I’m walking down the street with my best friend Mari. It’s a gorgeous day, and we just had lunch at a riverfront restaurant and are enjoying the downtown shops.
We are in a little shop-lined alleyway with cobblestone streets, and we spot one of those old carnival cabinets with a fortune teller inside. Tall, wooden, colorfully painted with a glass front. The mechanical head inside dons a turban, a red jewel pressed in his brow, and black-lined eyes that stare just past you.
I clap and bounce around in a circle. My friend laughs at me; she knows I believe in all things magical. I fumble around in my bag, even though I never have any cash or coins. But alas! At the bottom, I grab two quarters. “Haha,” I exclaim! “It’s fate.” I slip the coins into the slot, and the machine whirs to life.
His head lifts slowly with the mechanical gears clacking, and his palm raises to the glass. There’s a long theatrical pause, and my friend says, “I’m suddenly feeling judged.” Making me laugh. But then…
ZOLTAR SPEAKS…
Today will be a turning point in your life’s path. You will soon encounter your twin flame, a soul who mirrors you, meant to awaken you.
This connection will become an obsession, bringing as much pleasure as pain. Through passion and struggle, it will teach you lessons you cannot avoid.
Choose growth, or be consumed by its fire.
Mari and I stand, frozen. After a few moments, she breathes, “God damn, that was intense.”
Then the machine clatters and spits out a piece of yellowed paper, startling us both. It has my fortune written out in red scroll, twisted like flames.
I pick it up, eyes wide, and I stick it in my pocket. My friend and look at each other, and we both bust out laughing.
The streets are thick with people, locals, tourists, and college kids blending in a sea of color and noise. My friend and I are deep in conversation when I collide hard with someone… dropping my bags and purse, and items scattering everywhere.
I kneel, scooping up my belongings, my friend helping. The man who bumped into me was grabbing items as well, his voice fretful, “Oh man, I’m so sorry. It’s so crowded…are you okay?”
The people still walking around us were making gathering things difficult, but once he speaks, I look up and meet his eyes, and a fire instantaneously spreads through every inch of me. His gaze holds me with quiet intensity, dark, deep, with a quiet edge. I feel hypnotized.
He gently wraps his fingers around my forearm, helping me up, not breaking eye contact. I swallow hard, my chest tightening; my brain is screaming, say something, but nothing comes.
“Thank you,” Mari says, snatching items from his hands.
“Yes, thank you,” I manage. “And yes, I’m fine, it’s nuts down here today.”
“Damian,” he says, holding his hand out. I smile, old-fashioned but cute. I shake his hand, and my friend tugs my shirt. I pierce my lips, “El,” I respond. I shrug, looking at my friend, “Well, I gotta go, thanks for helping.”
We start walking away, but I immediately turn around, and he’s still standing there watching us. His face was unreadable. I smile sweetly and keep going, but I get this unsettled feeling in my stomach I can’t name.
A few minutes later, I feel a brush against my shoulder, and I turn, and there he is, standing next to me.
“Jesus, what was that?” He shakes his head, eyes wild. “I mean, do you feel t this?” He clutches his shirt over his heart, exposing a simple black leather necklace and a tattoo of an old-fashioned key. He runs his hands through his hair, folding his fingers behind his neck, staring at me. Waiting…but I have no words.
I did, I do feel it.
I smile at him, still unable to put words to my thoughts, and he laughs a little. “Am I crazy? You think I’m crazy, right?” He shakes his head again.
“She might not, but I do,” my Mari muttered, eyebrows raised.
I scoff, “No, I don’t think you’re crazy.” Shoving my friend playfully, glaring at her. She rolls her eyes, mouths I’ll be in the bookstore, and walks away.
He’s beautiful and effortlessly striking, the kind of guy that doesn’t necessarily want to be noticed but gets attention anyway.
He has thick dark curls that fall unruly around his face. Full lips, honey-brown skin tone, with a thin, sexy mustache and beard framing his square jawline. His black T-shirt was snug over his shoulders and arms, baggy faded jeans, and black boots.
“So I’m not crazy, you felt that? Like something inside me recognized you immediately, and now I can’t unfeel it. Like meeting you wasn’t a choice.”
“All of that,” I whispered, my voice trembling. When I walked away, I swear I felt a tug in my stomach telling me to turn around.”
“Same,” Damian laughs excitedly. “So weird…so now what,” he buzzes.
Then a large group of ponytailed girls yells, “Damian!” and giggles ripple through the crowd. I peer over his shoulder and back to him. “Yours?” I inquire, one eyebrow raised.
He doesn’t even look, but instead positions himself between them and me and says, “Uninterested.” his eyes are sincere, and I believe him.
“This is going to seem super forward, but…El, would you be willing to come hang out with me for a while before my set?” he asks, eyes hopeful.
I turn toward the bookstore, and back and shrug, “Sure.” Shocking myself because I fully intended to say, “I’m sorry, I’m here with my friend, but here’s my number.”
“Awesome,” his voice sharp and fast. Making me laugh. I text my friend, I’ve been abducted, do not look for me!
As we walk, he tells me he lives a few towns over, that his trailer is in the direction he was heading when he bumped into me, fate, he calls it. He plays guitar in a band, which is why the girls are yelling his name, and he has a gig tonight at a local music club downtown.
When we reached the trailer, the first impression was that it was small. It’s parked right behind the club, and there are several others like it in the lot. We go inside; it’s clean and tidy, in earth tones, guitars leaning against the table, a mason jar filled with multicolored guitar picks.
A compact bed makes up one half; the bed is made, and clothes are folded on the shelves on either side. A soft, glowing incense burner that emits a sweet, smoky aroma. He lays his phone on the table and connects it to his Bluetooth speaker, filling the room with soft music.
He takes my bags from my hands and sets them on the table, not taking his eyes off me. He’s a tough read, but it feels like he’s going to consume me.
He walks toward me, and I inhale sharply and instinctively step backward.
He grins. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmurs. Voice deep vibrating into my bones.
“I know,” a nervous laugh escapes, making my stomach flip.
I move toward him, wrapping my hands around his waist. His hands start at my hips, slowly tracing my curves upward. His eyes on mine.
When his hands touch my throat, I swear it makes my entire body shake, and as soon as his mouth meets mine, I know I’m never going to walk away from this man willingly.
He backs me up to the edge of the bed, kissing me, his hands exploring and leaving me weak. “You okay, baby?” he whispers in my ear, sending chills through me. I nod, breathlessly.
He kisses my neck. “I’d like to keep going,” his breath shallow, “would you like that?”
“Could you stop if I asked you to?” I whisper, heart racing.
He gives me a wicked grin, shaking his head. “Not without extreme effort.”
I smile, chest tightening. “Me either.”
He picks me up and lays me on the bed and climbs on top of me in one motion. Moving together, instinctively removing clothes, piece by piece, until we’re skin to skin.
He rolls onto his back and pulls me up, legs straddling his chest, his mouth between my legs, hot against my skin, driving me wild. His hands are gripping my thighs, guiding me forward, as my hands clutch at the ceiling to steady myself.
I’ve never felt so undone by a man’s touch, my body yielding and responding before my mind could form a single clear thought.
Then, he coaxes me down onto his hips, and it’s the first time I can feel all of him pressing against me, and it catches my breath.
“You think you can handle that baby?” His eyes soften, waiting, as he runs his fingers through my braids. I close my eyes, my head pressing into his palm.
“God, I hope so,” I whisper, nerves twisting, heart hammering. My thighs are shaking as I position myself, and I inhale sharply as he moves into me, making him smirk.
The sensation overwhelms me, but he moves with me, lifting himself and wrapping me up in his arms, and kissing me along my jawline. His voice, like velvet in my ear: “El, I’ve been praying for you,” he breathes. “Meeting you today was fate.”
His words leave me completely undone, my arms clinging to him as if letting go would be impossible. I’ve never been with anyone who made me feel more alive, more aware of my body, every sensation, every breath amplified. It felt dangerous, inescapable.
He rolls me gently on my back and slides into me, the weight of his body grounding me, and unraveling me at the same time. “Baby…tell me what you want, what you need, I’m so close,” he groans, his face buried in my chest.
“Just this,” I murmur as I arch my hips into him and kiss his ear softly, and he shudders hard, losing himself and filling me with a rush of heat that leaves me trembling.
He lies next to me afterward, propped on his elbow, peering down, scanning my face, and brushing my cheek with his fingers. “You’re just as I imagined you,” he whispered.
I don’t remember falling asleep, and I’m not sure how long it had been when I woke to my phone buzzing in my pants pocket. I was alone; he must be at his gig. I could hear the music from the venue. It was dark, except for the light streaming in from the street lamps in the parking lot.
I grab my phone from my pocket, and a faded yellow slip of paper floats out and onto the bed. Zoltar…my fortune. I had forgotten all about it. I re-read the words…Today will be a turning point in your life’s path. You will soon encounter your twin flame…
If he’s my twin flame, and walking into the fire is the pleasure we spark together, then let me burn. Because any pain, any chaos that comes with this, will be worth it. I choose growth.
