8

On her Instagram and Facebook feeds, Amarna read through the numerous comments, all mostly in support of her endeavours as a troupe dancer. She was sipping her bubble tea at home, relaxing as she let Alex play Enter the Gungeon on his laptop. It was a huge relief to her mind when she got the paycheck – 13,000 euros! It meant less dependence upon the pressures of constantly making content, be it camgirling or talking about her adventures.

But could she continue relying on dancing? She was used to not having any guaranteed income, just her wits and fortitude carrying her through uncertainty. If it came down to it, she'd invest the money on her projects.. start her singing career, release poetry about sex, so on..

She wanted to get Alex on-board with her. A partner.

"Want to play too?" he asked, as he passed her a controller. "It'll be fun!" She was no stranger to gaming, and her hands curled around the DualShock 4's grips, and soon she was picking up the game mechanics in split-screen fashion. Dodging bullets, killing the bad guys as stylishly as the game would allow.

"Alex.. I'm thinking," she said. "Would you like to help me on something?"

"On what?" He paused the game.

"Interview me. You were there during our Cine Callao show – like I'm going to talk about my experiences as a dancer, since so many people are asking, and you can be the one asking the questions!"

"Oooh, why not?"

So Amarna borrowed Alex's laptop, writing down the interview format in Notepad, and then she got one of her cameras (no, it wasn't her phone) so she could be the subject in the video with the living room lighting, as Alex sat behind the camera, as he recited her questions:

Alex - Why did you switch to dancing in the Belladonna Lips?

Amarna - I wanted to explore myself as a dancer; I did some ballet as a girl, and I thought of revisiting some of my talents with my body.

Alex - What about love? Are you in a relationship now?

Amarna - I have found some very good friends in the troupe. But the idea of having a serious relationship, I'm going to hold off for a while. As I described in one of my previous videos about my experiences being stuck in a long-term abusive relationship, it had left indelible scars in me, so I'm taking a break from that to explore my independence as a woman. But you never really know – life has numerous ways of announcing its opportunities to you, you only have to trust and listen. If you ever feel stuck or trapped, draw upon your courage first, and the advice of others' second..

On her iMac – as the golden evening faded to dusk, she was editing the interview, complete with her trademark intro. In a bout of boredom, Amarna distracted herself on YouTube, glancing at the videos from her subscriptions list.. PewDiePie was retorting on his biggest hater, some fat kid with glasses.

"Fuck you pewdiepie – I hate fucking pewdiepie! Pewdiepie is useless bitch, and I hate pewdiepie. Because, pewdiepie sucks and he has.. sucks. Fanboys sucks. Pewdiepie sucks. I hate fucking pewdiepie. Don't call me fat, because you fat too – BITCH!"

There were strange multiple choice questions from this malcolm1466 which PewDiePie was answering, like the number of times he swore in his vids, and Amarna was laughing her ass off. Did this kid have nothing better to do in his spare time?

Suddenly, her iPhone dinged.

Like a conditioned automaton, Amarna sought to find out what update her phone had. It had a text message from another unknown number.. "You think you can ignore my calls, you whore? I will find you. One way or another, everything you have.. everything you are, will be mine again!"

Again, Amarna felt the chills, as the blood rushed out of her face. It was Mo (short for Mohammed). She had done everything to cut ties with him, out of her life, blocking his phone and all his social media.. even going so far as to changing her phone number, and yet here he was, his words on her phone screen.

She went and blocked that number, her face white and blank.

Mohammed – to be praised. The name of Islam's prophet, and the name of this pretty-boy she fell heads over heels for, at the age of 23. From the moment he laid gaze upon her at a nightclub, her life was impacted. Everything he did around Amarna, had the goal of luring her into his web, to have her heart enticed, to lower her guard slowly, yet tenderly. She had questions, like why he wouldn't let her in his heart in return (keeping her at arm's length), but at the time, she was young, naive, and it was only her second serious relationship.

On her neck, he left her hickies as a display of his passionate ferocity. He kissed her, and his tongue pressed all over the insides of her mouth, and she was helpless before the way he embraced her. And in bed.. he took her from behind, and every thrust brought her intense virginal ecstasy, as he fondled her vulva, her belly – her breasts and caressed them to the point where she thought she would lactate; she'd feel so sore after.

His face – later on in life, she heard of the androgynous Prince; that was how he looked like, except more bulldogish, with a thick neck, and disproportionately large waist and chest.

At the same time, needing money for college studies, Amarna got herself into the porn industry. She figured if she was strong enough to withstand Mohammed, she could handle the recording sessions, where she'd expose herself sexually.

And for a time, it was good.

It drove away her mama, who was shocked upon hearing news of her entering porn, but like that mattered – Amarna was discovering her freedom, and with the money she could get her other ideas into motion. Still, and though her friends were supportive of her path.. whenever she had time alone, away from Mohammed, she'd end up feeling down, to the verge of crying.

In fact, she wound up feeling scared of Mohammed. Whenever she dressed casually for the day, he would berate her choice of outfit, even her makeup, and suggest she dressed halal. Of course, he did it all in a paternal, "I know what's really best for you" kind of way, but meeting with her friends, they were hesitant about Mohammed's presence, and soon started avoiding her whenever she was with him, which was nearly all the time.

Amarna became sullen, and she lost a lot of weight. Like a young child again, experiencing the inexplicable sadness when that person called her father left the family, she didn't know why it was all happening, besides a sense of guilt – like somehow, it was all her fault. Soon, she had little energy to do anything much..

"Mo?" she said, on a winter's evening. laying in bed. "Do you love me?"

"Why do you ask that? You profess to say everything I have done, it is not for your sake?"

"No, it's not that- I just think, something's wrong.. I shouldn't be feeling this way."

Mohammed had went up to her, and he hugged her, with an affirming smile. "There is no way how you should, or ought to be feeling. You are a good girl – my good girl. I've provided you with everything. My home. My support. My love.. what else is there? What can I help you with? Please, Amarna, please, tell me."

"I.. really don't know.." she went, curling up in her bedsheets.

"You're part of my life Amarna, you're everything to me.." he went, his toned arms around her lithe form. "Why don't we go out for a movie, shall we?"

Her eyes seemed still, and then she gazed at him. "I want to go out.. let me leave.."

"Go out? Leave? On a trip somewhere? Yes, of course, what an exciting idea – let's do that!"

..

In a long story short, it took her several years and many attempts, before she was able to flee him, at around the same time she decided to leave porn. Counselors, and one good therapist, to aid her willingness of shaking off those six years of psychological hell. Her online following was growing – none of them knew about the hell she went through behind the scenes, though some point out how in some of her videos, her eyes were red from tears, and there were trace bruises, barely hid by makeup.

And with her income from , she took the steps to abandon Mohammed, once and for all. She'd bought a cheap apartment in Germany online, and mailed off her stuff. Then one night, as she went out to "buy groceries," she took a scheduled Uber ride to the airport, and left. Much of her camera equipment, along with her doll collection.. was still left in his wake, but what did thousands of dollars matter, when she had finally the freedom to breathe the open air again, once more?

Though she was loathe to admit it, from time to time she imagined how Mohammed took her disappearance from his life. Would he be crying? Admit responsibility over his actions? Would he just move on, prey on another girl? Apparently he still dwelled on her..

In her room, Amarna sighed. She went out to the kitchen, poured a bit of vodka with ice, and with the help of a cigarette, she was able to feel soothed, and she recounted her blessings of everything she already had. Her life, her independence, her capacity to feel happiness.

Azad..

She wanted to really trust him, but a voice in her head said to hold back. It wasn't worth risking your life again over love.. not like he would fully understand her pain anyways.

Amarna took a screenshot of the incriminating text message from Mo, and then deleted it off her phone. She had a few of these messages saved up already, and then she brought up WhatsApp and talked with her good friend, Misha, about it.

Alex had burnt the eggs on the wok; he had the heat set too high, hastily getting the eggs to solidify without enough oil. Amarna went and scrubbed the wok clean, and with the cooked eggs, she sprinkled a bit of paprika and salt on them, then applied some olive oil as dressing.

"My mama always had the best cooking.." he said. "I took that for granted. Can you show me how to do it?"

"Sure! – and in return, you can help cook the meals for the both of us someday.."

As they munched (Amarna had made the burnt texture of the eggs into something delectable), Alex had noticed the look on her face, where her eyes had seemed preoccupied. "What's the matter, Amarna?"

"It's nothing.." she said, gazing out the window at the dusk's subdued, desolate hues. "Just feeling a little under the weather.. it happens with winter. I'm almost done with our video."

She gazed at Alex, whose unkempt beard, and increasingly shaggy hair had aged his appearance. "You look like a hippie, now. I love it.." She leaned in and kissed him on his cheek; he was adorable.

Alex recoiled from her kiss – only his mama did that! "I'll have to brush my hair everyday, great," he went. "But I guess I do look kinda cool.."

"I can help you style it," she went, grinning evilly, and Alex skittled off from the dining table, with Amarna chasing him for laughs, cat and mouse.

Amarna's video garnered 90k views during the first day, but it was Alex reading the questions that got everyone wondering, if she's reignited her heart (or for guys, if their prospects of wooing Amarna into a relationship are all over).

Azad, having settled in his dorm at uni, he laid in bed, watching Amarna's recent upload on his phone. Upon hearing Alex's voice (it was all in Spanish, but subtitled for her international audiences), Azad seethed. He could really do with someone nice to be with, during the pressures of his film studies. Why wasn't Amarna returning any of his texts or calls?

This fucking cunt Alex who was two years younger than him, getting her to suck his dick every day, cause he happened to be Spanish like her. Why not, he gets free pussy while Azad had to bust his ass here, jacking it off in the communal showers. If he ever saw him again..

A thought crossed him – give up on Amarna, Kevin was right about her being older. Just be like any other young adult and find a nice young girl to be his fuck buddy, get married, have kids, raise a proud family. It would be the sensible thing to do.

His finger rested upon her face on screen. Come back to me, Amarna. I miss you dreadfully – you are my whole summer.

Azad still had a paper to write.. there was an awful lot of writing he had to do for film school, not having to do with scripts or story synopsis, but the theories and analysis of obscure French films that he couldn't give much of a hoot about – well, maybe the way the French women would swoon in black and white. French made everything sexier, he didn't know why.

Wouldn't it be nice if it were him and her, starring in one of those French romances? Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir..? (Pardon my French.)

His dorm room was gloomy in its utter darkness, lit only by the light slits under his door from the halls.. and the way the November night echoed the street lights across the falling snow.