Twisted in You

by Fabiola Francisco

  I can’t help the tears that roll down my cheeks. His thumb swipes them away and he kisses their trails.

  “Ty, thank you.” Right now I have nothing else to verbally express but that. Sometimes words are a crowd when you have actions as a form of expression.

  After Tyler goes to the bathroom to discard the condom, he lies down to my right and pulls me into him, running his hand through my hair until I fall asleep.

  I look down at my tattoo before opening the door to the gallery. The curator for Webber Art Gallery bought all my pieces at the Chicago Art Fair. I was in shock when I got the phone call that they had purchased my pieces and wanted to see more of my work.

  After talking to Ava Evans over the phone, she wanted to meet in person. The timing is perfect since I am in Chicago for Tyler’s concert.

  The tour is coming to an end, and I am glad I was able to sneak away to meet Ava. Since we got to Los Angeles after our trip to Georgia and Nashville, Tyler and I have only gotten closer. He wanted to come with me, but I told him I needed to do this alone and would be back in time for his concert tonight.

  I smile at the yang outline over my scar. My male counterpart always with me. No matter where I go, he’s within me.

  “Hi, I’m looking for Ava,” I say as I see two women talking and laughing.

  “I’m Ava.” The blonde woman smiles kindly.

  “Hi! I’m Mikayla Anderson.” I reach my hand out to shake hers.

  “It is so nice to meet you! Thank you for stopping by.”

  Ava shows me the gallery and explains how they work. They spotlight an artist each month, for the length of the month. They will be using the pieces they bought from the fair to create an exposition of my work.

  As I hear her explaining the details, I follow her in utter surprise. My work. They are making a special exhibit for me.

  We talk for a long time about the logistics of it all, and she says she wants to continue carrying my art even after the spotlight is over. Thankful that I grabbed a few more sketches when I was in Nashville, I brought those with me to show Ava.

  After talking for what seems like hours and meeting Elle Webber, the owner of the gallery, I leave feeling proud of my success. It is not everyday that someone starting off in an art career gets a call from a bigger gallery asking to expose her work. Especially an artist with no schooling to show for it. Only intuition and hidden talent that emerged from the hurt.

  I get back to the stadium with enough time to change before the concert begins.

  “How did it go?” Tyler asks as he surprises me on the bus.

  “Amazing. They’re interested in more than what they bought from the fair. Deb will be sending them a few more pieces that she has stored at the gallery.”

  “I’m so proud of you.” He brushes away some strands of hair from my face. “Love you.”

  “Love you, too, Ty. A whole lot.” I smile widely and blow him a kiss.

  “You do things to me, Red.”

  “The feeling is mutual.” I grab a new pair of jeans and top and change into my outfit.

  No longer unsure of what the future will bring, I live fully instead of second guessing each step of the way. I finally went shopping while we were in Los Angeles and bought a lot more clothes than I need. I blame Tyler and his appreciation for everything I tried on.

  Now, with a full wardrobe, I find my style while maintaining my simplicity.

  “Rebel Desire is about to start. Ready to head over?”

  “Yes.” I know Tyler likes to be present throughout the entire show. “You know, I’m proud of you, too. Have you realized you’ve been sober for over a year now?”

  “I’ve got the best support system in the world.” He reaches his arm out for me to take his hand. I put my phone in the back pocket of my jeans and walk with him to the stadium.

  I watch from the wings as Tyler sings song after song, a balance of his old stuff and his newer songs. Edgy and gentle, like him. My beautiful man.

  After he sings the duet he wrote featuring Cash, he thanks him publicly and talks to the audience.

  “This is my last song for the night.” I already hear the opening notes for “Whiskey Nights” while he speaks. “I want to call the love of my life on stage for this one. She is the strongest person I know, and I wouldn’t be standing here before you tonight if it weren’t for her. Red?”

  In complete shock, I stare at him and shake my head. He walks over to me confidently and holds my hand. With the microphone away from his mouth, so no one can hear, he says, “Will you please do me this honor? One dance.” His thumb rubs circles over the top of my hand, and I follow when he begins to pull me on stage.

  “This is Mikayla, ladies and gentlemen. And this song is all hers.”

  His voice streams through the speakers for the audience, but I hear the softness of it before it hits the microphone. Without letting go of my hand, he begins to sing, swaying me from side to side before twirling me.

  The audience breaks out during the chorus as Tyler brings me close to him, and we slow dance on stage.

  I used to escape into whiskey nights

  Now I find comfort by her side.

  The bottle doesn’t stand a chance

  Against the high she hands.

  With their help, Tyler finishes the song with me in his arms. I’m hugging him loosely as my feet move in rhythm with the song, whispering the words back to him. When the song comes to a close, he crashes his lips to mine and the crowd explodes in cheers and whistles.

  “Thank you, Red, for your patience and your love.”

  I smile and kiss his cheek, my eyes welling with unshed tears. Happy tears. Proud tears.

  As I stand on stage with him, Tyler closes the concert and guides me off to the side. It has been a long battle to reach this point in my life. At one time, I doubted my will to survive. I preferred to die than live as the person I was.

  Today, as I stare at Tyler’s huge grin, I give thanks for the chance I gave myself to work through the hurt and the ugly and find inner peace. I was able to open my heart and trust another person wholly. A man that proved me wrong as soon as I gave him the opportunity to do so. A man who trusted me enough to show him what life could be like if we both left our past behind and found the truth within our hard exterior. A man I look forward to spending the rest of my life with, falling in love a little more each day.

  We don’t have it perfect, but perfection does not exist. What we have is real, and I wouldn’t want anything else but that.

  “We’ll be home in a few days, Red,” Tyler says as we head back to the bus.

  “I’m already home.” I place my left hand over his heart. He reaches for my hand and turns my wrist over, rubbing my tattoo, the opposite of the one that now resides on his wrist as well.

  “Yes, you are.” He kisses my scar. “We’re both home.”

  One Year Later

  Once upon a time I was crazy, violent, angry, even suicidal. Memories haunted me and shadows followed me. I was blind to the good in the world.

  But sometimes, stories begin badly and end wonderfully. I am proof of that. Regardless of the things I experienced, I survived. More than survived, I thrived. Full of life and blessings, I am moving forward grateful for all I have.

  Tyler and I have lived peacefully for the past year in his house. He has taken time to work on a new album, which releases next week. After the tour last year, he decided a break from traveling was necessary for him to continue his own healing. We see his mom and Ben a lot more often. I love seeing Tyler strengthen that relationship from a healthy perspective and not one of blame. He is an incredible man, and he is now becoming aware of his own worth.

  Since I was exposed at Webber Art Gallery in Chicago, my art career has picked up. Since then, I have been able to dedicate myself to art. Whoever said an artist’s life was a poor one didn’t know what he was talking about. If you live a life you love and dedicate yourself to your purpose, you are the richest human in the world.r />
  I am rich for many reasons, and one of them is lying in the bed next to me snoring lightly. I smile and curl into him. We went to celebrate Sam’s success tonight.

  I donated the money I made from selling my stepdad’s house to Sam, so she could open her own practice. She fought me hard on that, unwilling to take the money. I wanted that money to be used for good. I couldn’t think of anyone better than her to create that good. She finally agreed when I told her I believed she would be great at helping other women and girls who have suffered abuse. People who don’t believe there is a way out of the darkness. I know Sam could be their light, like she was mine. I only had one condition, she honored her own mother in it.

  She finally agreed, making me a silent partner as her one condition. And thus, the Eloise Center was created. I will be volunteering to teach art to the young adults some days of the week.

  I also finally met her father and his family tonight. It was great seeing where Sam comes from and the people she now has in her life. Her sisters are wonderful, and I could see how much Sam cares about them. After years of being estranged, I am glad she got the opportunity to move back here and mend that.

  Bale came to the grand opening with Julia, his girlfriend. Apparently, she was the woman who took Sam’s window at the Red Light District in Amsterdam when Sam moved to Tennessee. I thanked him for his anonymous help in giving me my peace back.

  Sam will always be the person I most admire. She was the only one who cared during a time that I didn’t even care for myself. After learning what she went through, I am in awe of her compassion. She’s been a constant for the past few years, and we continue to support each other in our growth.

  Tyler stirs next to me and mumbles something in his sleep. I still to not wake him, but it’s too late.

  “Red? Are you awake?” He asks sleepily.

  “Shhh . . . Go back to sleep. Sorry.”

  He turns to face me and smiles. “Come on, get some rest. I’ll promise to take you for a ride on my bike tomorrow, if you do as I say.” He brushes his fingers over the length of my arm, causing chills. I shiver and giggle. I love riding that damn motorcycle with him now.

  He kisses me and blinks drowsily. “Deal. Go to sleep, Ty. You’re tired.”

  “Yes, but you’re awake. Sleep with me, baby.” He pulls me tight to his body, and I warm all over.

  I drape my arm over his back and nod. Closing my eyes, and ready to wake up to him for the rest of my life. My yang twisted into me to bring balance into my darkness and darkness into my light.

  Chapter 1

  One day you open your eyes and you realize the dream you had as a little girl is lost. The thoughts that swirled around in your head are nothing but faded memories in the keepsake that is your mind. The heart that was full of love and happiness is bleak. One day you realize that the little girl inside was naïve and blind to the truths of the world. You also wake up one day and become aware that little girl is gone. Missing altogether in a world that is no longer the one you remember.

  That person that ran freely with the wind in her hair, soaking up the sun is the same person you see now as you walk rain-stained streets. She seems in control, moving to her own flow behind a glass that exposes her completely­—at least her physical side. She is comfortable exposing that side so long as you don’t reach past that layer. And if you dare do so, she’ll stop you without mercy. She doesn’t care about feelings or what people think. If she did, she wouldn’t be where she is right now, showing her assets in the reflection of the red lights that shine off the street. Her own dollhouse in the center of a city that others love and she feels forced to be in.

  I see that person looking back at me now, eyes black as the night she works, hair as wild as her heart. She’s familiar in a distant way. Someone I used to know trying to crawl out of her, but she drags that self back into the depths of her soul, locking her away so no one finds her.

  A knock at my door distracts me from my reflection. I turn to see Bale standing at the entrance of my small haven, his size taking up the entire entrance.

  “You got a new one, baby,” he says in his perfect English despite being an Amsterdam native. I cringe at hearing him call me baby. I hate that nickname.

  “Send him in,” I look back out at my reflection in the glass window. I take a few steps towards it and close the drapes. I live for this moment. The moment right before you come face-to-face with your next captive knowing that you lured him in.

  I hear a throat being cleared and I slowly turn around, the latex lingerie sticking to my body and the knee high boots clicking against the wood floor. I run my hand through my hair, combing it to the side as I assess my latest temptation. He’s good-looking, strong jaw, firm hands, and toned legs. Perfect.

  Silently, I approach him and run my hand down his chest, reaching his cock and squeezing it lightly over his trousers. There’s no need to make small talk or give our names, he is here for one thing, and I’m the perfect person to service him. He pays, I perform.

  “Nice,” I whisper seductively and step back. “Shirt off.” His eyes are hooded as he undoes each button.

  Damn tourists come to the city thinking they are in control when in reality the drugs and booze control them. My pussy and tits control them. We are creatures of habit. The same way you train a dog to sit, you teach a human to fetch.

  “Faster. You’re not here to seduce me. That job was already done by my dancing at the window.”

  He may be good-looking, but his movements are slow.

  “I like to take me time,” he says in broken English. My guess is that he’s French.

  “You’ll get what you came for and leave satisfied, but this goes at my pace.” I lean him back onto the red chaise and finish the job for him, removing his shirt and pleased to find a lean torso underneath.

  After years of doing this, men just become bodies, but the one thing I haven’t lost that others in my field have, is getting my own pleasure on the job. I hear the other women say it’s just a fuck or they blow the guys to get them off and finish. They have become numb to their own pleasure. They want the money, to speed up the process to get a new one right after. Not me, I take my time. People have alcohol and drugs as their release and escape; I have sex. My sensuality and desire are my drug.

  I grab my riding crop and run it down his chest. My new toy’s eyes darken and his pants become snug around his lap. I laugh wickedly and turn to a table. Grabbing the blindfold, I place it around his head and whisper into his ear, “My game, my rules.”

  I take control the best way I know how, giving him a show that will heighten his other senses, mysterious and arousing as I dance over him, feeling his body and my own. Allowing him to run his hands over my body and moaning at the right time, his breathing speeds up.

  I unzip his pants, releasing his heavy cock and covering it with a rubber before licking from the base to his tip, teasing him before taking all of him to the back of my throat and sucking him. This stranger groans with encouragement and seeks my body in the darkness behind his eyes. I let him please me all he wants despite him being the one paying.

  I remove my corset, the latex peeling off my tanned skin and sit on his lap, guiding his mouth to my nipple and his hand to my other breast. He greedily sucks and bites my tender skin and finds my other nipple to please. Once I’ve had enough, I stop him and stand, the latex thong too much of a barrier. I remove the blindfold so he can enjoy the last bit of the show and let him remove my underwear. He rubs is fingers against my clit bravely. He’s definitely a confident one. Many times, the men I deal with are too intimidated to make a move, forcing me to guide them. As much as I love being in control, it’s nice to have someone who knows what he’s doing.

  I let him get his two seconds of control and then push him back until he’s on his back. I kneel on either side of him, my pussy inches from his face and tease him. I’m throbbing for an orgasm and since he’s proven knowledgeable with his body, I’m going to indulge in a littl
e tongue action. I lower my body and hold on to the back of the chaise while his hands roam my body and his tongue devours me.

  I tense over his face, orgasm washing over me until he’s sucked and fucked me with his mouth. I lift my body off the lounge chair and raise an eyebrow.

  “You definitely know how to us your tongue. Now, let’s see about that dick.” He sits up quickly and removes his pants. “Eager are we?”

  “Oui,” he responds. I was right about this French man. Maybe I could visit France one day and find myself a little boy toy to train.

  I pump him a few times, roll on a new condom, and settle down on him, his thickness pulsing against my walls, and I ride him like a fucking cowgirl eager to ride away into the sunset.

  “You did good today, Sam.”

  “Thanks, Bale. You got the money?”

  “I got it.” He hands me my stack of cash and I leave.

  Usually, the girls of the Red Light District manage their own clients and money. They are entrepreneurs in a modern world where prostitution is legal and prostitutes now pay taxes despite the stereotype. Well, legal in the Netherlands. Back home this is not the career one would choose, but home is a faraway place I vowed never to return. My home is now the dark streets of this city and the souls that wander throughout them. There are two sides to this place, light and dark—those that have a life ahead of them, and those that have black hearts within them.

  Bale and I are a team. He was the first kind person I met here after I hit rock bottom. He understands my black heart and manages my clients and payments. We’ve got each other.

  I walk home in the crisp early morning hours, the moon still shining down on me in its final attempt to light the night sky before the sun makes its appearance.

  I enter my apartment and leave the lights off, throwing the stash of cash on the entrance table and kicking off my short boots before stripping off my clothes on the way to the bathroom. I turn on the hot water and jump in for a quick shower before crashing on my small bed. Damn Europeans and their small spaces.