Sinful Embodiments

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โ€œ๐„๐š๐ซ๐ญ๐ก ๐ฉ๐ซ๐จ๐ฏ๐ข๐๐ž๐ฌ ๐ž๐ง๐จ๐ฎ๐ ๐ก ๐ญ๐จ ๐ฌ๐š๐ญ๐ข๐ฌ๐Ÿ๐ฒ ๐ž๐ฏ๐ž๐ซ๐ฒ ๐ฆ๐š๐งโ€˜๐ฌ ๐ง๐ž๐ž๐๐ฌ, ๐›๐ฎ๐ญ ๐ง๐จ๐ญ ๐ž๐ฏ๐ž๐ซ๐ฒ ๐ฆ๐š๐งโ€™๐ฌ ๐ ๐ซ๐ž๐ž๐.โ€

โ€• ๐Œ๐š๐ก๐š๐ญ๐ฆ๐š ๐†๐š๐ง๐๐ก๐ข

ษขส€แด‡แด‡แด… 2

The sound of Alina Baraz greeted me as I came through the door. With it came the mouthwatering aroma of my motherโ€™s famous Louisiana gumbo. My stomach growled at the thought of a spoon of it going into my mouth.

โ€œAnd here I thought my daughter forgot she had her own home.โ€ My mother was sitting at the kitchen table her body gently swaying to the music as her hands gripped around a cup of coffee.

It was moments like these that I felt for her. She lost my dad when I was thirteen years old, it was so sudden. They said he had a tumor in his brain but they found out too late. He was gone right before her eyes. She spent most of her days like this, dancing to the memories playing out in her head to the love of her life that left too soon.

โ€œNo other home has your cooking.โ€ I gave her a kiss on the forehead surprising her.

I was hardly a loving daughter, but it was good every once in a while to remind her that despite me being irritating at times, I was thankful for the things she did.

I dished out a plate for myself sitting next to her at the table.

โ€œSo, what did you do today?โ€ I dragged out the you as I spoke just to add a bit of Damonโ€™s spunk to my words.

While she pondered her answer, I took a bite forcing back the sigh of contentment I wanted to let out. It was absolutely wonderful. Food was truly my one soulmate in life.

โ€œI went to work as usual and then came home. Pretty uneventful.โ€ She grimaced as she spoke about her job.

Sheโ€™s a licensed sex therapist.

Unfortunately, as fun as the title sounded, she spent most of her time listening to people gripe about how terrible she is at her job. You would think that someone choosing to go get help for their sexual lives would be more open to criticism.

She went into the field in hopes of helping people with past traumas learn how to first become more comfortable with their body again before rushing to have sex with others. Her aunt was one and had always spoken highly of the feeling of helping. Too bad mom is only met with degenerate clients who have already psychoanalyzed themselves.

Itโ€™s a tough life to be living sometimes.

โ€œHow was your first day?โ€

โ€œLike climbing Mount Everst. At first everything is going so well but the more you climb to the top the harder it is to breathe.โ€

She put her cup down giving me her entire attention. โ€œThat bad?โ€

โ€œNope, I just feel like being really deep right now.โ€ I looked down at the plate that once held the meal, I unconsciously ate. โ€œI think itโ€™s the gumbo.โ€

Mom shook her head as she checked the time on her phone. โ€œIโ€™m tired Mikita. Iโ€™m going to bed, make sure you actually wake up early tomorrow.โ€

I nodded at her as I eyed the stove.

โ€œThereโ€™s a letter on top on the fridge for you.โ€

As my mother walked upstairs to her bedroom, I contemplated everything that happened today.

I didnโ€™t know how I would treat everyone when I saw them tomorrow. It occurred to me that treating them normally would be the best way to go about it, but then I wondered if I could overlook the things I learned-confirmed to be true about their personalities.

I got up to the fridge to find a manila envelope with my name written sloppily on the front.

I sat back down pushing my plate to the side as I tore the envelope open. A letter and some pictures dropped out.

The pictures were of Cecile and a boy I had never seen before. She had her arms wrapped around him but he seemed frightened. The next one was of them entering a Shellton, it was a motel a couple miles from here. The last picture showed Damon and Cecile in front of her car in some sort of argument. They were still in front of the motel.

I didnโ€™t know what any of the pictures meant. I unfolded the letter to be met with almost unintelligible hand writing.

๐™ผ๐š’๐š”๐š’๐š๐šŠ,๐šˆ๐š˜๐šž ๐šŒ๐šŠ๐š—โ€˜๐š ๐š๐š›๐šž๐šœ๐š ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ๐š–. ๐™ธ ๐šŒ๐šŠ๐š—โ€˜๐š ๐š™๐šž๐š ๐š๐š˜๐š˜ ๐š–๐šž๐šŒ๐š‘ ๐š’๐š— ๐š‘๐šŽ๐š›๐šŽ ๐š“๐šž๐šœ๐š ๐š’๐š— ๐šŒ๐šŠ๐šœ๐šŽ ๐š‹๐šž๐š ๐™ธ ๐š”๐š—๐š˜๐š  ๐š ๐š‘๐šŠ๐š ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ๐šข ๐š๐š’๐š ๐š•๐šŠ๐šœ๐š ๐šœ๐šž๐š–๐š–๐šŽ๐š› ๐šŠ๐š—๐š ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ๐šข ๐šœ๐š‘๐š˜๐šž๐š•๐š๐š—โ€˜๐š ๐š๐šŽ๐š ๐šŠ๐š ๐šŠ๐šข ๐š ๐š’๐š๐š‘ ๐š’๐š. ๐™ณ๐š˜๐š—โ€™๐š ๐š๐šŠ๐š•๐š• ๐š๐š˜๐š› ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ๐š’๐š› ๐š•๐š’๐šŽ๐šœ.

I reread the words in front of me several times before giving up. I didnโ€™t know what it meant and the pictures didnโ€™t give away anything.

There wasnโ€™t way to contact the person who sent this, there was no return address on the envelope. I thought of it as a joke. Still I carried the contents upstairs to my room choosing to put in my bottom drawer. I would figure it out at a later time, right now I wanted to sleep.

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