Leonardo

Being Amara's substitute wasn't hard. The people I was made to babysit made me realise it.

Having fought in different wars, even different eras yet those veterans felt familiar to me. Perhaps undergoing the same trauma would make you become part of a similar-experience club.

The scars on the body - the sight of an amputated arm or a leg, a reconstructed face - could be seen to understand what we underwent.

How to explain what our minds underwent?

When I was airlifted from the field, I lost my conscience. So there was no recollection of what happened when they took me in or the way they might have reacted after seeing my mangled body.

The military doctors had severed my left leg to save my life. When I woke up, what I did recollect was their expression - of defeat.

In this room, where I sat with those veterans, I felt the same.

The drumming of defeat, the buzzing noise that we lost a part of our sanity.

A Private narrated the bloodshed he witnessed in Iran. An older person spoke about how his behavior changed after the war, and how he became angry at those who wanted to help him.

For all of their narrations, all I could do was deliver a nod.

They knew I wasn't listening - lost in my own fallen world.

But they weren't talking for me either. They were narrating their pain to the pale green walls of the room, to the flickering fluorescent lights. 

They were spewing their guts in the form of words, letting themselves know they survived.

Though Amara informed me of what I needed to do in case someone looked like a threat to themselves, thankfully, I didn't require using that information.

By the end of an hour, when talks died and those men grabbed their stuff and left, I sat still.

I wasn't ready to go.

I had a date with Zemira but my feet refused to move. The mountain of insecurities I carried, this room helped shoulder it.

Maybe it was the rendition of those veterans, of what they saw and felt that made me feel at home.

I dug my phone out, dialing Amara.

"What happened?" Within a ring, she picked up the call. "Is everything alright?"

It was the same voice she used whenever her son, Faizal, made calls to her at night. A voice of concern.

I had a mother who worried about me like crazy and then her, a crazy friend who always assumed something worst had happened to me.

"Leo, goddammit, tell me what happened?"

"Nothing," I chuckled. "Nothing happened. I'm done with the session and wanted to inform you that. How's Faizy?"

In a moment of silence, changed by Faizy's annoyed voice calling out 'mom' that emerged from the speaker, I understood she must have ruffled his hair.

She always liked ruffling his hair and annoying him. In many ways, she was a replica of my mother.

"Say hello to him for me," I began. Soft breaths greeted me from her end. "I wanted to ask if there's a position open for the role. As a counselor"

I wanted to be a part of something. I wanted to be with my kind of people. Broken, battered yet surviving.

"There is. But there are some courses before that. You can't directly join without the required qualifications."

"Let me know what needs to be done," I answered. "Send me the details. I'm willing to do it."

Her intonated voice sprang through the phone as Amara narrated the process for training and the certifications needed for it.

I packed my bag and walked out of the room.

I was going to do another thing I had been longing for.

~

I never had a real date with Zem and now that I had, I turned into a bundle of insecurities.

I'd tried four shirts in shades ranging from blue to pink before settling on a crisp white. I tried my best to be formal for the occasion, constantly reminding myself that Zem was a bad cook and that we might have to eventually go out for dinner.

When I stopped the cab a couple of blocks from her house, after eying a flower shop, my heart somersaulted. Anticipation trailed down every nerve of my body.

I was going to have my first date with the woman I love.

"Which ones?" An old, salt-pepper-haired shop owner asked as I stepped inside the store, inhaling the floral scents. "And for what occasion?"

He must have understood with my hovering gaze, I was confused.

"First date," I said, picking up a bouquet of roses.

Classics don't hurt.

"Unless you want it to be mediocre," the man said, moving behind a tiny door and walking back with an arrangement of pink and white lilies with a blue orchid in between them. "This should do the trick."

It was a huge arrangement - one where I needed to hold with both hands and walk around, poking my head from above them.

I glanced at all the other small, fitting-in-one-hand bouquets.

None of them appealed to me. None spoke to me.

Yes, I was going crazy, being an 'A-class pain in the ass' even while choosing a bouquet.

"Thanks. I'll take it." I tapped my card at the machine, waiting for him to parcel the arrangement with light cellophane on top.

He stated the instructions for when to remove the cover - at Zem's entrance.

By the time I held the heavy arrangement in my hand, the shop owner's wife emerged from behind the tiny door, smiling at me.

"Isn't it too much?" I asked, trying to balance the wobbling tower of flowers.

She waved her hand, smiling at her husband.

"We are married for twenty-five years and this was the thing that sealed the deal. So don't worry about it being too much."

I walked out of the shop with a smile. And looking like a flower delivery guy.

By the time I reached Zem's house, my shirt clung to my back. I was panting when I rang her and she buzzed me in.

Tossing open the door, she welcomed me.

Shit. The cellophane.

"Sorry about that." I pulled the cover. A few lilies fell on the wooden floor.

Zemira chuckled. "Flowers!"

Her new scent, a mix of warm tangerine and vanilla, greeted my senses while I gave her the bouquet. She embraced me.

I smiled like a teenager, feeling giddy in my stomach.

"These are beautiful, Leo," Zem said, walking me inside and carefully removing the flowers into a glass vase. "Thank you so much."

I walked around her pristine apartment.

The fireplace was lit, and the white marble floor reflected those slow-dancing flames. Above it, the mantle had childhood photos of her, posing with her mother.

Lawrence Ford smiled in all those photos. Zemira, her split image now, smiled alongside her in those photos. 

The white ottomans with gold-bordered woodwork suited the light-colored appearance of the place.

Zemira placed the vase on a small table by the window, a smile never leaving her face.

She walked over, running her hand into the back of my neck.

I wanted to drag her down to the couch and kiss every inch of her body because every time she touched me, I wanted to make her come undone.

Yet, as civilized as I could be, I pulled her close dipping my head near her ear.

"You don't know the effect your touch has on me, darling."

"Don't I?"

I ran my hand into the back of her head, sliding it into wavy raven locks and plunging her lips over mine.

She tasted fruity. Maybe, it was her lip gloss.

My eyes fluttered shut, feeling her hand run over the side of my face, over my shoulder, sliding over the side and...

"What the..." I gasped. She groped me. "What was that?"

"I love your ass," she winked, taking my hand and walking us into the kitchen.

She turned, pulling me closer and nuzzling her nose up and down my neck.

"Zemmm..." A feral, grunt released from the back of my throat.

My cock twitched beneath my pant, begging to be set free.

Zemira knew how even her touch made me feel. She was bringing her A-game today. I should have known better.

"This can wait," I said.

"Really!" My words shoved her away. She looked at me with wide eyes. "I'm so sorry. God, I'm such an idiot."

She cleared her throat, sliding a hand over her silky black dress with tiny straps that danced over her collarbone.

"Look at me," I tipped her chin up and caged her against the wall. "Don't say sorry. I'm the one to say it coz I'm making you wait."

She nodded, sliding her hand over my shoulders and clasping them behind my back. Her scent, her figure everything was an assault on me.

I was surely going to have blue balls. Yet, I knew the cost of holding on.

I didn't want to ruin our first date with the sight of my severed leg. She would want to see it if I mentioned it. Or worse, if I removed my pant.

"You are worth the wait, Leo." Her eyes shone. Her smile reappeared.

I dipped my lips over hers, ready to devour her. Her tongue played over mine, stroking fire like a matchstick.

Soft moans from the back of her throat, when my hand roamed over her perky nipples, were setting me mad.

I wanted to have her, under me.

Moaning.

Panting.

Submitting.

I wanted her to touch herself, make me touch her silken skin. I wanted to kiss every inch of hers, dive down and drink her up from between her legs and make her understand where my heaven was.

More than that, I wanted to be inside her, thrusting hard, then slow, making her wait and anticipate before filling her again. Flooding her.

"Leo," her voice broke my reverie.

I needed to tell her about my injuries, my imperfection. If she wanted to leave me then...

God, would she?

"What are you thinking, Leo?"

I looked around the well-lit kitchen, inhaling the scent of ripe tomatoes and spices wafting in the air.

"I'm thinking that your pasta is overcooked."

Zem's eyes widened.

"Rubbish." She checked the timer on the marble counter, rolling her eyes. "We still have time."

"Sure... If you want to serve me overcooked macaroni then yes, we have all the time."

Smacking my arm, she moved over to the simmering pot, turning her back to me.

"I'll have you know, it's not mac and cheese. And definitely not your famous baked potato crap."

When she turned, bumping into my chest, I held her back. Her eyes met mine and at that moment, something sparked in my chest.

The words of the flower shop woman's voice sprang into my mind.

I wanted to marry Zem.

It was the first time I thought about us and our future.

All this while I was worried about telling her I love her.

Today, I wanted to shout out to the world that I wanted to make her mine. I wanted to marry the best and the most beautiful woman in the world.

The woman who claimed me for herself.

"Zem..." my throat bobbed.

"Yes, Leo..."

My phone rang, breaking our trance. I moved at a distance, pulling my phone out of my pocket. Amara's ragged voice emerged from the other side.

"Romeo is not doing well. I think he ate something bad during his walk and now he's puking all over the house. Can you..."

I looked up at Zem, who surely heard everything Amara said. She nodded, switching off the stove and draining the spaghetti in a colander.

Steam filled my vision as I answered Amara. "I'm coming."

Turning to Zemira, I felt a prick in my throat. "I'm sorry about cancelling..."

"Who's cancelling?" Zem said, walking into her room and emerging in a pair of track pants and a black shirt. "We are simply moving the venue. Now help me pack all this in the Tupperware."

She pointed to the cabinets above the stove, grabbing a bottle of chilled white wine from the fridge.

"Zem you don't have to... We can reschedule."

"I know." She nodded. "But I don't want to, Leo. I need this today. To be with you and have this date."

Zem wasn't eying me when she spoke. Her focus was on packing the tiramisu box neatly.

At that moment, whatever apprehension I had - about her not being able to accept my newer form - vanished.

Unknown to herself, Zemira conveyed she would be with me through thick and thin. It solidified my beliefs too.

She was the one.

~

He wants to marry her, you guys...

EEEhhhh I'm so happy.

What do you think?

Too soon?

Or too slow?