OZIEGBE'S POV - Beach Shore, 8:40 PM
"How deep is too deep when you enter an ocean?" I wonder to myself, standing at the edge of the water. Pleasure and pressure course through me as I stretch my feet to feel the waves.
It's almost 9 PM, and here at the far end of the ocean, you won't find tourists or people looking for fun. You can hear the faint sound of music from the bright side of the beach above me. To reach this part of the shore, you have to climb down a small hill. That's one of the appealing things about this beach—it has something of a mountain view.
Normally, people aren't allowed here this late, but being a good swimmer and owner's son has its perks
ACHY'S BEACH HOUSE is an beach house with lots of perks. From the conserved hall for elite even with a beach view, to the restaurant that armour yacht for sightseeing or meal. It is begged to be transformed into an hotel but my mom love the fact even kids, commoners can gain entrance due to its free access to main beach- The place I stand now.
My Dad built this in 2005 after signing a huge deal from aiding in production of Robots for mercenary.
My two parents are into App, Web, Games creation. We have many businesses across the nation & continent.
I feel the need to let the waves envelop me. My heartbeat quickens at the thought. Without hesitation, I walk barefoot into the ocean, getting chills and enjoying every second. I lose myself to the breeze, eagerly waiting for the waves to wrap around me.
I wade deeper until I hear a voice.
"Suicide by water isn't a good idea." I stop. Not that I'm easily frightened, but listen—I was alone here moments ago. Yemoja(Goddess) is real or...
"You get bloated. Debris surrounds your remains. And the stench—ewww." I relax. A female voice.
"Not to mention the rescue team needing more than two hands to drag your bloated self out. Try something else. We can brainstorm together." Color me both angry and intrigued.
I walk toward the voice. "Who are—" My words halt as a wave pulls me down. I lay flat, not fighting the current—rule number one.
"HELP! FIRE! FIRE! OH MY GOD!" she shrieks.
No further screaming, just a splash.
I've swum here many times, so wave attacks like this happen occasionally. I swim back to shore, ready to confront whoever accused me of suicide while offering to help me brainstorm my death. I look around but can't find her until—
Hand waves. Head tipping.
She's drowning? I'm definitely not here for this! I run back into the ocean. She's at the water's edge—she shouldn't even be drowning if she can swim.
"Stop fighting and walk out," I tell her, my voice mirroring my patience—which is wearing thin. But she continues struggling.
I watch her fight for a few more seconds as a thought strikes me: "How long does she have before death claims her?"
You'd think that having narrowly escaped death myself, I'd want nothing to do with it. But sometimes I wonder how easy or difficult it is to die. She sinks lower.
Shaking away the thought, I wade into the water, grab her hands firmly, and drag her out. Thank God there are no waves, just ripples. She's frantic, ready to say goodbye to this night.
I carry her bridal style before setting her down on the sand. She's conscious—all she needs is to absorb her surroundings. Finally, she sneezes.
"You're okay now," I tell her. She's a mess. A beautiful mess. I shake the thought away, patting down the braids on her back.
"Are you okay? Did you injure yourself? Is your leg fine?" She asks rapid-fire questions, checking and turning me, probably looking for signs of injury.
I roll my eyes. "Who's checking on whom?" But her palms feel divine against my arms and face. Her care toward me cracks something in my walls. Suddenly, I have all the time in the world—just to hear her voice.
"I'm fine, thank you," I reply in a soft voice that surprises even me.
"If you can't swim and you're afraid of water, why did you enter the ocean?" I'm genuinely curious as I dust the sand off her clothes.
My hand touches her bare skin—so soft and tender. Goosebumps cover me, and my body responds. This is new.
"I thought you were drowning," she says, her voice faltering as I watch her gaze grow distant. "No one was near to help. I had to do something."
She says it almost casually, but my eyes catch her rapid heartbeat—the way her chest rises and falls as she clenches her hands together like fear is pounding at her door. It's not meant for me to see, but I notice her mind isn't entirely here.
"So you jumped into an ocean to save someone you don't know, but ended up drowning yourself?" I ask, amused. She shrugs like it's no big deal.
Who is she? How can someone be so selfless?
Then realization dawns. Seated across from her, She looks drawn...to a dark place.
From the fear gripping her features to the overprotectiveness in how she checked on me—she's lost someone who grew tired of their world. Tonight must ring like déjà vu for her.
"It's late. Why are you out here? Planning to drown too?" I joke, hoping to learn more about the past I suspect she carries.
"Are you insane?" Her eyes widen in anger.
"Calm down, I was just joking."
"You think suicide is funny?" Now she really believes I tried to drown. Wariness laces each word, angry that I don't seem to appreciate her attempt to save me.
I do appreciate it, but questions buried deep in my core emerge.
"How is suicide any different from childbirth?" I probe, and her mouth falls open. It wouldn't surprise me if sand found its way in. I continue,
"A child is born without permission, given rules to live by, a God to believe in, survival rules for the life they were forced into, and goals to achieve to feel deserving of this world."
She blinks, her features relaxing. She's pondering my words, digesting rather than dismissing them.
"If you bring me into a competition unannounced, no information given, isn't it understandable if I remove myself? If I feel it's too much for me?"
A glimmer of tears highlights her large eyes. She swallows before whispering, "You can hold on for the sake of friends you made at the competition."
"Well, isn't that selfish and demanding? I'm clearly in pain, feeling dead inside. Why should I hold on longer? My permission wasn't requested before bringing me here. I should need no one's permission or guilt trip to leave."
We stare at each other. She's stone, unmovin and her breathing is quiet—too quiet, almost like she's holding herself hostage.
"You might think you're unprepared and feel unheard, ignored because no one asked your permission before sending you here. But know this: no one invests in an unworthy deal. If you're sent to war by a great warrior, then you're damn fit to be there. You just don't see it, but they know. Maybe they prepared you for this moment."
Her voice is really pleasant, and her reasoning is intriguing.
Longing to hear more, I challenge again. "Doesn't mean I enjoy being at war. I might want to be Sleeping Beauty."
She doesn't laugh at my joke.
"Well, I assume we're products in the making, in the hands of our creators. Until we're able to become everything they made us to be."
"So we're left to our parents?"
"Yes, but also to God, to adults, to our environment. Mostly our adults, parents, and God should be responsible for our comfort until we're ready."
"Interesting." She smiles, still looking at me like I need help.
I feel guilty that I almost entertained the thought of watching this sweet soul semi-drown, considering she selflessly tried to save me at the risk of her own life.
"You might not believe me, But Nope, I am grateful to be alive" I say in an attempt to calm her worries.
She is still regaining posture, snorting out water from her nostrils.
"Good" She says
"Yeah, Good" I smile
"I can't say the same for a non swimmer entering the ocean to save a drowning person- I think that is the real suicide attempt" I say to lighten the mood. And... She laughs
The sound is rich. Her head thrown back, shoulders heaving. She looks back at me, shaking her head- Her eyes glimmer in ecstasy, Lips full in a curve, making her cheeks look plump, The moon cascading over her enlightens her feature more- Like a PRETTY POISON
She looks Regal. I stare at her, Taking her in.Light skinned, big eyes that are brown, full lips. She's wearing a crochet bodysuit, her thighs thick with long legs. Her robe lays on the floor- Probably dropped before she entered the ocean
She stops laughing as she catch me staring at her
"You're gorgeous" I blurt out then gulp in embarrassment. Silence coats the night
"I can't say the same about you" She replies, holding my stare. My core brightens up. She is pretty. Damn good brain and sarcastic. I need to humor her more
"Suicide by water isn't a good idea"
I reiterate her earlier words, "Such big talk for someone who can't even swim"
I tease, the mood getting lightened
Her features relax, understanding the heaviness of the night is over. She Rises to her feet, walking away from me. She have a damn good back.. Slightly wide shoulders, with waist I can wrap around on. Her ass and hip perfectly assentuating her shape...
Sand hits me out of no where- breaking me out of my lewd analysis- Damn it! She just threw sand at me?!
"Mock me one more time & I will take it upon myself to drown you" she says walking away
It might not show, but I am throwing my head back in laughter... Sand fight?!
I jolt up, taking up my stuffs & her robe. I don't want tonight to end,I need to know her.
Juggling just between school & home, my days are bored. I need drama. Even dating or random sex doesn't do it for me.
A knowing stirred in me. She comes with Baggages and fun. I need the drama- Her drama with fun. All of her. The brain, body, childishness, pains, desire, ambition, anger.
I want to be her Ecstasy. If I let her be, Our night will end.
"Common the situation is comical"I bump her shoulder
"What if I can't swim? Does that mean you'll die for me?" I tease her again, she kept on walking off as I try catch up to her then she bent down
"It means I'll die with you" she corrects
I take a stop to stare at her, fully taking her in, She's average maybe 5"7, petite figure but perfect on her average curve. I watch her ass sway as the crochet swimwear accentuate her curve
I want to wrap around her. All I want to do to her surprises me. I have only wanted a woman either for my image, sex or boredom.
But she, I feel a tug towards her. A pull kicking me in for her.
She seem to be heading elsewhere- I pick up sand & toss it at her without any thought
She turns back, does same.
She threw a Sand right darn back at me. She's young. Twenty-one or Twenty-two maybe but, Sand fight with teenagers is rare, having it at 9pm with a youth, a stranger?!
Would have bought lotto tickets to ride on this luck, but I don't need it.
JUST..LIKE... THAT- we are engaged in Sand fight, our laughter filling the night
We toss out our weariness into the night, letting our inner child come to play. Panting, sand-filled and sweaty, we let go.
She bends to pick up her sand- before she could raise her head up to toss it- I tackle her to the ground & we roll down.
Under her & she Atop me, Her breast pressed to my chest, I hear her heartbeat, it's racing marathon towards my core. My hand very close to her ass I just need to move it- But I don't-
I watch her take me in, feel my heavy chest rise against her soft chest. She raises her lash to mine, Our lips very close. My heart tightens- like an ache
Then, it happens, Her eyes spring up to me as my erection presses into her cunt over her thin clothing. I am not a horny teenager, I tried hard to avoid this but.
I don't break the stare & she remains still on me. The cool breeze of the ocean does nothing to stop me from heating up. My heartbeat increases, matching her labored breathe. She squirms & the sound-.-HMMMMM. I want to bottle it and drink from it on days I feel sad- Which I will ensure is everyday
I cup her face, She shudders before leaning into me, as my thumb graze her lower lip.
From her laboured breath, to her puckered nipples grazing my chest and the little move of her body pressing into me, probing me to make a move.... She is as turned on as I am, Dare I say, as fascinated also but I doubt.
"You look like someone with arsenal of men worshipping you. Like someone with a king bowing to you"
She trail her finger over the outline of my beards, watching me squish. I close my eyes to regain clarity.
"Will you worship me or you're above them?" I'll need open heart surgery when my heart pours out, which will be soon if it beats on like this.
Her voice. Her damn voice.
I will worship her, if she's attentive to my body, my galloping heartbeat is my testament outside my erection pressed to her.
About to ask if I could take her to the Restaurant, as if coming out of a daze, She lifts herself up, dust her ass- making it give a slapping sound that went straight to my ear & cock. She asks
"Are you fine? I mean mentally" Her eyes locked on mine, deep in worries again, like she wishes to unravel my thoughts
or....SAVE ME AT LEAST
" I don't know what happened, I can't force you to keep on living when no one asked for your opinion before birthing you" She says the BIRTHING YOU with a sigh, light, but there.
I stand up to face her, giving her her robe
"But I hope you find a reason to keep on living, you can see a shrink"
She concludes in soft voice, concern lacing her face. I am about to reply but my heart thumps faster against my chest, I really developed a crush on someone I met.... Less than 60 minutes ago? I keep on staring, wondering how much I want her
AND... time stops right there, My stomach knots. She's staring at me too, eyes taking me in. She stares lower- And she flush
Well, It really does Take 2 to Tango