Love at War
Autor:© WebNovel
Capítulo 1: Love in Conflict: Part 1: Chapter 1: In the beginning.
Measured in seconds, time's algorithm captures infinity within each movement. Worlds change and fragments become relics. Fashioning a new set of rules to profit from your only choice.
Tick…
20 September 1995, Pretoria, South Africa.
Beaten and worn-out a young Sonia reached the front door of the motel. The usual buzz in the place was eerily quiet. No one noticed the bloody hand palm as she tried to support herself. All the way to the entrance the emptiness extended. Through the grimy glass, the emptiness enclosed the parking lot. The security guard not in his usual place.
Blood trailed her every step. Anxiously, she followed the cement path. At the boomed entrance she curled into excruciating pain and collapsed. Her head hid the ground. Immediately grime attached itself to her sweaty forehead but it was the last of her problems.
Three things happened in one moment.
A cork-like release followed by a blood clot landed between her feet.
A woman screamed. Then Sonia fainted.
A curse revived her, her view blocked by pedestrians.
The sick sensation of the rejected foetus left her paralysed and she adjusted her head to the place he laid. Helpless. Small. Defenceless.
He was all she had in this world. Another curse caused her to move once more. A black woman clicked her tongue in a sneer.
Her sins under public scrutiny.
At her feet blood covered his body - a fist under the cheek. A dark red stain on the cemented driveway.
One Jacaranda flower dropped on top of him, just like a heavenly garment. The act so minute, but understanding whispered. He was in a safe place - a better place. Far better than her motherly offering.
From there things happened swiftly. People gathered around her. One man's soft, endearing words reached her befuddled mind. The pain only a dull throb, and she was cold.
"She must be drunk."
"What kind of mother is she!"
Her client appeared in front of her. His condescending insolence endorsed the crowd's whispers, and he left with no inclination that he knew her.
The next moment they placed him on her breasts. His tiny form blueish, and she shielded him with trembling hands.
Sirens filled the air. The faint smell of petrol fumes released an oppressing heat. The merciless sun left her powerless. A shadow shielded her as an uniformed man covered them with a soft blanket.
Focused on her son, she burnt every perfect part of him into her mind. He was her courage, the reason she still breathed. Tears formed as she closed her eyes - blackness, her only solitude.
***
An eternity passed before she opened them in an altered world. Everything was different, brighter and clean.
The sting of disinfectants confronted her and a woman hovered above her. She whistled a well-known song, one she had learnt at her mother's knee. Her compassion stirred her spirit and tears stung a bruised cheek. Enclosed behind a curtained area the bed was soft.
"What is your name?" The woman's voice crisp and clear.
Startled she looked at her. She could not remember the last time she used her actual name. Brandy, no, that was not correct. She was never a Brandy.
"Where is my baby?"
The woman lowered herself. "He's in the Father's hand, child. Do not fear. He will look after him." The soft hand brushed her face.
"Cry, my child. We will take good care of you. When I come back, we can discuss it."
She isolated her with a white sheet - warm, pressed, and clean.
More tears filtered into the pillow; stained with regrets and why's. When she returned the day had passed. Night changed into day before pale blue eyes appeared again.
"How are you?" A covered plate drew her attention.
"Better, thank you."
"Eat something. I know it's not the best, but it will strengthen you." The nurse lifted the lid and she inhaled the aroma of the food. Her intensive stare never left as she ate with gusto.
The woman dragged a chair closer, her features more prominent in the daylight. She did not imagine the kind-heartedness.
"Can you remember what's your name?" The matron spoke when she felt satisfied and placed the spoon on the table. Satisfied, a feeling long forgotten.
"Sonia." She cleared her throat and repeated: "Sonia Main."
"I am Matron Sally van der Walt. So happy to meet you, Sonia." In the motherly irises she found no judgment.
"How old are you? Can you remember?"
"Nineteen," she replied uncomfortable under the scrutiny. The last time she had experienced this kind of acceptance, was when her mom was alive. How long ago was that?
"What are your plans for your future?"
"I don't know," and she pulled the sheet towards her. Her shame hidden.
"Today I want you to rest, get stronger and then, when willing, we can talk about your future. God has not forgotten you, my child. You have come to the right place. God's plans are greater than what you can see. Never forget that."
Tock …
Sephanje 3: 17.
The Lord your God is amidst you, a Mighty One, a Saviour [Who saves]! He will rejoice over you with joy; He will rest [in silent satisfaction] and in His love He will be silent and make no mention [of past sins, or even recall them]; He will exult over you with singing.
Amplified Bible, Classic Edition
Capítulo 2: Part 1: Chapter 2: Heat is nothing in comparison to betrayal.
Iraqi desert, March 2019.
Shocked he stared at the explicit photos.
Excessive perspiration dripped from him, unnoticed. The boiling heat; airless.
His attention arrested with the terrible images engraved in his mind. The betrayal left him in utter devastation.
Before long, uncontrollable hatred replaced the shock as he tossed them in the corner. It connected with a filing cabinet with a thud.
His marriage was a farce!
Vile tasting disbelief infiltrated his mouth. Balling fists pressed against the desk, his vision blurred. Automatically his fingers massaged his temples and pinched himself.
His lovely wife of twenty-five years. How could she? He had been home in February when they celebrated it, and now this.
He picked up the crumbled pictures and straightened them. The digital date and time on each caught his scrutiny - captured adequately over four years - the last one the day he left. Her track of deceit adequately defined in each emotion and position.
It joined the rest of the discarded pack. His personal world had tilted in seconds: from virtuous to depraved in a heartbeat.
The uncomfortable silence stifled the office and chairs moved. Colonel Curt McGee avoided the staff, disgraced.
He swiped the images from the table and collapsed back into his seat. Anger tightened his jaw which framed the day-old stubble.
"Sir, is everything okay?" Curt looked at his aid, speechless.
How could she? We made love that last day. We assured each other of our devotion. I was the luckiest husband on earth. The next night she was back in her lover's arms and by the roguish looks, enjoying herself.
"I'm going for a walk!"
"Yes, Sir!!" The Colonel's normal straight shoulders slumped, the long strides weaker.
Doug regarded the coloured prints with unease. The woman was in an appealing encounter. Buck naked, the guy pounded into her. Her hips held in a fierce grip. She was a looker.
Footsteps on gravel propelled him into action and jumbled them together, shoved it back into the large envelope marked in bold letters: Colonel Curt McGee. He then placed it in the desk's drawer.
He straightened as Sergeant First Class Ralph entered the office. A deep frown creased his rugged face. He glanced through the workplace.
"Is the colonel here?" the stern voice thundered. His DNA formed with military precision. The broad shoulders and perfect stance brooked no-nonsense.
Doug saluted him and the moment he acknowledged him, he relaxed.
"Just stepped out, Sir."
Curt walked to the furthest end of the camp. How could she? Sand drifted into the warm air. And with that person? More sand floated upwards. Out of breath he glanced around, his throat parched.
A jeep pulled up and he waved the soldier closer. The private saluted, but he demanded the keys with a careless gesture. He jumped in and stepped on the accelerator. The engine roared into action as it left the camp in a dust trail.
"That bitch!" he groaned, banging the steering wheel, with tears evaporating in the drive.
Fifteen minutes later Curt stopped at the local tearoom, the owner a well-known patron of the town. Usually Curt refused his subtle offerings, but today he wanted to forget.
Once inside he removed his shades. It took a few seconds to adjust to the dimness.
Elaborated carpets, curtains and cushions divided the room into sections. The cosy place was a favourite amongst the military staff. Satisfied that he had the place to himself, he relaxed. The owner manned the battered counter to the right of him.
Samer Sleiman, the proud owner of the establishment, met Curt with a slight bob. He beamed with pleasure. "Ah, my favourite officer," he said, twisting his hands with the unexpected fortune.
"What do you have?" Curt asked with added interest.
"I have anything you want, my leech." Sleiman fawned with submissiveness.
"Bourbon?"
"Ah, an excellent choice, my leech."
He scrutinised the colonel. Allah has blessed him with an unusual feast; one he will savour, he thought with a smirk.
He had waited for this officer to cave.
He hated the western capitalists. They walked into his place as if it belonged to them. It irked him every time he came face to face with one of them. He made money from their drunken debauchery with no guilt.
"Any other pleasures?" Samer's hands gestured two boobs in front of him. Curt did not understand the illustration until the penny dropped.
"Yes."
"Room?"
"Yes."
"Now I can entertain the officer in my modest abode," and the ugly face transformed into an uglier mug.
"Follow me, my leech," he ordered with arrogant confidence. Samer led the way deeper into the dimmed place. The steady gait of the client energised his own pace.
The depilated stairs led to a darkened hallway. At the door of a shabby room Samer stepped aside as the officer entered and closed it with a wicked grin. It took him minutes to collect the beverages and called for his wife's niece. She would do.
Back in the room the officer showed no interest when he approached him. With undeterred greed, he spoke: "You will love this, my leech."
Samer presented the bottle with a well-known bourbon sticker. For the first time the officer's attention perked while he opened the cap. He filled a glass with the rich amber and served it. The officer sniffed the content and rolled his eyes.
Samer knew it was the best batch of bourbon he had bought. The apt name of Heaven's door with its distinctive flavour, a favourite amongst the rich Americans. Today was undeniably an outstanding day to open the case.
Pleased with the label Curt swallowed the golden liquid, the burning sensation a welcome sensation and he smacked his lips. As he caught the greed filled face, he snatched the bottle from him and ignored the gleeful chuckle.
"Bring another!" he ordered, tossing money on the bed.
Samer bowed. "I have a present, with your permission."
He waved towards the door. A woman, enclosed in black, approached them.
"I'm sure she will pleasure you, yes?" The owner pressed the girl closer. Quietly he watched her approach. When she stopped Curt removed her hijab.
Hell, she is younger than my daughter! With scorn he looked at the man directly behind her, his beady eyes sinister and smug before it returned to the girl. Outraged he wanted to dismiss her, then paused. A moral fight inside weighed him down.
"Does she please you?"
"Isn't she too young?" Long black hair protected the face, her gaze diverted to the floor.
"No, my leech, I assure you she's twenty," Samer replied, smacking her on the butt. She shrieked and blushed. Her nervous giggle echoed through him. This was not him.
Curt groaned; she was someone's daughter.
He knocked back another swig, then got to his feet. Dust motes swirled upwards with the motion and she coughed. A small hand protected her mouth.
He touched her hair and let the silk glide through his fingers. Huge, scared eyes stared at him, her innocence a sharp contrast to the environment they were in.
With a sneer he pushed them aside and left; bottle in his hand.
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