Chapter Three – Nera
Ten years passed.
Andre and I focused on my fundamentals – perfecting skills, honing my thoughts, and practicing one on one with other members of The Circle.
I was blessed with many teachers.
In that time, I saw a significant increase in my wealth and influence. Opportunities arrived on their own after we focused on manifesting them in the infinite energy field, controlled by sorcery.
We also expanded human-forward programs, empowering individuals to maximize their life’s potential: from access to education, to passing neighborhood reform bills that centered funds and other resources at a hyper-local level across Tiamat, our universe.
Things were improving.
And still, there was no sign of getting closer to the insight I personally needed.
Andre deduced that whatever it was, it’d have universal implications given the trajectory of my path.
That added even more pressure to my need to know.
After another year’s wait, I got my first clue.
We’d heard mention of an up-and-coming lawyer who’d been confronting major corporations and institutions about their harmful practices.
In an interview, she said her family had a history of being of service and she was devoted to that same work.
She spoke with the authority of ancestry, not just an individual.
No one like her had surfaced from the human race outside of The Circle.
She was an anomaly in our world.
We all have innate potential. The difference is that she appeared with an effective strategy, the right connections, knowledge that exists only in the highest levels of influence, and with energy that affected the core of society for the better.
I was instantly attracted to her.
The Circle recognized her as a person of interest.
“She’s a bit plain, but charming in her own way. Totally within your reach,” Andre says, noticing my reaction to us watching her on the news.
“Am I that obvious? I ask humorously.
“Only to me,” he says.
I wasn’t sure of her relationship status since she had only recently become a public figure.
Being bisexual meant Andre was my guy, and I’d date women on occasion.
It wasn’t long before another interview appeared online.
“We all want to know. Are you single?” the reporter questions as if they’re old friends.
“I’m recently married,” she says, extending her left hand towards the camera.
I was disappointed, but, good for her. I hope it goes well.
“Tell us everything!” the reporter continues.
Tuning out the rest of the dialogue, I daydreamed of what she’s like in person. She had that girl-next-door vibe.
Andre’s jest snaps me out of it.
“I’m sorry your girlfriend is taken.”
I eyeroll him, softly.
“Oh stop. You know I like knowing who you’re into,” he teases.
He’s so attentive. Still getting used to it.
We’ve had threesomes before, but only with women that we were both into, and only when there was love involved.
Currently, it was just the two of us, as was the case most of the time.
Love was not a limited source, and while monogamy did exist in some people, it wasn’t the standard society pretends it to be; most can only be fulfilled by several lovers – and not just sexually; humanity is heavily fragmented. More have to become whole for monogamy to make sense.
“Remember. Marriage is not permanent for most people,” he adds.
“Dre!” I exclaim, aiming to be coy, though noticeably happy.
He chuckles. “Don’t be dismissive. We both know you want her. The failures of marriage are mostly due to dishonesty of self and then with each other. It could happen,” he doubles down.
“True, but more importantly has The Circle found anything on her?” I ask.
“Nothing we don’t already know. We’re all in agreement that her appearance is sudden and unusual. We’ll keep digging.”
What’s known is she comes from old money. Her family never reported more than a few million each generation. They seemed to intentionally cap their net worth, and only increased it to adjust for inflation.
Whenever one of them hit a gold mine in business, they’d donate the rest to an existing nonprofit or establish a new one, doing so in a hard-to-trace manner.
They’d kept a low profile…until her.
I break the silence. “What about her energy field?”
“That, I want to wait before telling you,” he responds sternly.
I want to know but respect his reasons without needing to hear them.
Something about her makes me feel enlivened and uneasy, simultaneously.
Anticipant.
Nevertheless, our paths haven’t crossed. There may not be anything there.
Later that night she and I come across each other but in a vivid dream, no different than reality for The Circle.
I couldn’t place the setting, other than a visible bed.
She laid naked on her back.
I scanned her body as if touching her.
Our eyes briefly met before contact was broken by a clothed man walking into the frame, face obscured by the scenery’s dim lighting.
He hovered over her, thoughtlessly pulling her legs towards him, bringing her to his groin area.
Holding her waist with one hand, he fumbled to undo his zipper.
My visual angle shifted to watching her from above the right corner.
Her eyes met mine again. It’s like she knew I was there.
Something shoved her body up and down.
I knew he was entering her but dared not look.
He repulsed me.
She did too.
I was angry at her. It flared in my chest and rose to my head.
Odd thoughts flooded me.
Part of me was turned on, watching her in her nudity.
It was also her eyes. Something about them kept me in a loop of emotion. There was no shine, but a melancholic depth that pulled me in.
I caught what appeared like a knowing look from her to me.
My visage shifted into slight amusement at her non-verbals.
Momentarily, I felt alone with her.
As if we’d both escaped and found space to talk, away from that nightmare.
Then, a disgusting grunt broke the connection.
He was done.
She continued to lay there, unblinking.
I drew away – floating upward with a profound feeling of emptiness; her face imprinted in my mind.
Waking up was difficult.
The sun was out and I couldn’t shake the feeling of hatred I felt for both.
It wasn’t jealousy.
No.
It was rage that she wasn’t innocent.
She let me know that night that she willingly married him, not out of love, but to further her agenda. That she chose to be a political whore for gain.
She violated the silent agreement all women have, to uphold the illusion of our victimhood by feigning ignorance of our actions and their consequences – a terrible and cruel defense mechanism created from actual torture done against us.
The collective feminine consciousness had not gone deep enough to understand why we suffered what we did. Why men locked us inside cages of expectations, dependency, and a narrow definition of what it means to be a woman.
With the look she gave me, she told the truth.
That no matter what theatrics are played out, consent for us always meant getting fucked. And that, despite self-professed autonomy, we know it.
Months later we actually met in person.
I’d been shopping for a penthouse.
She was one of the residents at the building I was vetting.
I asked her about management, amenities, owners, etc. after we got on the same elevator.
An odd coincidence.
She answered my questions, which turned into her coming along for my viewing.
“Where’s your agent?” she asks as we approached the door.
“I’m licensed,” I respond.
“Is that what you do for work?” she inquires further.
“Years ago, but not anymore. I like to keep my license current, though, for when I shop for homes. Right now, I’m an investor and retired from traditional labor,” I tell her, clearly miffed from that months-old dream.
To me, it was normal to take matters into my own hands. That meant having a collection of licenses, degrees, and other useful titles.
She was impressed.
“You look young – how are you so put together?” Her flood of questions continued well past the tour window.
We barely looked at the place.
My attention was on her.
She was incense personified – mesmerizing, meditative, pleasantly scented and calming to the nervous system. But I remained heavily conflicted towards her.
“I enjoyed our conversation. Let’s stay in touch,” I say after, handing her my business card.
Perhaps I can still learn something that will help The Circle.
“I’d love that,” she says, visually scanning it.
I didn’t buy the place – tempting as it was.
Time passed.
She never called.
For a while it felt of no consequence to me.
Like nothing had been lost.
I’d met plenty of attractive girls in my travels – watching them let loose around me simply because I too am a woman.
Most didn’t learn I’m a sapphist.
The feminine physique is mesmerizing, even when savored non-sexually and I wasn’t going to spoil my satisfaction in such occasions.
Watching her on TV didn’t produce a feeling of longing. It felt like I was moving on.
But, about a year later, she re-appeared in my life.
I happened to be shopping again – this time for an entire apartment community.
Unbeknownst to me, there was one around the corner of her new home.
“Nera, is that you?” says an energetic voice as I walked back to my chauffeured Maybach sedan.
I look over to the tired girl in shorts and hoodie calling my name. She was unloading groceries from her SUV.
“Hi,” I say, taking a moment to register her features.
“Oh my god, how have you been?! You must think I’m the worst. I kept your card but never called because I was going through a difficult separation that ended in divorce. Still. I was a jerk. I’m so, so sorry. Do you have a moment to come in?” she word-vomits.
“Sure,” I say cordially.
Neutral, muted colors met us as we enter. Abstract paintings hang here and there. A couple of house plants stand lamely against several curtained windows.
A lifeless house curated for identity suppression.
We navigated each room as she showed me around a three bedroom, single-level home. Maze-like. Dark interior with cherry wood floors and cabinetry.
Nothing especially stood out to me that day.
She’d put on the tone expected for socialization.
I retained my friendly, measured volume.
It was transactional.
She seemed disappointed at that.
“I heard you’re going after the oil industry. Helps to be a lawyer but how are you keeping safe?” I ask with concern, to my surprise.
“I can’t say any of what I’m doing has been easy. Threats come daily but I have a system. If anything, my private life seems to be the one in shambles. Divorcing not long after. Who fucks up that quickly?!” she says, with child-like intensity.
“Seems like a lot to handle,” I respond, trying not to go further into the subject.
“I suppose,” she says, “Well I can’t say enough how glad I am to have ran into you. I’ll reach out if that’s okay?”
“Sure,” I reply, not expecting anything.
She comes in for a hug as I’m about to reach my hand to shake hers. I return the hug and recover quickly.
The next day she texts, inviting me over for coffee.
“Sure.”
