The Journalist: A Sexy Contemporary Romance

by Tia Lewis

  "I understand. I'll let you know if we need to go at a slower pace."

  "Next thing we need to discuss is schedules. We both have other important things to address in our lives so we need to set up some sort of schedule we can work around. There's your school, and then there is work for me. I might be working on other stories alongside yours. And then there is your…umm…" I hesitated. "…your work."

  "Right. About that. I think we should talk about that," she said.

  "Umm…I'll be right back guys. I see someone that I know," Patrice interjected as she left the table immediately without another word.

  "Did we…?" I asked.

  "She probably felt she needs to give us some space. It's nothing to worry about. That is totally Patrice."

  "Oh alright. Back to what you were saying."

  "Yeah, about that. I have doubts about that, too. I'm not too sure I want to continue down that path. It's a little difficult to walk that road. Last night when we were together, I couldn't get myself to accept you. I kept remembering that night, and all that those men did to me. It was a terrible thing to remember."

  I stared at her as she spoke, understanding every word she said, yet torn between her words and my dilemma. When I approached her, I didn't fully grasp what this would end up as, but as she spoke of her experience with me, it began to take shape in my mind. From the way things were looking now and going by the fact that I knew her story (or at least some part of it), there was every likelihood that she might turn me into a confidante or an agony uncle of sorts and this was something I really didn't look forward to.

  Emotions were not exactly my forte. I saw them as a weakness. In my 14 years post-puberty, I had come to learn that emotions were for the weak and they could pull you down at any point in time. And love was a farfetched tale told to little girls to help them sleep well at night. The only things that existed to me were desire and passion, both of which I poured into my work and my other side hobby. So, her wanting to tell me things about her and expecting me to be able to 'oh' and 'ah' like her psychologist was what I dreaded more than anything else. What was I supposed to say to her when she was starting to tear up? Especially seeing as her issues were quite the complicated ones. I guess I could only try.

  "At what point did you start feeling that way?" I asked. Not bad at all. I could do this shrink thing.

  "Right from the start." She replied.

  "From the very moment we got into the room?" I asked, and she nodded. "My God! So all that time I was kissing you, you felt nothing?"

  "Nothing but fear and uncertainty. And that is not to undermine your 'abilities' if that is what you are thinking."

  It was what I was thinking, but that wouldn't look so good on paper. I couldn't admit a part of me thought I had lost my touch as this hurt lady poured her heart out to me.

  What kind of a gentleman would I be? She was seated across me; her shoulders slumped down. "No. Not at all." I said. "That is definitely not what I was thinking. I'm not the important one here. You are. You must've been really hurt by what those men did for you to keep remembering."

  "I guess having a man's hands on me after so long brought the memories back. It's perfectly understandable."

  "Umm…hold on a second. It's been how long? A year?" I asked, a little confused.

  "Yeah. Why?"

  "And in that one year, you haven't had even one man touch you?"

  "No. It's been hard to live with myself, much less let someone touch me after what happened. It's not so easy to live that kind of memory down. Some people might go straight on a sex rampage as a way of easing their pain, but some of us don't have that kind of strength."

  "If you can't stand men touching you, then how exactly do you want to go back to work?"

  "Honestly? I don't know. I thought it would easier to just, you know, go back into the fields and let them do what they want. Try not to get my mind attached to what they do. Just let my body do all the work, but so far it is not working."

  "But I'm the first guy since you decided to go back. Could it be that it's because you've just been with one person and you're kind of new to all this?"

  "Again, I don't know. It might. It might not. Do you know what I felt when you were kissing me? Pain. I could smell them even though you were wearing a cologne I loved just moments before when I walked up to you at the bar. I could smell the booze they were reeking of that night. I felt hands on my neck, squeezing the life out of me. Do you understand now?"

  I sighed and nodded. I totally understood. For the first time in a really long time, I was really completely short of words. What did one say to someone at a time like this?

  Did one say everything would be alright and hope that it did get better for her? Or did one just keep quiet and offer her a hug or something mundane like that? I should bring out my tape recorder and start the session right away, but that would be completely insensitive. Now, I was torn between being a friend and being a reporter.

  In my experience, it was at times like this that the juiciest stuff came out.

  "I totally do." I finally said. I decided to be the friend for this moment. If I could get her to warm up to me and be a friend now, the job would be easier to complete. The reporter in me could try to remember anything noteworthy she said. "You'll be fine. That I know. It might be hard right now to even see that as a possibility, but I know that you'll be fine eventually. Trust me."

  "Thank you, Dylan. Thank you for listening to my crap." She said with a small smile.

  "One, it's not crap. It's something really serious, and you deserve a listening ear. Two, it's my job to listen. And I'm not talking as a reporter now. I kind of see you as a friend now, so it's my job to listen."

  Alexa laughed. "Don't go rushing through the hurdles," she teased. "There is a stage to getting close to me. You, sir, are still in the acquaintance phase. Don't get ahead of yourself."

  "If you can tell your acquaintance all this, I wonder what you tell your friends. Oh my, I can't wait." I teased back.

  "So back to what I was saying. I'm not really sure if I can do this or not. Hope it doesn't affect your story?"

  "Not at all. It doesn't change what you did in your life. It just changes what you are about to do in your life. So long as you've lived the life I want to write about, we're good. And just maybe doing this might help you work out your trauma."

  "Maybe."

  "So our schedules. Which would you prefer; one whole day every week or those hours broken down into bits spread over the week?"

  "Which do you suggest?"

  "Well, the thing with meeting regularly is that we can cover a lot and actually dig with every meeting we have, so I am kind of partial to that."

  "Is that the actual or you're just looking for excuses to spend time with me?" She teased again.

  I smiled at her. She was quite the likable person. I liked the fact that despite her circumstance, she still found the humor in everything. It would be quite refreshing to work with her that much I knew.

  "Well, is that such a terrible thing to do?" I said following the pace she set.

  "Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe you'll change your mind when you find out I charge for every single minute I spend with anyone. That's what the job entails."

  "Very well played," I said laughing. "Now that we have settled that, I should probably get your number now before I lose it again."

  "If you do lose it again, at least you know where to find me now," she said and gestured around her.

  "You live in a café?" I asked as I passed her my phone.

  "Very funny, Dylan. Very, very funny," She said and typed her number into the phone. Just for added measure, I called the number immediately.

  "That's my number. Please save that in your contacts. And if for any reason, any reason at all I don't call you in a day, please do me the huge favor of calling me. I'll send you my email address as well, for added measure."

  "This must be really important to you."

  "Other than the fa
ct that my career depends on this story and the added fact that my really strict editor has decided to give me free rein over it, plus the fact I kind of am in her good books now, I am tired of messing shit up."

  11

  Alexa

  Walking through the streets, a sense of calm descended on me. For the first time in a while, I could actually walk the streets feeling like I have left behind some baggage. Before the incident, these streets used to be all the support I needed. I knew when I was here; I was in my own territory. I had grown so accustomed to these streets like it was my home. Heck, it was, in fact, my home.

  Then they took it away from me. Even though I walked around at night, it wasn't the same. I walked around with a nagging fear that someone would crawl up on me and attack me. The fear still existed, but this time, I felt it a lot more subtly than I did before. It was just that this time, I felt a sense of calm seeping in slowly.

  I told myself there was nothing to be worried or scared about. These streets wouldn't eat me up. The chatter of people around me was enough to tell me what I already knew. I couldn't live my life scared of the night all the time. Worse things happened to people in their own homes even during the day. The fact that one bad thing happened to me didn't mean the world was out to get me.

  A child ran past me, laughing as he ran. His mother or maybe his babysitter ran after him, trying to catch up with him, laughing as she ran. I felt envious of his genuine happiness. He had absolutely no worries in his life then. Sometimes when I looked at these people, I wished I had their kind of life. I didn't remember the last time I felt such genuine, unadulterated happiness. What I would give to be able to live that kind of life again. It seemed like such a distant time; it defied being called time.

  I held the bags that carried the books I borrowed from the library to prepare for my test tomorrow close to my chest and headed up the stairs to my apartment. The lemony fragrance that hit my nose as I entered into my apartment made me smile. Patrice did know how to out-do herself sometimes. When Patrice asked to be excused earlier, she came back to the apartment and apparently did some extra cleaning. It wasn't until Dylan and I were done talking, and I called her, that I realized she had left the café altogether. Walking on tiptoes, so I didn't wake Patrice, who was curled up on my sofa, I turned on the lights, dropped the books on the table, and started to boil water for some coffee. It was going to be a long night.

  "Hey you," Patrice said as she stifled a yawn.

  "Oh, I'm really sorry. I was trying so hard not to wake you."

  "It's fine. I've been asleep for a while. Where have you been?"

  "The library. I was feeling a little restless after the talk with Dylan, so I decided to put it to good use. I have a test tomorrow to prepare for."

  "Huh, the test isn't until the day after."

  "I decided to go to the professor tomorrow instead. Why continue to postpone the inevitable?"

  Patrice shot out of the chair. "What happens to the excuse I gave? Do you want to get me in trouble, Alexa? Why the sudden change of mind?!"

  "I don't think I want the added pressure of tests on my neck right now," I said as the kettle started to whistle. I tore open a sachet of instant coffee and poured it into a mug and added some water. "So here's the plan; I'll stay up all night, down as much coffee as I can, and study hard until the morning."

  "And then what? Walk up to the professor and tell him you were miraculously cured of your illness, so you're fit for the test now?"

  "Maybe. Or I could just tell him I told you that because I had a panic attack. Either way, whatever I do, I'll make sure you don't get into any trouble. I promise you."

  "Oh, Lord! What's gotten into you?"

  "I need to study now, so it's either you go back to bed or find something to do. Either way, I really don't want any disturbances, Patrice."

  "I could help you study if you're fine with that."

  "I'd absolutely love that."

  A strong wind blew, and the chill in the air was more pronounced than ever. The sun shone a little too brightly overhead even though a nagging feeling inside of me told me it was supposed to be night time. Beyond me was a very vast, seemingly unending land. Dried grasses laid on the ground like rolls of Persian rugs on the floor.

  There was not a single man, animal, or tree in sight. I was completely alone. I looked up at it, and there it was, half-sun, half-moon. How could this even be possible? No explanation formed at the back of my mind. It was even more surprising that this thing, this entity's brightness didn't hurt my eyes.

  I looked away from the moon-sun and down at the floor ahead of me. A puddle of clear water was by my feet. I didn't see it before. I was sure it wasn't there before. I peered at the puddle and staring back at me was the reflection of a little girl. The girl's blonde hair was parted halfway and plaited into a ponytail on both sides of her face. The girl in the water was smiling back at me. I knew her. I had seen her before…I was her. Me at the age of three.

  I blinked, and the reflection in the water was gone. I looked around trying to find the little girl, and there she was in front of me. Like thinking of her was what brought her into existence? Looking so excited about something, she ran off, and I started to run after her, trying to find out what it was that had gotten her so happy. Or was this how all children seemed so happy? I didn't remember ever being so happy.

  I caught up with her in no time and what I saw brought tears to my eyes. Sitting on the lush greenery of grasses were a man and woman. I knew immediately that these were her father and her mother. How I knew this, I had no idea, but I was sure of it.

  The mother ruffled the little girl's hair, and she started to shriek with laughter. The girl's reaction to her mother touched my heart, and I felt a sort of heaviness. The man with them joined in the laughter, and he too started to tug at the girl's hair and played with her cheeks. Together they all seemed so happy.

  All of a sudden, a flash of lightning crossed the sky and thunder immediately followed it. The whole place got dark almost immediately, but I could still see the little girl and her family. Only this time, the little girl was no longer there. Kneeling right where she had been was a much older girl. The girl still had the blonde hair, but she was in her teens. I can tell it was the same girl. Just like before. Because this was me in my teens.

  The girl's father asks her mother to move to a particular spot away from where she was before, and the woman heeds to his request. Just as the woman changed her position, a sinkhole appeared out of nowhere and swallowed up the woman. I stared in disbelief at the empty ground where the woman once was. It wasn't until I heard shrieking that I turned my attention to the other people there. Where the woman stood was a young, redheaded lady yelling at her father, blaming him for what happened. When I turned my attention to the woman, I noticed that it was me. Everything about this girl was just like me now. The girl in my image was screaming at the man saying it was all his fault. Just as he tried to touch her, she screamed yet again.

  I jumped off the chair immediately with a loud shriek, sending the books in my path flying all over. I continued to scream despite the fact that I had woken up from sleep. It took a while for it to register that I was no longer asleep and this was no longer a dream. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw as Patrice sat up immediately with a startled look and rushed to my side, patting my shoulder. It took a few moments longer to realize that I was back in my room and that it had all been a dream. It had felt so real when I was dreaming, that I thought I had been watching the real thing happen.

  "Hush now…It's going to be alright. It was just a nightmare." I heard Patrice coo into my ears as she rubbed my shoulders.

  Then it all came to me. Patrice and I had been studying together, her explaining parts I didn't understand. But the coffee was not doing such a good job of keeping me awake. Some hours later, the sleep started to win, and my eyes started to close shut. Patrice, who wasn't the one with the test was doing a much better job of staying awake than I who was s
upposed to be taking a test the next day. Considering that I had slept in till really late, it was quite a surprise that I was feeling sleepy again. When I couldn't take it any longer, I placed my head on the table, and I fell asleep almost immediately.

  I pressed the unlock button on my phone to check the time. 2:30 am. It had been barely one hour since I fell asleep, but it felt like I have been gone for much longer. Patrice had left my side and was now back with a glass of warm milk. I collected the glass from her and gulped down the contents without a word.

  "Are you alright now?" Patrice asked.

  "Yeah. I guess so. I had one of those dreams again."

  "Which one?"

  "The dream with the younger me. It's just this time the anguish was much greater. It felt like my heart was going to be torn from my chest with all the pain that was in it. It was like I was the one getting hurt."

  "Did you see the men this time?"

  "No. it was just me as a child. The dream followed a progression. From the young me to the older one, and then the part about my mother disappearing, and me blaming my father."

  "Oh. Have you ever had anyone like this before?"

  "No. The dreams are always different, but they all have the same message; the tragedy of a child losing her mother and then blaming her father for it. This time it was a vast, thriving field. The mother was taken by a sinkhole. I've never dreamt about a sinkhole before," I said and placed the empty glass on the table.

  For a year now, my dreams had been plagued every once in awhile by the dream of a child losing a mother. The dreams started right after my encounter with those men. I never had the same dream more than once, but it had the same message. Eventually, I had told Patrice about it.

  "Don't you think the recurrence of these dreams is just trying to tell you something?"