rocking him with fervor as her arm still remains in place. “He and I…we in for the night.”

  The Virtual nods respectfully toward Kulap, to which the latter rocks her head as if charmed by such a casual gesture. Her gaze locks on him, scanning the cyborg with an attentive glance and resting a hand upon the door’s surface. The moment she winks an eye, the entrance welcomes the two inside.

  ***

  Alana wheels the noodles on her fork and opens her mouth. She plucks the noodle into her mouth, sucking it in between her lips and imbibing the spice flowing on her tongue like a soda cream. Steam hisses from the large soup bowl Troy, and she shared, tickling her nostrils. Troy leans, drinking his glass of water. Ornate lighting dangles from the ceiling and candles kindle. Empty tables surround them. Fan wheels spin above, whipping her hair from behind the seat. The curtain overshadows the door that separates the two from the other public tables overlooking the outside view. To her satisfaction, this private space is exactly what she needed for tonight and to Troy’s benefit.

  Troy and me. Like old times.

  The last shrimp float on top of the orange pepper soup. Alana clicks her fingers on the table, drawing a hand to a fork. Soon everything collides once she clashes with another fork. The edges pierce simultaneously onto the shrimp and Alana grimaces. Competition rears its head. Alana reaches her fork to the other side, only for Troy to tag the shrimp’s head across her. The cyborg’s fork’s tip thrusts into the shrimp’s shell. Stunned, she levels her gaze upward and stares into Troy’s striking black pupils. The air blows past her cheek and a sudden beat in her heart echoes, forcing her to let go of her fork. She looks down at the soup.

  “Gave up so soon,” Troy banters.

  Alana nabs a finger to her lips, blushing. “Naw. It’s more than that.”