Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Kneeling on the floor in front of my closet, I move the loose panel aside and feel for the key that’s stuck to the wall with reusable adhesive. Then I take the metal box from under the floorboard. Lucky sold the second-hand fireproof box to me for next to nothing. I unlock the box and steal a glance at the door before removing the stash of money I’ve saved and the folder with my unsold sketches. I look around for something to hide the money in and settle on the bag with the pull-string that holds my socks. I stuff the rolls of bills inside before packing it with the folder into my bag. The metal box is too big to fit into the bag. I put it back under the floorboard and return the key to its hiding place. It’s the best I can do for now.
After zipping up the bag, I go to the window. The old oak stands sturdily in the morning sun, a beautiful but unobtainable dream. I never did manage to climb those branches.
Letting the curtains fall closed, I pick up the bag.
My old life has ended.
My new hell begins.
CHAPTER 2
Leon
My future wife says nothing when she sits next to me in the car. We’re quiet as I drive to Sandton. There’s nothing in between the strangers we were a few months ago and the husband and wife we’ll be tomorrow—no engagement, no words of affection, and no tender promises. We’re diving straight into despising each other, or maybe that’s what obsession is. Perhaps obsession is too dark for love. Only hate is powerful enough to equal its depth.
At the Sandton City mall, I park in the underground parking and lead Violet with a firm hand on her upper arm from the car. Mindful of her leg, I avoid the stairs, opting for the elevator instead. We get off on the level where the high-end clothing boutiques are situated.
I enter the first store where the dress in the window has a five-figure price tag, my fingers still curled around Violet’s arm. Clothes rails with formal dresses frame either side of the store while a counter with bags and accessories runs along the center. The space smells of new textiles and money.
A young redhead with a high ponytail and long legs is chatting to a customer in front of the changing room. She slides her gaze our way when the door swings closed, frowning as she takes in my worn T-shirt and Violet’s casual attire. She ignores us, sending a clear message that we’re not welcome, and returns her attention to the middle-aged woman who’s studying her reflection in a full-length mirror. That’s okay. I’ll wait. And someone should tell the woman that dress she’s trying on is twenty years too young for her.
Guiding Violet to an armchair in the corner, I push her down onto the seat. Standing for too long will be uncomfortable for her. While she sits on the edge of the seat with her hands clasped in her lap, I flip through the dresses. I’m no expert on women’s fashion, but I can tell from a glance these dresses have style. I’ve bought plenty of dresses for many women in my lifetime, but never in Johannesburg. I left the city with Ian when I was fourteen. By the time I lost my virginity at the age of sixteen, we were already spending most of our time in Zimbabwe or Lesotho.
The woman who popped my blueberries had small boobs and glittery stockings. Her name was Becky. I paid her twenty bucks for a blowjob behind the bar. She let me go all the way and patted my cheek after I’d shot my load, telling me the rest was on the house. I went back to Becky for the better part of a year, paying her fifty and then a hundred per hour as Ian’s burglaries grew more daring and our loot increased.
I upgraded Becky and my meeting venue from the garbage littered backyard of the bar to a motel room. She taught me how to please a woman and how to make her scream. She was the first woman for whom I bought a dress. The second was Jenny. She worked the streets outside the casino in Zambia. She was the one who liked to be spanked.
After that, I stopped keeping count of the dresses, shoes, jewelry, and designer label handbags. I’ve bought enough clothes and gifts for women to know every boutique from Zim to Mozambique, enough to no longer remember the color of their stockings or the size of their breasts. With the amount I’ve spent on fashion, I can fill the entire floor of this mall.
Since returning to the city of my birth, I haven’t touched a woman except for Violet. I’ve never slept with or shopped for a woman here. Johannesburg is my clean slate, and I like the idea. Fuck. Perhaps I’m getting old, because the thought of being with one person for the rest of my life has never been more attractive.