Unclutter, page 24
I could feel my face turning red at the fourth line of the poem mentioning Ekon’s behind. I felt flustered and could feel a mini panic attack brewing. Did he think I was a pervert?
I’m not a pervert. There is nothing wrong with having adult thoughts.
“I don’t remember any poem,” I lied.
“Chef cutie, eyes beauty, strawberries tasty…” Ekon recited the poem he had clearly memorized. “What is the last line?”
I heaved a silent sigh of relief. “Why don’t you guess, chef cutie?”
I could sense Ekon’s embarrassment on the other side. Ah, gotcha!
Ekon continued. “You even scribbled on the backside of the note. I couldn’t even read the imprint.”
I laughed. “Well, it’s for me to know and for you to guess.”
“Oh yeah? I thought you didn’t remember the poem, you lying beauty,” Ekon teased.
“I didn’t. But your husky voice brought back my memory.”
“Oh, you mean my sexy voice?” Ekon asked, his voice laced with mischief. “Like my booty?”
My heart stopped for a moment. How did he interpret that?
I felt my body trembling with nervousness because of the nature of this talk, but I faked confidence. “You wish. Keep guessing!”
“I need the note for that,” Ekon said.
I laughed. “No, you don’t. You have etched the poem in your memory.”
“Not just the poem,” Ekon replied. “I studied that piece of paper the whole night—” He added after a pause, “I wasn’t supposed to reveal that.”
“No, thank you,” I told him, floored by his sincerity. “I was feeling embarrassed that I bared my soul on that page. But if it made you think about me the whole night, it was worth it.”
“It did. And it confirmed that you felt the same way about me.” He hesitated a little. “I was really hurt when you kissed me at Landfill Hill and ran away like it was a mistake. I spent days wondering what I did wrong.”
I took a deep breath. “Eko, I’m sorry I gave you mixed signals when I obviously felt the same way about you. But that had nothing to do with anything you did. You’re simply wonderful. I already had too much going on that day, and Pete being declared the university brand ambassador was my final trigger. That’s why I didn’t want to hurt you and decided not to pursue this further. But I should have communicated that better. I apologize for leaving you hanging.” I paused for a moment. “But I missed you too much and didn’t want to let you go.”
“Wow, Tia. I had decided not to forgive you. Ever. That’s how angry I was. But I’m grinning like a goofy idiot right now. Can you say that again? That I’m wonderful? Then, maybe, I’ll let this go.”
I smiled. “How about I say that in person the next time we meet?”
“Deal. And you give me the doodle dedicated to me.”
I laughed. “Ha, in your dreams.”
“Come on. It has my name, so it’s mine.”
“Eko, I already gave you a nice limerick. That one is yours.”
“Fine. But just so you know, I like the doodled poem better,” Ekon grumbled.
I laughed and changed the subject. “So, are you free next Saturday or Sunday? Want to go anywhere? Maybe we could go rock climbing.”
“Or you could teach me to ice skate.”
“Oh, you need an excuse to hold my hand,” I teased.
He chuckled. “You mean like the way you couldn’t let go of mine at Landfill Hill?”
“Yeah. That was an excuse to hold your hand,” I admitted. “I can balance well on ice.”
“Wow, Tia, I was not expecting you to be so direct,” Ekon said, his voice light.
“I’m going to be honest and sincere with you from now on. Just like you’ve always been with me.”
“Tiara Lauren, I would like nothing more,” Ekon said. “And we are on for next weekend.”
I was surprised that I hadn’t flinched when Ekon called me by my real name.
“Great, can’t wait. It’s a date.”
Chapter 37
After we hung up last night, Ekon and I had chatted over text for some time, which had led to another phone call that went on forever. The next morning, I picked up my phone groggily when it rang. “Hi, Eko.”
“What’s Eko?” the voice asked me. It was not my boyfriend.
I sat up on my bed with a jolt. “Mom?”
My mother giggled and teased me. “It looks like you were expecting someone else’s call.”
I pretended to yawn. “I was studying all night and fell asleep at dawn.”
“If you say so,” my mother said, her tone light. “Is your wound completely healed now?”
I nodded. “It stings a little at times when I do karate, otherwise, I’m fine.”
“Great. Take care.”
“Um, Mom, I haven’t heard from the police or the Crown Counsel yet regarding the cases against Nicholas Parker or Pete Hilton,” I said. “How long is it going to take?”
Mom sighed. “These cases take time to investigate. I’m talking to my contacts to get the best prosecutor assigned to them.”
“Would it be any faster if there were multiple charges against the perps?” I asked.
“Possibly. That depends on the severity, though,” my mother answered. “Please don’t do anything dangerous. Let the law take its course. Your safety is extremely important.”
“I understand.”
“So, we look forward to your visit during spring break. You’re coming right?”
I nodded. “That’s the plan,” I added with a laugh. “Unless you and Dad decide to ditch me again.”
“You aren’t going to let that go, are you?” my mother asked me.
I shook my head and chuckled. “No. But I am really looking forward to spending the whole week with both of you.”
“Us, too, Tina.” My mother cleared her throat. “So, what else is new with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing at all?” my mother pressed.
“Nope,” I insisted.
“You’ve never called me Eko before,” she pointed out.
“I’m trying to be more eco-friendly, Mom. I use that word a lot these days,” I told her, knowing it was the lamest excuse on earth.
“Funny. It’s also the perfect nickname for Ekon,” my mother went on.
I almost had my heart in my mouth for a second and felt my face going hot.
How does she know?
“I...um,” I stuttered. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“I see,” my mother said. When I thought she might let it go, she added. “Then who did your father and I see at Burger All Night in Duckville the night before the Christmas party?”
I laughed, giving in to my mother. “Fine, you got me. Ekon and I started going out yesterday. And keep it a secret from Dad, please.”
“Just yesterday? Not since last month?” she asked.
“And why should it be kept from me?” I heard my father ask over the speakerphone.
“Dad, you need to announce your presence,” I protested.
“If you weren’t going out with that chef earlier, why did you spend the whole night with him?” Dad interrogated me, ignoring my words.
“We met at the burger joint by coincidence,” I clarified in an irritated tone. “I didn’t know where else to go during the party with that demon—”
“Okay, okay, calm down,” my father interrupted.
“We’re happy for you, Tina,” my mother told me.
“But if he dares to hurt you, I’ll shred him to bits,” my father added. “And when can we meet him?”
“You have already talked to him, Dad,” I said, secretly pleased my parents had my back.
“Officially,” my father persisted.
“Walt, she just started dating yesterday. Let’s give them some time,” my mother reasoned with him.
Dad sighed. “Fine, but I have my hawk eyes on him. Remember that.”
After we hung up, I laughed while replaying my conversation with my parents in my mind. My sharp prosecutor mother and brilliant crime novelist father had known about Ekon all along. I was amused that my father was vocal about “shredding Ekon to bits” if he hurt me but wouldn’t let me broach the topic of the thing that really bugged me—the abusers.
That’s their way of coping with the horrible memories, Tina.
Before, I would have been upset after such a conversation with my parents. But today, I felt alright. I had learned to accept them and let my grudge against them go. They were hurting from my childhood abuse as much as I was, but their way of coping with the trauma was to bury the horrifying memories deep within and pretend it never happened. And that was okay.
I looked at the time and decided it was too late to go ice skating today. Besides, I was feeling too lazy to leave the house. So, I took a nice long warm shower, humming to myself.
When I came out, I realized I’d forgotten to take my clothes to the bathroom. I panicked and sat on the tub edge in my bathrobe, cursing myself. This had never happened before, and I was terrified to go back to my room. I fumbled around the cabinet for extra towels and wrapped them around myself.
Slowly, I took small steps toward my room, chanting to myself, “I’m safe. There’s no one else here,” the whole way. Once in my room, I slammed the door behind me and locked it, taking deep breaths to calm myself down. I threw on my clothes, a pair of jeans, and a sweater, as quickly as I could. After getting dressed, I sat at my desk with my head in my hands.
Why did these unreasonable fears still haunt me? Why couldn’t I get over them? Why?
I have overcome a lot of things these past few months and need to stop being harsh on myself.
My inner voice was right. I had made considerable progress and worked on myself to overcome the past trauma. Patience was key to continuing to move forward.
My stomach growled, and I decided to fix myself something to eat. When I got up from my chair, I realized that I was wearing outdoor clothes and went back to my closet to change into my shorts.
When I pulled the shorts from a shelf, I saw the full-length mirror I hadn’t used in ages hidden behind all the clothes. I dragged it out and stood nervously in front of it.
I let my eyes move down to look at my chest. My colorful blouse was loose but not baggy. The neck length was high. I saw that the outline of my breas— I mean, my chest was visible. I examined my hips and thi— upper legs. They were covered entirely by my shirt. I began to feel short of breath, but before it could turn into a full-blown panic attack, I averted my eyes.
Then, with trembling hands, I removed my shirt and stood in front of the mirror in my camisole. My reflection stared back at me like a stranger, but I continued. I unzipped my jeans and stepped out of them. I didn’t know how long I’d stayed in front of the mirror. After what seemed like an eternity, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It felt like coming home.
My body is my temple. It does so much for me. It’s been through more. Isn’t that worth cherishing and celebrating?
I slowly opened my eyes and looked at myself in the mirror. In front of me stood a girl who was in no way perfect, but that didn’t matter. The girl had wounds that only she could feel and scars that were visible only to her. But what mattered the most was the fact that she stood straight and proud, despite everything she had been through.
“My body is beautiful, my body is good,” I said aloud to myself. “And I am not ashamed of it.”
Tears welled up in my eyes, because I had finally managed to forgive myself for sins that were not my own. I ran my hands over my body tenderly. I cupped my breasts with my palms. I stroked my stomach. I grazed my buttocks. Bit by bit, I explored all the parts of my body that I had loathed earlier—the precious parts that made me who I was.
“I’m sorry I blamed you for whatever happened. It’s not your fault at all,” I said out aloud.
My eyes fell on a bag that I had stashed at the back of my shelf. With trembling hands, I pulled it out and carefully opened the paper bag. Inside it was the beautiful yellow dress that I had bought during New Year’s, with no hope of ever putting it on, not even in the dressing room.
I ran my hands gingerly over the soft material of the sleeveless dress, touching the handmade tassels that ran along the knee-length hem. It would expose my arms and legs. Would I ever muster the courage to wear it?
Surprisingly, the old urge to take a pair of scissors and snip this dress to pieces—like I had done to my wardrobe at fourteen, before replacing it with baggy clothes, long sleeves, and muted colors—did not return.
I unzipped the outfit slowly and put it on, without daring to stand in front of the mirror. I could tell it fit me perfectly, accentuating my curves. I was almost afraid I would like the way I looked—and break down at the thought of not being able to wear it outside the four walls of my room.
Taking a deep breath to slow down my palpitating heart, I stepped in front of the mirror with my eyes closed.
Come on, Tina. I can do this. I saw my naked body for the first time in years today. This is nothing.
I opened my eyes.
A beautiful girl in sunshine yellow looked back at me. I felt a rush of emotions all at once—relief that I finally wore the dress without collapsing like I thought I would, amazed that it had taken me so much effort to take this step, hopeful that this was only the beginning, and ready to give myself the time and space to take the next one.
This was no simple task, Tina Lauren. And it’s only a matter of time before I let the world see Tiara Lauren. Until then, I will celebrate her today.
I smiled proudly at the mirror one last time before I changed into my home wear.
Chapter 38
On Tuesday the following week, after classes, I drove to a café near Strollfield High to meet Amanda’s bandmates, Affy and Yash. Amanda had informed me on the phone yesterday that she and Yash had pressed charges against Ms. Shera, with the help of their school counselor, Ms. Walker. Amanda had taken Aiden along, because she didn’t have the courage to talk to her parents yet. Yash had brought his older sister. Affy didn’t go along with them because they had no family to accompany them. Ms. Walker had offered to stay with them during the process, but they had refused.
Amanda was keen to introduce me to her friends, particularly Affy. She felt that Affy would open up to me, as they hadn’t said a word to Amanda or Yash since yesterday. It had been Affy’s idea to file a police complaint against Ms. Shera, but they ended up not going. I was hesitant to go along with Amanda’s plan, but she had pleaded with me until I agreed.
I pulled over in the parking lot and went inside to find a booth to wait for the other three. At one of the tables, I spotted Nate, sitting alone and sipping a hot beverage. When he saw me about to wave to him, he shook his head slightly, indicating that I shouldn’t acknowledge his presence. I noted with my eyes that I understood and took a seat at the corner.
Amanda, Affy, and Yash arrived a few minutes later. They greeted Nate with a quick wave—they must have recognized him from school—and walked to the table I was sitting at.
“Hi, Tina,” Amanda greeted me with a smile. “This is Yash. And this is Affy.”
I held out my hand to Yash and Affy. “I’m Tina. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Affy said.
“Same here. And I’m Yashpreet, but I go by Yash.”
There was an awkward silence, and we just sat there smiling at each other.
“So, what’s good here?” I asked. “Order whatever you want. It’s on me.”
“Nope, I’ll pay for my coffee,” Affy said.
Amanda frowned at them. “Affy—”
“It’s fine. I just offered to pay because I’m the oldest.”
“Thank you, but maybe next time,” Yash said. “If we end up performing at the SCF, you can treat us.”
I smiled. “Sounds good.”
We got our beverages to our booth. The café was massive, but there were no vacant seats left. They were all occupied by high school students. Nate was still here, his head buried in his phone. He had given up his table to someone else and stood leaning against the wall near the window. His unfinished cup of coffee on the sill had probably gone cold. I wondered why he hadn’t left yet.
“Back to the SCF topic, thanks for uploading our music on your social media account, Tina,” Amanda said. “We haven’t been removed from the fest yet, but it helps to build fan following.”
“What fan following? Her post hardly got any views,” Affy pointed out.
“Well, I’m not as famous as I thought, after all,” I joked, embarrassed at Affy’s comment.
Yash laughed politely. “Do you know any influencers though?”
“I can ask around,” I said, thinking about MyWay. “But I don’t get why your school would stop your performance. Ms. Shera is the one who is wrong here. What has that got to do with you? You’re officially on the list of SCF performers, aren’t you?”
“There’s a high chance that our school would back out from the fest once Ms. Shera is arrested. That’s why we want to see if we can make it to SCF on our own, without the school’s help,” Affy explained. “And that’s only possible if the public demands it.”
“I see, that makes sense.”
“Nicholas has promised to help us, as well,” Amanda said.
I saw Affy flinch at his mention.
“He is our mentor and has said that he would put in a good word for us to the SCF organizers.”
Mentor? Tormentor suits him better.
“He’s changed, Tina,” Amanda added, looking at me. “He maintains a respectful distance from us during our rehearsals. Your viral video must have taught him a lesson.”
“Who wants a refill?” Affy asked suddenly, getting up from their seat. “The best part about this café is that it offers two free refills for any hot beverage.”
