027633c4bcb15f537a8c068d15f4af31 (2)Dee and I sit down at the bistro style table. The glass top is a bit of a frosty type of mosaic, fitting, matches my emotions. We sit for a moment, only an arms distance separates us. There is a palpable tension felt within and around our table. Our tiny sanctuary of negativity and stour. A small fraction of our angst is inviting allowing me to forget that my ass is numb from a chair harder than stone.┬áNope, there it is, my ass died. I’m able to fight how uncomfortable it is however cause our ever present situation calls for it. We are both noticeably plagued with uneasy emotion and a fear of the dialogue yet to come. My expectation is to not utterly extirpate this moment and lose Dee altogether. The silence is cut by the rapier of my growing uneasiness. I open with what I hope for is a somewhat trivial question sprinkled with sugar.

“How, where the hell did you get the money to bail me out?”

I see her flawless olive skin turn a pallor immediately noticed. Her eyes are clear as ever though and I can see into them at depths that scare the hell out of me every time.

“I pawned off my mothers crucifix.” Her voice shaky and hesitant.

“Fuck!” my utterance of the word quick and abrupt, there was no mistaking it for something else, nothing. I also let out an innate automatic response of the question, “What?” right before that. The exclamations however in my mind forever locked in their intricate eternity, no fucking cliff in sight.

“Dee I sure as hell would have rather just stayed in there, than have you do that! I was right there when your mom gave that to you right before she fucking died!” My voice was now at decibels that caught the attention of the other patrons.

I stood up quickly, wanting every semblance of my actions in their passive aggressive tones shouting anger.

“Shit!” I let the expletive out a bit more quiet as my right knee makes contact from underneath with the glass table.

Screaming cuss words is not worth it, don’t want anymore attention than I have already brought to us. Dee instinctively motions for me to sit down. Her hand is unsteady as well but oddly reassuring. Her eyes still clear but the corners now hinting at a rush of tears. God it hurt me deeper than the thought of my own death to see any pain in her.

My mind wanders from the incessant, selfish thought of my own wounded ego. Should I just get it over with? Should I just fucking tell her? Again we sit across from each other engaged in uncomfortable eye contact. Silence engulfs us. I feel Dee slide her foot over mine, most likely by accident, but my mind yells for me to announce to her the years of my heart bound in silence and a suffocating dark.

The door to the coffee shop opens with an audible creak. My concentration broken, I turn toward the door. My eyes catch the hue of blue intertwined within the sheen of midnight black. Barely coherent, my tongue fumbles inside my mouth.

“It’s her.”

At the same time Dee jerks her head to look at what it is that has caused a furrow of intensity in my brow. Raven hair with the sexy Labret matches my stare. Dee let’s out a weak almost disappointed,


Raven hair sways in our direction, and I use sway liberally. She is all woman and her hips alone can melt the hardest parts of you and burn the coldest. She is profound in her appearance and the freak in her buries itself deep in my sexuality. She wears her hair in a sloppy bun, a few strands fall into her face down to the dimple of her chin, some spicy memories to never forget. She wears a vintage Gunny Sack dress and knee high burgundy red Doc Martens better than any woman I have ever noticed before. Her beauty inhales every deep breath from me.

She is a dark angel, omnipotent over my desires.

“Why hello, I’m Aiyana.”

I raise my hand to hers purposely avoiding where my heart lays it’s eyes upon.

Manic Expose Chapter 6

LGBTQ Nation

About PJ Secluded

Introspective writer working on first manuscript. Writer of original series, poems, musings of sorts and the occasional manic prose. My main blog is an original series seen through the eyes of the lesbian protagonist Burgess. With her brood of studs, they conquer fear and tragedy, embracing love and the experiences between close friends. I have been writing for just a little while now and found a true passion for it. I want to help others through my writing discussing sensitive issues that affect the LGBTQ community in a unique fashion


Burgess and the Brood, Lesbian erotica, Lgbtq, Uncategorized, women


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